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Know how I keep mentioning how much I loathe my job? How it wears on me, the gossip, the in fighting, the drama? The seemingly bottomless immaturity?

I got a promotion.

No, excuse me, a "promotion". Air quotes, as it were. No increase in pay. No real benefit, at all, really. But I got a title. Sigh.

I got this title because no one wants to work banquets, because no one makes money on banquets anymore since the gratuity policy has been changed. Management is proposing a new banquet gratuity policy, wherein people with titles are required to be at both restaurants at all times to facilitate the implementation of the new policies.

Therefore, as the current title holder at the other restaurant wishes to have a life.....I come in. I am currently the holder of this title one day a week at the restaurant I normally work in, and now will be firmly clasping this title to my chest 3 out of the four days I work.

Fucking kill me.

I didn't really get asked if I wanted this title. The options were me or the girl that hasn't read a book since the third grade--Management went with me, thereby going against all patterns in their decision making history up to this point.

Pretty much what happened was I was told that I was going to do this so that everyone can make more money. Not me, however. I cannot get an increase in pay, even though the other holders of this title did. No, I will not be given the same responsibilities that they have--so I will continue to make minimum wage. (Plus tips.) I'm the relief pitcher. The lesser of 24 evils. The most competent incompetent in the house, as it were. Someone needs to do this, so that everyone else will be happy, so that the bitching will cease.

And under the bus I go.

Can you tell I'm not thrilled? I mean, a job is a job. But I hate the other restaurant. I don't want to waltz in there, and have the girls that have been there for so long resent the fact that I now hold this title and they don't. Whatever.

I'm in it for the benefits package. Shhh, don't tell. :)