This is one of those stories that I always get incredulous looks when I tell. I almost wouldn't believe it myself if I hadn't witnessed it all with my own horror stricken eyes. Today, children, gather round and I shall tell you the story of Crazy Debbie with the Leg Juice. Everybody who has appeared on this blog thus far has been given an alias (an easily discernible alias to those who know them, but an alias nonetheless) but I can't think of a proper one for Crazy Debbie, so Crazy Debbie she will remain.
I first encountered Crazy Debbie on a dinner shift almost four years ago. I had no idea what I was in for. Crazy Debbie looks a bit like a cross between a troll and one of the seven dwarfs. She had dark glasses, a dark colored head wrap, and walked bent over with a cane. Of course, her most striking feature was her legs. Short, fat, stumpy little legs, wrapped in layers and layers of medical bandages. I'm not really sure what the bandages were for, but they were always oozing some kind of pus like substance that we all came to refer to as "leg juice."
She had a penchant for stealing napkins and sugar packets, and one of the first times I waited on her, I got the shock of my life. Like many NYC restaurants, we use paper napkins for our lunch shift, and cloth for dinner. She sat in my section on a dinner shift, and requested an extra napkin. Not knowing how batshit she was, I brought over an extra cloth napkin...the napkins we had out on that particular shift. She went berserk. "What the hell is this?" etc, screaming obscenities. Eventually one of my co-workers took her a large pile of paper napkins, which she then began to cram into her purse.
Crazy Debbie also had a tendency to use her cane as a weapon. She'd stick it out into the aisle, and poke you with it to get your attention. I can recall at least one instance of her whacking the hostess with it, while the hostess was attempting to seat somebody. If she was feeling "nice" she wouldn't hit you, and only loudly beat the cane on the floor. However, all these quirks are merely "cute little antics" compared to the legendary escapades of Debbie's time in the bathroom.
Crazy Debbie would use our bathroom to do whatever the fuck she needed to do with her bandage wrapped pus ridden legs, as well as, you know...normal bathroom functions. We all became way too familiar with these rituals, because she never ever locked the door. We would speak to her about it. We would show her how the door locked. And yet, she always refused to lock the door because "what if I fall and I can't get out of the bathroom?" So of course, inevitably a staff member or a guest would open the bathroom door, be visually assaulted with a crazy woman on a toilet, and then be subjected to her waving the cane and them and screaming to get out of "her" bathroom. I remember once a little kid walked in on her, and came out looking like he'd been traumatized for life. At one point one of my managers made an "out of order" sign that she'd stick on the bathroom whenever she saw Crazy Debbie enter it. Eventually, it just got to be too much. About two and a half years ago one of my managers finally told Crazy Debbie that if he caught her leaving the bathroom unlocked one more time, she'd be banned. Which, of course she did. So in that way we were finally able to get rid of her.
I'm not sure where Crazy Debbie is these days. Most likely waddling along, terrorizing another restaurant staff into submission with screams and cane beatings. Wherever she is, it's not where I am, and for that I'm truly thankful.
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