My manager is ethnic. He says things.
Yeah, like the title says, the guy that runs this Papa John's I work at is some form of Ethnic. Emil talks big about "his country" but nobody has figured out where he's from. We've narrowed it down to somewhere between Chechnya and Turkey, since he's got olive skin, and an unpronouncable last name that starts with Z and ends in V. Watching him work is entertaining as hell, usually a day doesn't pass without something like one of these:
"In my country, if someone fuck up a pizza like zhees, we kill them. With rocks. But here, I cannot do, because this--" Emil spits on the floor, "This is America. Feh. Get za mop. Somebody spits on my clean floor."
"So, what did you do before you worked here?"
"Oh, I sell computer. Not here. In my country."
"In your country? Shit, did you sell Tandys? Or was there like a Mac Store looking hovel with Commodore 64s?"
"Shaddap! I come around za desk and slap you!"
"In my country, if someone fuck up a pizza like zhees, we kill them. With rocks. But here, I cannot do, because this--" Emil spits on the floor, "This is America. Feh. Get za mop. Somebody spits on my clean floor."
"So, what did you do before you worked here?"
"Oh, I sell computer. Not here. In my country."
"In your country? Shit, did you sell Tandys? Or was there like a Mac Store looking hovel with Commodore 64s?"
"Shaddap! I come around za desk and slap you!"