i park my car outside your house//hoping someday you'll come home
So last night was weird. Somehow, this job has not been as stressful as Ultrazone, and I really think that the lack of screaming kids has a lot to do with it. While there is an element of time pressure (giving quotes to customers) at Sisley, it's just...not the same. It's hard to describe, and certainly doesn't exist at UZ anymore because of the new version, but when you're in the vesting room...you're trying to download the packs...you have about 3 minutes to do that and get the other game vested up and in the damn game...and you have forty 9 year olds screaming their team color...I dunno. That was stressful. Sisley, in comparison, is...boring.
Anyway: we had a crap load of reservations. And they were really large groups, for the most part. So anyone else that came in had to wait. I'm not allowed to give quotes of time (which I appreciate; that means only managers get screamed at). Well, due to a snafu with the floor plan (and I apologize to anyone who hasn't worked in a restaurant and does not get this lingo), we had servers picking up tables all over the fucking place and we (Rodrigo and I) had no earthly idea what was going on. So my managers (Rodrigo and Joanna) start getting into a fight. It's bad when I am the most professional and I've only been working there for like, thirty seconds. That was slightly awkward and I just wanted them to FIX THE FUCKING PROBLEM instead of argue with each other. To make matters even more spectacular, the female owner (husband and wife own it together), Fran, came in, and went to the host stand. She's notorious for freaking out at people, and thus far I've been lucky to avoid her ire. I went into CrazyPartyMomMode and dealt with it...I dunno. I got through it unscathed, but again, it was a spectacularly unpleasant time.
And my favorite part? The fact that I am apparently not wearing enough/the right kind of makeup. I DON'T KNOW HOW THEY WANT ME TO WEAR MY MAKEUP, and I have no idea how to apply the sort of makeup that they want. So I told my manager that if I come in today looking like a drag queen, it's gonna be her fault. Chuckles all around.
I need to get paid ASAP so I can buy comfty shoes and so I can buy something that isn't black. Ugh. Only two months of this and then I can go back to Rochester.
Anyway: we had a crap load of reservations. And they were really large groups, for the most part. So anyone else that came in had to wait. I'm not allowed to give quotes of time (which I appreciate; that means only managers get screamed at). Well, due to a snafu with the floor plan (and I apologize to anyone who hasn't worked in a restaurant and does not get this lingo), we had servers picking up tables all over the fucking place and we (Rodrigo and I) had no earthly idea what was going on. So my managers (Rodrigo and Joanna) start getting into a fight. It's bad when I am the most professional and I've only been working there for like, thirty seconds. That was slightly awkward and I just wanted them to FIX THE FUCKING PROBLEM instead of argue with each other. To make matters even more spectacular, the female owner (husband and wife own it together), Fran, came in, and went to the host stand. She's notorious for freaking out at people, and thus far I've been lucky to avoid her ire. I went into CrazyPartyMomMode and dealt with it...I dunno. I got through it unscathed, but again, it was a spectacularly unpleasant time.
And my favorite part? The fact that I am apparently not wearing enough/the right kind of makeup. I DON'T KNOW HOW THEY WANT ME TO WEAR MY MAKEUP, and I have no idea how to apply the sort of makeup that they want. So I told my manager that if I come in today looking like a drag queen, it's gonna be her fault. Chuckles all around.
I need to get paid ASAP so I can buy comfty shoes and so I can buy something that isn't black. Ugh. Only two months of this and then I can go back to Rochester.