How bleeding on a customer's table helped me make a decision.
Making a decision is a big deal because I am SHIT at making my mind up.
I vacillate terribly. It doesn't matter if it's a really insignificant decision (should I have coffee or tea? which pub do I want to go to?) or a really major one (should I move to Tanzania? should I defer my university studies for a year?) - I can never just make up my mind.
But today, I was decisive. I had to choose between 2 waitressing jobs: one was well paid, the other less so. I am seriously in need of money because I'm over £16,000 in debt, so really, I should have grabbed the better-paid one with both hands.
I had a trial shift there last night, and something happened that made me realise that it's just not the job for me. Bear in mind that it's a very nice restaurant, very formal.
I was opening a bottle of wine at a table and, somehow, I managed to cut my finger on the foil. It didn't hurt at all, though, so I didn't realise that it was bleeding profusely until the blood had smeared all over my hand, and then started to dry and go stiff. At that point, I looked down and saw that there my hand was covered in blood, and it was all over the corkscrew, and even on the cork, which was only halfway out. The lighting in the restaurant is very low, and the couple at the table were having an animated conversation and weren't paying me much attention, so I thought I could get away with it. I surreptitiously pressed the cut against my (dark brown) apron, and carried on. But it wouldn't stop bleeding; and when I finally got the cork out I looked down and saw that I had dripped blood onto the ice bucket, got it all over the white linen napkin I was holding and, classiest of all, flicked it onto the woman's side-plate. Bizarrely, they still hadn't noticed; and they were really nice when I pointed out that I'd bled on the crockery, removed it, and told them I'd be bringing a replacement.
So there was no complaint (as far as I know) but that kind of weird fuck-up is absolutely typical of me; and I know that it's not the kind of thing that usually goes down well in a place like that.
The other drawbacks associated with the job were:
So I decided to go with the less well-paid, but infinitely less soul-destroying job, on the grounds that:
I vacillate terribly. It doesn't matter if it's a really insignificant decision (should I have coffee or tea? which pub do I want to go to?) or a really major one (should I move to Tanzania? should I defer my university studies for a year?) - I can never just make up my mind.
But today, I was decisive. I had to choose between 2 waitressing jobs: one was well paid, the other less so. I am seriously in need of money because I'm over £16,000 in debt, so really, I should have grabbed the better-paid one with both hands.
I had a trial shift there last night, and something happened that made me realise that it's just not the job for me. Bear in mind that it's a very nice restaurant, very formal.
I was opening a bottle of wine at a table and, somehow, I managed to cut my finger on the foil. It didn't hurt at all, though, so I didn't realise that it was bleeding profusely until the blood had smeared all over my hand, and then started to dry and go stiff. At that point, I looked down and saw that there my hand was covered in blood, and it was all over the corkscrew, and even on the cork, which was only halfway out. The lighting in the restaurant is very low, and the couple at the table were having an animated conversation and weren't paying me much attention, so I thought I could get away with it. I surreptitiously pressed the cut against my (dark brown) apron, and carried on. But it wouldn't stop bleeding; and when I finally got the cork out I looked down and saw that I had dripped blood onto the ice bucket, got it all over the white linen napkin I was holding and, classiest of all, flicked it onto the woman's side-plate. Bizarrely, they still hadn't noticed; and they were really nice when I pointed out that I'd bled on the crockery, removed it, and told them I'd be bringing a replacement.
So there was no complaint (as far as I know) but that kind of weird fuck-up is absolutely typical of me; and I know that it's not the kind of thing that usually goes down well in a place like that.
The other drawbacks associated with the job were:
- It’s quite a long way from home;
- lots of split shifts;
- the manager is a cunt, and I hate feeling sick with fear before every shift;
- I'd be finishing after 2am most nights;
- the uniform sucks;
- it's a very expensive restaurant so people expect a certain level of service, so if I fucked up - which I absolutely would have done, regularly - it would have mattered.
So I decided to go with the less well-paid, but infinitely less soul-destroying job, on the grounds that:
- it’s much closer to home;
- no split shifts;
- latest finishing time is 6.30pm;
- the manager is a human being;
- it's a lot less formal, so the odd balls-up wouldn't mean instant dismissal.