High Quality People
For an upcoming trips decided to get some maintenance on my car and a wash. Went to one of the many full service wash+detail places (this is LA, nobody walks, only only a handful wash their own car). You give them your order, and the keys, it takes like 20-30 minutes if there's a line, so I did some work at a nearby cafe. This is my second time there, first time was to get smog, and went back hoping they did oil changes.
It seems the primary requirements to get a job as the cashier are a) Hooter waitress looks b) english as second language c) attitude; the general tone of the conversation with them is "why am I here", and "why are you asking me questions?! can't you tell I'm barely qualified to operate the register with these nails?"
When I got back from the cafe, in the parking lot of shiny clean cars my car was easy to spot. It was the only car in it's price class :), next to it is a flurry of 10 tan skinned people in green shirts and drying rags, buzzing around cars like bees, collecting the nectar of water beads off the fresh coat of wax and steel petals. But noone obviously in charge in order to get the keys back so I could get on with my life.
I tried to catch the attention of one. A wirey thick mustached hispanic looked over his shoulder at me and gave like a huge chimp air kiss with his lips, and a wink, then kept walking like he had just scored a twinkie right by the register without paying for it. Not quite what I was expecting. A few minutes later, he emerged from the flurry, briskly rounded the car checked my reciept (having a scrawl with 3 numbers of my license plate..serious security) before giving me the keys, then 3 paces away crumpled it up and threw it on the ground, for I'm sure some other green shirt later to sweep up.
It seems the primary requirements to get a job as the cashier are a) Hooter waitress looks b) english as second language c) attitude; the general tone of the conversation with them is "why am I here", and "why are you asking me questions?! can't you tell I'm barely qualified to operate the register with these nails?"
When I got back from the cafe, in the parking lot of shiny clean cars my car was easy to spot. It was the only car in it's price class :), next to it is a flurry of 10 tan skinned people in green shirts and drying rags, buzzing around cars like bees, collecting the nectar of water beads off the fresh coat of wax and steel petals. But noone obviously in charge in order to get the keys back so I could get on with my life.
I tried to catch the attention of one. A wirey thick mustached hispanic looked over his shoulder at me and gave like a huge chimp air kiss with his lips, and a wink, then kept walking like he had just scored a twinkie right by the register without paying for it. Not quite what I was expecting. A few minutes later, he emerged from the flurry, briskly rounded the car checked my reciept (having a scrawl with 3 numbers of my license plate..serious security) before giving me the keys, then 3 paces away crumpled it up and threw it on the ground, for I'm sure some other green shirt later to sweep up.