i heart boobs
Dec. 22nd, 2004 08:55 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dragonlady7yesterday was loooooong.
The airport was mobbed. Tons of people. I think a lot of people took Tuesday to travel and figured on being home by Wednesday. I imagine it'll be a madhouse there today-- even more people taking Wednesday to travel.
Suffice to say, I didn't sit around much, and I actually made a fair bit of money. I actually almost broke $100 in a single shift, which is Not Bad.
I got out of the bar early, but it took me forever in the cash office. Bleah. If only they had ever trained me, so I wasn't figuring it out anew every time I go in there, then perhaps I could get it done in a reasonable fashion. But no. I was in there forever trying to figure out how to make my drawer come out even.
It *is* kind of neat to see how much you did in sales. I don't know how to figure in credit cards unless I do it by hand, but I know I had $300 extra in cash in that drawer. It would be interesting to see what percentage of your take you make in tips. I may have to start trying to pay attention to that.
The Local Bar was dead, dead, dead quiet. Which pleased me immensely, all considerations of money aside. I was exhausted, wearing the wrong uniform (I got there three minutes late direct from the other job), and totally brainfried. Somebody ordered a salad, and I forgot to include it with their takeout order. (Yes, Buffalonians-- Local Bar does takeout. i highly recommend their chicken caesar salads. Their subs and sandwiches are awesome as well. In fact, all their food is good. And I say this after watching the cooks at work-- honestly, they're very professional and sanitary even if the waitresses do eat most of the soup every night. (Oh, the soup [officially free for staff while working] is always, always, always good.) Mmmm. Provided you don't order from me, they're usually pretty good about not screwing up your order.)
Unfortunately, a big rush of people came in after 10, which was a pain-- we were closing the kitchen and starting to clean up. They came in and drank beer after beer and talked about high school sports-- they were all somehow involved in it, either coaches or refs or parents. They stayed until midnight. The waitress on shift with me actually vacuumed the restaurant section while they were still there, after waiting an hour to be polite. It was just... They just stayed, and stayed. I understand. You go to a bar and want to have a couple beers. But it was midnight, and we were exhausted. (Susan-the-waitress works two jobs adding up to over 50 hours a week, and has two diabetic children, and her husband is out of town, and... you know. Wasn't real sympathetic to me complaining about having worked all morning because she had too.) Finally they left--- leaving $3 in tips. Gosh, fellas...
But, all told, if you average out all the tips over the 15 hours I worked, I made almost $10 an hour. Add in what I was actually paid by the place I was working, and I'm making the same salary I did at the Stupid Software Company downstate. If only I could get 40 hours a week, I'd be all set.
At Airport Bar, a manager who had been on vacation since I was hired came in to greet me. All the managers there have this oddly cheerful air that gives them a somewhat ferocious aspect, and it's quite intimidating. They are So Helpful, and I always feel like they hate me for letting them help me. I don't know, it's all quite funny.
So this new manager came in and showed me detailed methods of fixing the TV, which I absorbed none of because I have a firm resolution in place; I turn the TVs on when I open, and if a customer wants the channel changed I poke at it for a while and give up. That's how I operate.
Anyhow. This fella then asked me if I had any questions.
Any Questions?
My mind raced. I had a ton of questions. What were they?
I remembered the one about the union, so I asked that-- I thought I had to join but nobody's said anything and I don't know if I'm supposed to do something. He explained that you have to work 60 days first-- but I cannot remember whether it was 60 days from date of hire, or 60 days in which you actually report to work. If the latter, that's ridiculous. But if the former, sure that makes sense. But once you've worked 60 days the paperwork comes through.
So, then I can get health insurance and crap. We'll see.
I didn't have the balls at that particular moment (seeing as I had four customers and had to tell him I was going to go wait on them instead of talking to him) to bring up the pay rates. I did ask whether we were paid weekly or biweekly. Weekly, he said, which means I've a check sitting in the cash office and have to figure out how to get to it. Ditto for Local Bar. I was in the cash office at Local Bar and didn't see it; last week it was up by the register. I dunno!
I'm getting to the point of this post, which the subject is based on. The above has nothing to do with boobs.
I got home well after midnight and couldn't stand because it hurt, couldn't sit because it hurt, couldn't lie down because it hurt. Dave excitedly informed me that My Gift From Him had arrived, and it was an awesome gift based on things I'd mentioned wanting, not anything I'd told him to get me. And he said I could open it early, since I've been such a good girl and have had so much trouble getting into the holiday spirit.
I was so tired I could barely form coherent sentences, but i opened it then rather than being in suspense.
Dave got me a corset. From an online shop specializing in the old-fashioned and full-figured. It's actually a 40s-era-style girdle-type corset. And he got me real nylons to go with it. I mean actual made-from-nylon nylons. With a seam up the back. Just like I'd said I always kinda wanted.
I was moderately enthused at the time, which was as much as I could manage, but I'm very excited now. This is something I can actually wear, unlike the RenFest corset I have that I look awesome in but that I also look like a total fool in. A really hot fool, but a farby renfairer. This is something I can wear that I will look Hot And Old-Fashioned in. So I'm psyched about that.
Dave also picked up the suit his mother had tailored for him-- the Only Suit in All of Buffalo, and even then they had to rebuild the pants entirely. The waist, by the way, perfectly measured for him, is:
Twenty-eight and a half inches.
I remind you that this man is six feet three.
So anyway. Later today we're going to have a fashion show. I'll wear the corset for him, he'll wear the suit for me, and hopefully neither of us will wear either for terribly long. My boy is so cute when he dresses up. He cleans up pretty.
