Noooooooo.
I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I haven't been replying to comments or being around and stuff. I've been working longass hours at work starting at the buttcrack of dawn. I have a ton of days off this week so I'll try to be better. Just taking a moment to bitch before I go back to bed.
Monday to Thursday I worked from 6:30 am to 2:30 pm. Fabulous! On Friday I worked from 4:00 pm to 2:00 am. Also not a problem, just that it was a long shift and my feet hurt like hell. Saturday was going to be torture, what with my feet still being in mega-pain.
I began my shift at 3:00, cleaning up after a one-year-old's dancetastic birthday party for 160 people (yeah, I know) and setting for a wedding. Bartenders began their shift at 5:00, and one of the captains began his at 7:00. Banquet Captain says to me, 'Ford, I'll make sure to send you and [other dude] home early because you both worked such a ridiculous shift yesterday.' I fist-punch the air and go back to work, relieved that I won't be on my aching feet for more than six hours or something.
Fast-forward to 9:00. Banquet Supervisor (above Captain) says, 'Ford, once your section is cleared, you're on bar for the rest of the night. [Bartender] went home sick.'
To add insult to injury, the Captain, who had also worked a long night before, goes home at 10:30. Somebody had better have died to have him leave like that, yo. Love him to death, but whatever hope he left me with was snatched away and omg dick move, bro.
Did I mention the wedding party didn't provide enough vodka or gin? Tell a bunch of wasted, twenty-something girls that you can't make any more Vodka Specials or Caesars and see where it gets you.
Exhausted, my shift ends at 2:00 am, eleven hours after starting, which I'd complain a lot less about were it not for the fact that it totally didn't have to be that way.
It's 4:00 pm, and only now am I able to get out of bed. I barely slept, as my sore feet kept waking me up. One day of bullshit, no problem, I love my job. Two days is just cruel. I have to be back there for a shift at 6:00 Monday morning.
WORLD OWES ME A FAVOUR.
Monday to Thursday I worked from 6:30 am to 2:30 pm. Fabulous! On Friday I worked from 4:00 pm to 2:00 am. Also not a problem, just that it was a long shift and my feet hurt like hell. Saturday was going to be torture, what with my feet still being in mega-pain.
I began my shift at 3:00, cleaning up after a one-year-old's dancetastic birthday party for 160 people (yeah, I know) and setting for a wedding. Bartenders began their shift at 5:00, and one of the captains began his at 7:00. Banquet Captain says to me, 'Ford, I'll make sure to send you and [other dude] home early because you both worked such a ridiculous shift yesterday.' I fist-punch the air and go back to work, relieved that I won't be on my aching feet for more than six hours or something.
Fast-forward to 9:00. Banquet Supervisor (above Captain) says, 'Ford, once your section is cleared, you're on bar for the rest of the night. [Bartender] went home sick.'
To add insult to injury, the Captain, who had also worked a long night before, goes home at 10:30. Somebody had better have died to have him leave like that, yo. Love him to death, but whatever hope he left me with was snatched away and omg dick move, bro.
Did I mention the wedding party didn't provide enough vodka or gin? Tell a bunch of wasted, twenty-something girls that you can't make any more Vodka Specials or Caesars and see where it gets you.
Exhausted, my shift ends at 2:00 am, eleven hours after starting, which I'd complain a lot less about were it not for the fact that it totally didn't have to be that way.
It's 4:00 pm, and only now am I able to get out of bed. I barely slept, as my sore feet kept waking me up. One day of bullshit, no problem, I love my job. Two days is just cruel. I have to be back there for a shift at 6:00 Monday morning.
WORLD OWES ME A FAVOUR.