frantic garbled noise
Jul. 18th, 2005 12:02 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dragonlady7Yah!
Am attempting to unwind. Must be at work in ten hours. Again. Have just finished eating a whole load of shrimp and some awesome salad, which I missed out on eating at Dave's mom's house because I was at work until...
ELEVEN THIRTY.
Gods.
The bar was supposed to close at around 7. HAH.
Someday, for a lark, if ever you should think of me at work and wonder what I'm doing, check out this page here: Realtime Flight Data: Departures and just see how many of them say DELAYED. Delayed arrivals don't mean much to me, as that means they're sitting somewhere else. But delayed departures: that means they've come and checked in and are sitting in the goddamned airport with nothing to do. It's enough to make even non-drinkers drink. I spoke to passengers on flights bound for Charlotte, Baltimore, New York, Philadelphia, and Washington-- and those were just the ones i had time to speak to.
So yeah, it was busy.
Also, my comrade-in-being-behind-the-bar was a very new employee who just really if you ask me isn't cut out to be a waiter. He just... You know, I like him, but food would arrive, with order slips bearing his name, and he... wouldn't know who had ordered it.
The job consists of selling people food. Not knowing who to give the food to: means the job can't be completed. So, that was kind of a problem.
Also, we were super busy. And super busy, by which I mean, record numbers of bodies coming through the door. I usually, in a reasonably busy shift, process about $600 worth of orders, cash and credit: today my total was over $1300.
And it was kind of nice, actually. I was rushed off my feet and yet I didn't forget a single order or give anyone the wrong thing or lose track of anybody. A couple people had to wait a little while for their drinks, but they did get them, and got them correctly. And I made over 15% of my total sales in tips. Which means people didn't mind the waiting. You know, I am damn good at my job.
And the fact that management are mostly idiots isn't so bad, as long as they leave me alone enough to do my damn job. So there.
My back still hurts, though. The headache was eased by my taking one or two of everything in my medicine cabinet, and the backache eased in the furor of craziness all around me, but the backache's back. Eh well. I'm sleepy now, a little wound down, so I'll chill out and fall asleep soon.
And I came home and Z had sort of waited up for me, in that he was sound asleep on the couch, so soundly that when I entered the sunporch he jerked awake and twisted around with an alarmed grunt to see who had come in, and blinked at me a moment, visibly disoriented and his hair all dishevelled and face pink.
He also stayed awake, more or less, until I'd finished eating dinner, whereupon he promptly retired. What a cutie.
I also note he'd done most of the dishes. Sweet boy; I'll pack him a lunch tomorrow because he's so good. I already stuck a water bottle in the freezer for him, for him to suck on to keep cool. (It didn't work on Friday; by lunch the frozen-solid thing had defrosted and actually gone warm. One of these days, though, I'll come up with something. Say, does anyone have any good recommendations for a lunchbox that might actually keep Z's lunch reasonably cool in an 80-degree room for the four hours until he eats lunch? The tin Superman one isn't really doing the trick.)
I amused some patrons by informing them that my poor waitress skills weren't shitty service, they were performance art. Actually I wasn't being a bad waitress at all, but I thought it might deflect some criticism from my poor coworker, who wasn't doing very well.
Performance art. I was far more amused by the thought than my audience seemed to be. They sort of thought I was crazy, I think, but then, that's usually the case with people I talk to in real life.
Am attempting to unwind. Must be at work in ten hours. Again. Have just finished eating a whole load of shrimp and some awesome salad, which I missed out on eating at Dave's mom's house because I was at work until...
ELEVEN THIRTY.
Gods.
The bar was supposed to close at around 7. HAH.
Someday, for a lark, if ever you should think of me at work and wonder what I'm doing, check out this page here: Realtime Flight Data: Departures and just see how many of them say DELAYED. Delayed arrivals don't mean much to me, as that means they're sitting somewhere else. But delayed departures: that means they've come and checked in and are sitting in the goddamned airport with nothing to do. It's enough to make even non-drinkers drink. I spoke to passengers on flights bound for Charlotte, Baltimore, New York, Philadelphia, and Washington-- and those were just the ones i had time to speak to.
So yeah, it was busy.
Also, my comrade-in-being-behind-the-bar was a very new employee who just really if you ask me isn't cut out to be a waiter. He just... You know, I like him, but food would arrive, with order slips bearing his name, and he... wouldn't know who had ordered it.
The job consists of selling people food. Not knowing who to give the food to: means the job can't be completed. So, that was kind of a problem.
Also, we were super busy. And super busy, by which I mean, record numbers of bodies coming through the door. I usually, in a reasonably busy shift, process about $600 worth of orders, cash and credit: today my total was over $1300.
And it was kind of nice, actually. I was rushed off my feet and yet I didn't forget a single order or give anyone the wrong thing or lose track of anybody. A couple people had to wait a little while for their drinks, but they did get them, and got them correctly. And I made over 15% of my total sales in tips. Which means people didn't mind the waiting. You know, I am damn good at my job.
And the fact that management are mostly idiots isn't so bad, as long as they leave me alone enough to do my damn job. So there.
My back still hurts, though. The headache was eased by my taking one or two of everything in my medicine cabinet, and the backache eased in the furor of craziness all around me, but the backache's back. Eh well. I'm sleepy now, a little wound down, so I'll chill out and fall asleep soon.
And I came home and Z had sort of waited up for me, in that he was sound asleep on the couch, so soundly that when I entered the sunporch he jerked awake and twisted around with an alarmed grunt to see who had come in, and blinked at me a moment, visibly disoriented and his hair all dishevelled and face pink.
He also stayed awake, more or less, until I'd finished eating dinner, whereupon he promptly retired. What a cutie.
I also note he'd done most of the dishes. Sweet boy; I'll pack him a lunch tomorrow because he's so good. I already stuck a water bottle in the freezer for him, for him to suck on to keep cool. (It didn't work on Friday; by lunch the frozen-solid thing had defrosted and actually gone warm. One of these days, though, I'll come up with something. Say, does anyone have any good recommendations for a lunchbox that might actually keep Z's lunch reasonably cool in an 80-degree room for the four hours until he eats lunch? The tin Superman one isn't really doing the trick.)
I amused some patrons by informing them that my poor waitress skills weren't shitty service, they were performance art. Actually I wasn't being a bad waitress at all, but I thought it might deflect some criticism from my poor coworker, who wasn't doing very well.
Performance art. I was far more amused by the thought than my audience seemed to be. They sort of thought I was crazy, I think, but then, that's usually the case with people I talk to in real life.
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suggestions for lunch boxes
Date: 2005-07-18 01:30 pm (UTC)2. get a mini-cooler
3. get a small freezer-ice thingie (you know, they're usually blue and you freeze them over and over again in the frezer every night). That worked for me for, like, 10 years of public school lockers.
4. send him with two frozen waters--one in the tin, to act as a freezing agent, and one not in the tin, for him to drink.
5. rebuild the room so that the AC exhaust goes through a pipe out into the open air. and point out those warnings on the AC, which say it should always go directly to the outside, not another room. :)