Oh, I'll try to remember to take photos. :)
The airport was mobbed. Tons of people. I think a lot of people took Tuesday to travel and figured on being home by Wednesday. I imagine it'll be a madhouse there today-- even more people taking Wednesday to travel.
Suffice to say, I didn't sit around much, and I actually made a fair bit of money. I actually almost broke $100 in a single shift, which is Not Bad.
I got out of the bar early, but it took me forever in the cash office. Bleah. If only they had ever trained me, so I wasn't figuring it out anew every time I go in there, then perhaps I could get it done in a reasonable fashion. But no. I was in there forever trying to figure out how to make my drawer come out even.
It *is* kind of neat to see how much you did in sales. I don't know how to figure in credit cards unless I do it by hand, but I know I had $300 extra in cash in that drawer. It would be interesting to see what percentage of your take you make in tips. I may have to start trying to pay attention to that.
The Local Bar was dead, dead, dead quiet. Which pleased me immensely, all considerations of money aside. I was exhausted, wearing the wrong uniform (I got there three minutes late direct from the other job), and totally brainfried. Somebody ordered a salad, and I forgot to include it with their takeout order. (Yes, Buffalonians-- Local Bar does takeout. i highly recommend their chicken caesar salads. Their subs and sandwiches are awesome as well. In fact, all their food is good. And I say this after watching the cooks at work-- honestly, they're very professional and sanitary even if the waitresses do eat most of the soup every night. (Oh, the soup [officially free for staff while working] is always, always, always good.) Mmmm. Provided you don't order from me, they're usually pretty good about not screwing up your order.)
Unfortunately, a big rush of people came in after 10, which was a pain-- we were closing the kitchen and starting to clean up. They came in and drank beer after beer and talked about high school sports-- they were all somehow involved in it, either coaches or refs or parents. They stayed until midnight. The waitress on shift with me actually vacuumed the restaurant section while they were still there, after waiting an hour to be polite. It was just... They just stayed, and stayed. I understand. You go to a bar and want to have a couple beers. But it was midnight, and we were exhausted. (Susan-the-waitress works two jobs adding up to over 50 hours a week, and has two diabetic children, and her husband is out of town, and... you know. Wasn't real sympathetic to me complaining about having worked all morning because she had too.) Finally they left--- leaving $3 in tips. Gosh, fellas...
But, all told, if you average out all the tips over the 15 hours I worked, I made almost $10 an hour. Add in what I was actually paid by the place I was working, and I'm making the same salary I did at the Stupid Software Company downstate. If only I could get 40 hours a week, I'd be all set.
At Airport Bar, a manager who had been on vacation since I was hired came in to greet me. All the managers there have this oddly cheerful air that gives them a somewhat ferocious aspect, and it's quite intimidating. They are So Helpful, and I always feel like they hate me for letting them help me. I don't know, it's all quite funny.
So this new manager came in and showed me detailed methods of fixing the TV, which I absorbed none of because I have a firm resolution in place; I turn the TVs on when I open, and if a customer wants the channel changed I poke at it for a while and give up. That's how I operate.
Anyhow. This fella then asked me if I had any questions.
Any Questions?
My mind raced. I had a ton of questions. What were they?
I remembered the one about the union, so I asked that-- I thought I had to join but nobody's said anything and I don't know if I'm supposed to do something. He explained that you have to work 60 days first-- but I cannot remember whether it was 60 days from date of hire, or 60 days in which you actually report to work. If the latter, that's ridiculous. But if the former, sure that makes sense. But once you've worked 60 days the paperwork comes through.
So, then I can get health insurance and crap. We'll see.
I didn't have the balls at that particular moment (seeing as I had four customers and had to tell him I was going to go wait on them instead of talking to him) to bring up the pay rates. I did ask whether we were paid weekly or biweekly. Weekly, he said, which means I've a check sitting in the cash office and have to figure out how to get to it. Ditto for Local Bar. I was in the cash office at Local Bar and didn't see it; last week it was up by the register. I dunno!
I'm getting to the point of this post, which the subject is based on. The above has nothing to do with boobs.
I got home well after midnight and couldn't stand because it hurt, couldn't sit because it hurt, couldn't lie down because it hurt. Dave excitedly informed me that My Gift From Him had arrived, and it was an awesome gift based on things I'd mentioned wanting, not anything I'd told him to get me. And he said I could open it early, since I've been such a good girl and have had so much trouble getting into the holiday spirit.
I was so tired I could barely form coherent sentences, but i opened it then rather than being in suspense.
Dave got me a corset. From an online shop specializing in the old-fashioned and full-figured. It's actually a 40s-era-style girdle-type corset. And he got me real nylons to go with it. I mean actual made-from-nylon nylons. With a seam up the back. Just like I'd said I always kinda wanted.
I was moderately enthused at the time, which was as much as I could manage, but I'm very excited now. This is something I can actually wear, unlike the RenFest corset I have that I look awesome in but that I also look like a total fool in. A really hot fool, but a farby renfairer. This is something I can wear that I will look Hot And Old-Fashioned in. So I'm psyched about that.
Dave also picked up the suit his mother had tailored for him-- the Only Suit in All of Buffalo, and even then they had to rebuild the pants entirely. The waist, by the way, perfectly measured for him, is:
Twenty-eight and a half inches.
I remind you that this man is six feet three.
So anyway. Later today we're going to have a fashion show. I'll wear the corset for him, he'll wear the suit for me, and hopefully neither of us will wear either for terribly long. My boy is so cute when he dresses up. He cleans up pretty.
Oh, I'll try to remember to take photos. :)
