||[May. 17th, 2008|02:12 pm]
wake up, america!
so i am on my third day of working double shifts.|
thursday was worthless; i picked up a shift for a girl who's getting married; i coulnd't really say no. no one else at the restaurant wanted to take the shift, and i coulnd't let her be late for her wedding because no one would be kind enough to pick up a shift for her. $30 all day.
friday morning i made 50 bucks working in the 90 section, went to get some chinese for lunch; ate with one of our bus boys. friday night i was in the 90 section again; i had tables all night. at around 8:30 everything stopped; i did all of my side work/rib napkins/silverware and was basically ready to go. i notice that there's a party setup in my section so i go to inquire; there's a 15 top coming in, and guess who gets to take it? me.
[side bitch: now i don't know how many of you have ever worked at a restaurant before, but when you're a waiter and you get good at what you do you come to realize that everyone's happiness in that place depends on the work that you all, as a team, put into the restaurant. we were having a contest to see who could run the most food last night; so of course the bitches who never run food were all over the place stealing food from under people's noses, and running food so fast that it actually messed with the general flow of the restaurant. in the meantime, there is running sidework that we're all supposed to do, such as running plates, getting ice, and being sure that everything is stocked and appropriate; no one in the entire restaurant was doing any of this but me. i ran plates, ice, glasses, and lemons all night long and, even when i confronted my managers about it, nothing changed. i worked from 11:30am until 11pm last night with an 1:30 break yesterday, so as you might be able to imagine i was quite tired. i did manage to clear 100 dollars yesterday, though, so all in all i guess it was worth it.
back to the party; turns out that the 15 top doesn't show up by 9:15; but just for luck's sake an 8 top comes in to take their place. at the table is this kid who is ass deep in a book who refuses to talk; i come to realize at some point during the meal that he must be a victim of ASSBURGERS syndrome, because he has the ability and the reasoning to co-exist, but instead chooses to ignore reality and stay lodged deep within his mind. his family did all the talking for him, so it wasn't just a good book. this kid sucked down root beers and water for a good 20 minutes so fast that by the time i walked away from the table i was headed back into the kitchen to conjure up another drink; this went on until his sister took his glass from him and told him he was a dick. i inquired with the kitchen whether i could request a poisoning, but i was denied. damn the luck.
so anyway i got a 24 dollar grat on that table; left work and went to dibbz for a while; call of duty 4 is the scrubbiest game i have ever played, but i played it anyway because i just needed to kill someone.
[side note: i quit smoking. i haven't had a cigarette in a week and i don't want to have one at all. the withdrawls are basically over, but i am still coughing up awful things and generally feel very exhausted and very sick. overall, however, i'm excited, and i really can't wait to be completely over this entire thing and on the path of "nonsmoking"]
when i got home last night i threw my clothes in the wash so that i wouldn't have to wake up so early this morning, put on some classic weird al, and drifted off into dream land.
9:40am - i awaken, throw my clothes in the dryer, and return to the internet to check my email, etc. i end up falling asleep, waking up just in time to be late for work. i curse zues and call my manager, who is in the middle of pre-shifting all of the people who WEREN'T late for work. i take a shower, iron my clothes, get dressed, call back to confirm that i am coming in, and get on the road to work.
12:30pm - i make it to work only to find out that i'm in a 3-table section in the backass part of the restaurant where i would have made no money regardless.
[this is really making me pissed. not only am i a competent, excellent waitier, but i have proven that i can handle the more hardcore sections of the restaurant. the more i prove myself, the more they fuck me over; and yet i continue to make money 9/10 times. it's just irritating because i could be making 2x the money that i am making if i were to just be placed in a decent section.]
my manager repremands me, tells me she understands, and puts IN MY PERMANANT FILE [oh no!] that i was an hour late. i wait around from 12:30 - 1:30 without a table, never even being clocked in. my manager tells me that i can go, but i need to be back by 3:30, 2 hours earlier than i was originally scheduled, for a 25 top with a co-worker. i stumbled out, tired, had some sbarro's, walked around the mall for a while, and realized that i wanted to bomb something. in other words i think i might be in the world's greatest mood; the kind of mood that causes 9/11's.
i drove around singing "ONE MORE MINUTE - al yankovic" until i reached dibbz, and here i am, 23 minutes remaining on my account, posting a blog on livejournal before i return to my place of employment.