Stuff and Stuff and Stuff

I had an -awful- day Sunday. Saturday was rough by itself (Weekends are always rough at my new Pub. It’s a great place to work, don’t get me wrong, but I spent my first several weekends there working for the Ren Faire. So even though I’ve been there awhile now, I haven’t actually worked very many weekend days. The whole crew’s pretty much been there forever so they all know Exactly What Is Going To Happen and how the system’s run without saying a word. Meanwhile, I’m stumbling around lost, trying to piece together the protocol based on observation. Not with waiting tables – I can wait tables in my sleep (and have, more than once) but with the rest of it. Who comes in at what times, who leaves when… There isn’t really a strong managerial presence on the floor – most days we don’t even have a real manager working, just an apathetic bartender with a manager-status code in the computer. So nothing’s the same two days running and coming from the corporate restaurant world as I am, it’s taking a bit of adjustment. I was hanging in there, until Sunday.

To start with, I worked from 1pm to the close of the server shifts on Saturday. They had me come in early because there was a rediculously large party scheduled to come in who’d require a whole server. The party did indeed come in, but they came in two hours early. So by the time I got to work both the servers had been slammed, were cranky, and completely ready to go home. Through one event and another I wound up as the sole server working through a surprisingly busy little rush. As I had to come in at 1, setting up for a nine and a half hour shift minimum, straight with no break, I’d been told I’d be one of the first outs. Instead, a couple of the other girls decided to leave before I did – one of them hadn’t even worked a double. Grr.

Now Sunday was my second Brunch. The first brunch I worked, it went like this, two people showed up at 9:30 am to open and set everything up, one arrived at 10:30 and stayed through the whole morning shift, until the afternoon people came to relieve her. Now we had three girls written to come in at 9:30 am. And I had, written on my schedule, DBL (meaning double). So I assumed I was the person coming in at 10:30 and I’d stay until 3, get a couple hours’ break, and work my evening shift. I didn’t sleep much that night (I haven’t been. 50 hour work weeks and lots of comic stuff to draw is bad for the sleeping habits.) and I got up in the morning and took my bike out to go riding around the lake a few times. It was wet out, I took a turn too fast, the bike went one way, I went flying the other. I hit my head pretty hard on the bridge and scuffed myself up pretty good, falling to the ground. Ripped one of my favorite shirts, bruised and muddied up… and, I think, gave myself a mild concussion (I own a helmet now. Don’t lecture me). Also, I broke my bike. I laid on the bridge all stunned and watching the pretty lights for a bit until a jogger picked me up. Cried all over him, got on my feet. The bike was broken so I had to walk it the rest of the way to my car (a good mile hike, all shaken up) and then I drove to work.

I arrived at work at 10:10 – I hadn’t stopped to change so I was still wearing shorts, mud splattered and oozing blood in a couple choice places. I was greeted with “You’re late! I called your apartment, like, three times already.” Which wasn’t the warm, concerned greeting I was hoping for. I tried to tell my sob story, to get some coos and pettings, but everyone was pretty stressed and fucking no one wanted to hear it. Well, that happens sure enough but I would’ve liked someone to listen to me going “I think I have a concussion, I’m going to be slow and stupid today.”

A couple of the girls were in rare form. As women in a fairly stressed and very casual workplace, we can all get pretty bitchy. Well, everyone was getting worked up for what they expected to be a crazy busy mother’s day… and then not nearly as many people showed up as were expected. There were five servers on the floor instead of the three we normally had and no one made the kind of money they were expecting. Tempers were flairing and I wasn’t in a good place to begin with. Cue sobbing in the bathroom and teary pledges to quit immediately. No, wait. Count the money first, see if I have rent…. then quit. Yeah.

I wound up closing the morning shift which I -had- been expecting… but it was arranged in a poorly organized and kinda bitchy way “Since you were late and we all had to set up alone you can just stay here all day!”… Fortunately the other two night time servers showed up and were very nice to me. They sent me on my break with the concerned cooing and petting I’d been hoping for after my accident… And suggested I could take the 40 person party we were expecting in at 6 o clock, and leave as soon as that party was done, provided the restaurant hadn’t exploded by that point. Really nice girls. Thanks to their general attitude I didn’t file my notice… But it came pretty close, I was just that upset.

Rationally speaking, I should’ve called in and waltzed down to see a doctor or something. Something other than going into work and having a really shitty day. But, I didn’t. Bleh.

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