and it’s kicking my ass. I am so exhausted I want to crawl in a hole somewhere.
Every night when I come home my dogs say, “Mom! What happened to you?!” My legs and shoes are covered with splashes of beer, wine, rib sauce, potato salad, Cole slaw, baked beans, sweet tea and various sodas. I look like I’ve been wading around in a Dumpster. Worse still, I smell like I’ve been wading around in a Dumpster.
I’m not even serving food to people, I’m slinging it like Jim Carrey in “The Grinch”:
Beef plate, pork plate, rib plate, Cole slaw, Cole slaw, beans, chicken plate. Yeah, that’s me. I’m making a bucket of money, but it’s quantity not quality service, and I’m not proud of that.
My cooks aren’t helping matters either. Occasionally people have their act together and ask for extras (ranch, sauce, sour cream) when they order instead of making me run back and forth from their table to the kitchen. I love these people. But when I write the extra item on the ticket and take the time to highlight it, it pisses me off to no end when the customer has to ask for it AGAIN when I deliver their food. It not only makes me look bad, but I have to run my tired, old, ample ass back to the kitchen to get what should have been on the plate in the first place. Yes, I should check my plates first, but I am used to working with Zach and Darren and I don’t have to check my plates. The fifth time I had to return to the food window for ranch, which was highlighted on the ticket I said, “Guys. Please read my tickets and make sure ALL of my highlighted items are on the plate BEFORE you call me.” Each cook (3 of them) had 3 excuses why they were half-assed doing their job. It was excuseapalooza. That’s fine, but I won’t ask nice a second time. Just so you know.
My co-servers are just as overwhelmed. Everyone has the general look of panic one gets when their hair is on fire. All of the servers who were hired in the winter, who coasted by doing as little as possible now know what I meant when I said, “Wait until summer…” Some of them are ready to find themselves replaced because no one has time to pick up their slack. Nobody is standing around in the waitstation anymore. Everyone power walks to their tables for 5 hours straight. This means I’m ravenous and dehydrated when I get home, so I gorge on food and water before I fall into bed. When I wake up in the morning I’m bloated and I slosh when I walk.
And it’s only the second week in June. It will get worse. I plan to be dead by July.