Sticky, Sticky, Grubby Little Fingers

                   Nothing of interest happened again today, not that I'm complaining.  Since nothing pissed me off today, I would like to talk about a very serious problem in the restaurant industry.  Why is it that customers steal?  I know anyone who has ever worked in a restaurant has seen this happen about a gajillion times.  They will take anything they can get their grubby little hands on.  I've seen salt/pepper/parmesan/red pepper shakers, menus, ketchup/mustard/steak sauce bottles, sugar/artificial sweetener packets, sugar caddies, menus, decorations, condiment caddies, and probably a thousand other things I can't think of right now, taken without so mush as a single fuck given to whom their actions might affect.  It doesn't bother me that my fat cat owners have to pay to replace that shit.  They wipe their ass with that.  What bothers me is, when I show up for work every morning, I have to go to every table, take an inventory of what's been lifted the day before, and replace all of that shit!  It's not fun, and takes about an hour to do.  Most of the things, I just have to grab out of the stock room and put back on the tables, but the shakers are a whole different breed of dog.  I have to get the shakers and the lids from two separate places, then get the shit to fill them up from a third and fourth place.  I then have to fill them all up with whatever is appropriate, wipe them down, and finally put them back on the tables.  It's annoying and monotonous, and not how i would choose to start my morning!  Just go to the god damned dollar store, since you're so fucking cheap, and buy your own for only a few cents a piece.  They're not that fucking expensive.  I don't come to your job at the whore house and steal all the condoms from your night stand, so don't come to my place of employment and make my job harder than it already is.  Don't you realize that having to look at you, for 30-45 minutes at a time, is hard enough on me?  Of course you don't, because that would require some empathy.  For example, one night, an old man came out of the bathrooms at Pizza Place as I was coming out of the dining room to the side.  I followed him through the main dining room, walking back to the front of the store.  He didn't know I was behind him.  Right as we passed Table 33, I watched him reach out, grab a parmesan shaker, and shove it into his pocket .  What gall!  He didn't even look around to make sure no one saw him.  He had no shame. He just went back to his family at another table and finished his meal.  He probably stole the shakers off that table too.  My thought?  "God damn it, now I'm going to have to replace that mother fucker.  There goes 5 minutes of my life down the fucking drain.  Thanks, grandpa."