Depressin' and Stressin'

Happy Not Halloween.

I worked, in costume, as the "Ghost of the restaurant where I work Past"--I wore my old work uniform that everyone hated.

No one got it that didn't work for the company a year ago.

Whatever.

Work is becoming more arduous as time passes. But that's any job, isn't it?

The in-fighting, the gossip, the not being able to trust anyone, the high school mentality. I hate it. Really. Being stabbed in the back just because you are there is not good.

On my day to be "in charge" (not that I get paid any more to do this, of course, like all the other 'in charge' people) I worked a double shift, and we got HOSED we were so busy during happy hour. My least favorite employee is supposed to be coming in to cover the shift of my favorite employee at 5 pm.

She didn't show until almost 6:30.

When she did, I had not opened the upstairs section of the restaurant nor had I been able to send the lunch crew home, because that would entail leaving one server alone in a bar FULL of people. Not acceptable.

Now, this person, who is my least favorite....She really, really is my least favorite. She is a bitch. Really. Like, this is not my humble opinion--she's a bitch. Two faced. Openly admits to talking shit behind people's backs, because she can. Refuses to adhere to any work ethic on days when I'm in charge--because it's me. (Granted, she has been there longer than I. But still. It's not like I'm marching around barking orders at people. If shit goes down, it's my ass. That's pretty much it.) I don't love it.

Anyway, she rolls in, and in front of the restaurant manager, pulls me aside and says, "I need to leave early. {policy states that the first one in the door is the first one out--Me.} I'm sick, I have class tomorrow, and I'm leaving at eight. I don't care if you work upstairs or down, but I am leaving."

To which I responded?

"Least Favorite? I have ten tables. I don't give a shit where you work--just get your ass in the game. There are six people upstairs waiting to be seated--either get up there and take care of them or take my ten tables. But do it now."

She then stands there for ten minutes, doing nothing.

Finally, she says to me, "Did you decide where you wanted to work?"

I nearly killed her.

"Just go upstairs!"

Things slow down rapidly after happy hour ends. I send the lunch crew home, after nearly weeping at them for how wonderful they are. I get the other server squared away and caught up, and then made an executive decision.

I walk upstairs, to least favorite.

She's sitting in the wait station, on the phone.

I start talking to her, even though she is obviously busy. Ha, ha.

"Hey, since you're so sick, go home."

"What?"

"If you are as sick as you say you are, and as exhausted with your other job--I appreciate you being willing to cover for Favorite, but Other Server and I have it under control. Just go. I will take your table."

"I don't want you to be mad at me! But, you know, you do owe me, after all."

Thank god I didn't have anything sharp near me.

"Just. Go. Home."

So she did. Twenty minutes later.

She was on the clock for less than thirty minutes. WHY EVEN SHOW THE FUCK UP????

Sigh.

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There are aspects of my life that I don't discuss on the blog. Hell, I don't really discuss them, period. But especially not on the blog. And these things are really, really bad right now. And so I am stressed and depressed.

Sorry for that little teaser.