Heh, heh, heh.

So, things have gone both down and uphill since the last post. I just got home from my New Year's Eve shift. I will be back within 12 hours, to pull a 12-14 hour day. (Ask me how enthused I am. Go on. Ask.) However, tips tonight were the best I've had, even WITH the check that the management voided because the kitchen lost an entire table's food. (Grr.) This means that, for the first time, I made, after taxes, ALMOST MINIMUM WAAAAGE!!! YAAAAAAAAAAAAY!!!!

All bitter sarcasm aside, I'm actually very excited about this. Very.

My schedule sucks...as does that of every other competent being in the restaurant. This is leading to: the kitchen fucking things up beyond comprehension, the bussers doing nothing, and servers quitting in hysterics. Yes. Hysterics. And yes, servers, plural. It's only Thursday, and we've had two extremely dramatic quittings, and two nervous breakdowns with tears. (I was the first breakdown.) The management has done...ah, wait, nothing. (Well. Actually, the management has made things worse, and actually caused the second waitress's breakdown, and did so in such a flagrantly unprofessional way that the customer who witnessed this attempted to intervene and said he's calling HQ to report employee abuse...[I love my bosses.])

It's kind of entertaining, actually. Every day, something is either lit on fire (trash cans, linens, and, on one memorable occasion, someone's apron), we run out of something kind of critical (soup, salad, breadsticks [twice], lemons, and lasagna for this week, though not all on one day), someone has a meltdown, or someone quits. And that doesn't even take into account the insane guests. (He may have been joking, but a bartender swears a customer was trying to take a swing at a waiter.)

It's a catastrophe, but I keep waiting to see what will go flagrantly wrong next. It's like working in a minefield -- the next explosion is inevitable. Except, unlike in a minefield, these explosions are morbidly amusing.