back hurt owwie
Apr. 23rd, 2006 08:45 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dragonlady7Nugh, my back is killing me this morning. Sort of stiff and achy, so it's not like I injured it, but ow.
On Wednesday there was a new hire in training. By Wednesday night, he had quit. He was supposed to close one of the bars tonight, but of course, wasn't here. So they pulled me out of waiting tables at the big bar and sent me up to the little bar way down at the end of the airport, and said, "Don't worry, we know you're only on the schedule until seven; there's only one flight after that so I don't think anyone will mind if you close and leave at seven."
OK, I said, and prepared for a long, bored afternoon of not doing much. I had just ordered myself something to eat and gotten a cup of coffee ready, just the way I like it, when suddenly there were a lot of people buying drinks.
I waited on them, and then more, and then more people, and then the first ones wanted drinks again, and then the next ones, and then the next ones, and then...
...
At six-thirty it wasn't letting up. I was out of ones, dimes, pennies, and tens. I was making change out of my tip jar and giving people handfuls of nickels ("I'm sorry, sir, I'm out of dimes. Three forty-five is your change," *dump*). People down at this little bar are often boors: one picked up his three cents in change from his eleven-dollar drink order and then asked me to fiddle with the TV. I smoothly answered that it was fixed on its station, and moved on to wait on some actual useful customers.
Many of the customers, seeing how busy I was, asked me how much money I made. It was very odd.
Anyhow. A supervisor came up and I said, "It is nearly seven and I have to leave." "Please please please can you stay?"
"No. I have to be back here for a very long day tomorrow, and I had dinner plans tonight."
He bustled around, ignoring my request to help me get some dimes, and came back with a deal: "We'll let you come in late tomorrow if you stay now."
That's retarded. The only money I make on Sundays I make in the first two hours. I'm really not interested. But if that's all they're offering me, I guess I'll take it.
By 8:15 the bar down the hall had closed, so they sent that bartender down to relieve me, as he had only come in at three. He showed up cheerfully enough. We were just waiting for one Southwest flight that had been delayed in Chicago with a mechanical problem to come and land at gate 18 so that it could be refilled to go to Tampa, and the airline had assured us it wouldn't cancel the flight because that plane had to leave Tampa at 6 am and if it wasn't there they were screwed.
I left, and went to count my bank. I had $940 in twenty dollar bills alone. I deposited $999.98 in cash. My deposit was off by twenty cents or so. It should have been $1,000.16.
It was busy. I'm tired. I don't want to go in at all. I want to work on my garden today, with Z. But the soil is damp, and my back hurts a lot, and I don't know if working will help or hurt it.
Z came to pick me up (he'd had the car for the day) and as we reached the intersection just beyond the end of the airport's runway, a Southwest flight came in very low and very fast, right over our heads and so close that we could make out all the stripes on the tailfin. "That's the Chicago flight," I said, "and I bet they'll have it turned around in half an hour." Southwest is fast. (Well? It's not like they're feeding you.)
Also I decided that if letting me come in late was the best they could to for me if I was doing them a non-mandatory favor (and staying past 8 hours is not mandatory), then I'm going to have to scale back the favors I do them. For the second time in three weeks they've scheduled me to cover the Club on Friday so that the very junior employee who usually works in there can have the day off, and I've decided I won't be doing that, so I left a note for the scheduling manager telling her I had plans for that day.
Well?
I do now.
The little girl who works in there can have any Friday she wants off? And I don't even dare ask? Naw, forget it.
On Wednesday there was a new hire in training. By Wednesday night, he had quit. He was supposed to close one of the bars tonight, but of course, wasn't here. So they pulled me out of waiting tables at the big bar and sent me up to the little bar way down at the end of the airport, and said, "Don't worry, we know you're only on the schedule until seven; there's only one flight after that so I don't think anyone will mind if you close and leave at seven."
OK, I said, and prepared for a long, bored afternoon of not doing much. I had just ordered myself something to eat and gotten a cup of coffee ready, just the way I like it, when suddenly there were a lot of people buying drinks.
I waited on them, and then more, and then more people, and then the first ones wanted drinks again, and then the next ones, and then the next ones, and then...
...
At six-thirty it wasn't letting up. I was out of ones, dimes, pennies, and tens. I was making change out of my tip jar and giving people handfuls of nickels ("I'm sorry, sir, I'm out of dimes. Three forty-five is your change," *dump*). People down at this little bar are often boors: one picked up his three cents in change from his eleven-dollar drink order and then asked me to fiddle with the TV. I smoothly answered that it was fixed on its station, and moved on to wait on some actual useful customers.
Many of the customers, seeing how busy I was, asked me how much money I made. It was very odd.
Anyhow. A supervisor came up and I said, "It is nearly seven and I have to leave." "Please please please can you stay?"
"No. I have to be back here for a very long day tomorrow, and I had dinner plans tonight."
He bustled around, ignoring my request to help me get some dimes, and came back with a deal: "We'll let you come in late tomorrow if you stay now."
That's retarded. The only money I make on Sundays I make in the first two hours. I'm really not interested. But if that's all they're offering me, I guess I'll take it.
By 8:15 the bar down the hall had closed, so they sent that bartender down to relieve me, as he had only come in at three. He showed up cheerfully enough. We were just waiting for one Southwest flight that had been delayed in Chicago with a mechanical problem to come and land at gate 18 so that it could be refilled to go to Tampa, and the airline had assured us it wouldn't cancel the flight because that plane had to leave Tampa at 6 am and if it wasn't there they were screwed.
I left, and went to count my bank. I had $940 in twenty dollar bills alone. I deposited $999.98 in cash. My deposit was off by twenty cents or so. It should have been $1,000.16.
It was busy. I'm tired. I don't want to go in at all. I want to work on my garden today, with Z. But the soil is damp, and my back hurts a lot, and I don't know if working will help or hurt it.
Z came to pick me up (he'd had the car for the day) and as we reached the intersection just beyond the end of the airport's runway, a Southwest flight came in very low and very fast, right over our heads and so close that we could make out all the stripes on the tailfin. "That's the Chicago flight," I said, "and I bet they'll have it turned around in half an hour." Southwest is fast. (Well? It's not like they're feeding you.)
Also I decided that if letting me come in late was the best they could to for me if I was doing them a non-mandatory favor (and staying past 8 hours is not mandatory), then I'm going to have to scale back the favors I do them. For the second time in three weeks they've scheduled me to cover the Club on Friday so that the very junior employee who usually works in there can have the day off, and I've decided I won't be doing that, so I left a note for the scheduling manager telling her I had plans for that day.
Well?
I do now.
The little girl who works in there can have any Friday she wants off? And I don't even dare ask? Naw, forget it.
