Hamtard the pug eyed human hybrid. I don't quite know how to start this other than simply saying it. I'm a manager at a local small chain fast food joint and I have one employee who literally leaves me baffled every day. I call her hamtard.  Hamtard is huge. She is easily 5 times my size and clearly is some sort of hybrid monstrosity that was born from a lab simply to see if it could be. She's about my height, and I'm 5'3. She walks on her right ankle instead of on her foot and then complains about her feet killing her. She'll stare at me with her buggy pug eyes from across the counter as if I'm holding a delicious steak and wafting it in front of her.  I'll do a simple story, the story of her making me snap for the first time. Mind you now, she's worked for me since february. This is my daily routine with the dish troll hamtard. I was training a new cook about a month ago. We can call him red. I'm explaining the ins and outs of the kitchen when I look up.  I could feel it. The dead eyed pug-stare. (O-O;) She's staring so intently. It labors her to focus this hard for so long.  "Do you need aomething?" HT: "oh no, I was just listening..." "Oooooook. Could you go wipe some tables for me?" HT: "Oh....... ok." This buys me about 45 minutes of peace. It takes her that long to wipe tables down. She sits down at every booth to wipe them off. It's still an amazing sight. I'm teaching red about the basics of our sandwiches and wraps when I hear "um, the trash cans are pretty full. Can I empty them?" "Yeah sure, knock yourself out." HT: "ok. I'll be quick" I had to choke back a laugh. She is never quick. Know why? HT: "I have osteoporosis in my feet." JUST YOUR FEET? GOOD GOLLY GOSH THAT'S JUST AMAZING YOU POOR SAD BASTARD. So about 40 minutes goes by. We had picked up in business, all hands on deck. I'm cooking and putting out orders. I'm having to keep hamtard on task. "WORD OF THE DAY IS SPEED PEOPLE!" Takes hamtard 15 minutes to put together 2 dinner plates from the hot bar. I tell her to speed it up.  HT: "I'm doing the best I can....." She's like a snail on a tredmill. The rush ends. Somehow we survived it despite hamtard's best efforts to be a slow sack of shit.  I begin explaining to red that it's important to keep the kitchen clean during work, and how to recover from a rush when I feel it. That fucking stare. (O-O;) I've snapped. I'm a short patented person and it's a wonder that I don't lose my job every day. The things I want to say vs the way I have to say it as a manager.... I wanted to say "WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT" Buuuut it came out like "Could you PLEASE do something to at least look busy?!" HT: "Well..... I was taking out the trash... but then we got customers....." "Do you see any customers right now?!" HT: "no......" "THEN GO FINISH THE TRASH?" HT: "OK! Goooosh." Red laughed, I had a borderline heart attack. I angrily began cleaning in hopes my blood pressure wouldn't shoot up any higher. "You'll see," I said to red. "You'll understand why everyone fucking hates hamtard soon."