I'm hating my job enough again to return to the blogosphere

It's been a bit of a hiatus... ok a MASSIVE hiatus.

I began to feel like I was simply writing the obvious. And to be honest, after a while... I felt like I was repeating myself.

But after a horrible shift two nights ago, I realise I desperately need this blog to GET IT OUT of my system.

I have been working in the bar by myself a bit lately which is a pretty sweet gig seeing as I don't have to deal with the angry kitchen staff, being triple sat by hosts and taking obnoxious orders. And its generally quiet so I can just mosey around wiping stuff and pouring beers.

We have these regular guys who come in every week or so, they watch American football on the tv and they eat their meals at the bar, they get to know my name and chat to me as I work and they tip pretty well. They usually order shiteloads of alcohol and come in late which is a bit of a drag... but whatever, they are cute and nice and I don't mind.

Anyway, after their most recent visit I completely forgot to charge them for a SEVERE amount of alcohol I had served to them. Something like 5 margharitas... which is about ten shots of alcohol... and about $50 I lost for the restaurant. It was a stupid mistake, a really stupid one... but I completely forgot to do it seeing as they ordered right as I got hit by a bunch of other orders from servers and ran out of tequila AND had to get everything out of the fridge I had packed away.

This was after I had spent about two hours on my hands and knees bleaching the walls of the bar (clearly something that hadn't occured for a while seeing as there was about a two centimetre thick layer of mould and god knows what else that had accumulated on these walls.) They were extremely hard to reach, Im pretty sure I bleached my entire uniform in the process and did permanent damage to my eyes. And scrubbing the wall behind the sink was possibly one of the most disgusting jobs I have ever done, second only to scrubbing out the wheely bins at the coffee shop where I used to work.

I was very happy to clock off and get out of there until my boss... the owner of the whole place noticed that there were no margharitas on the bill.

I have always been in the good books at work and when people complain about my boss being satan's spawn, I never really have had a reason to agree.

Now I do. I'm quite sure as she spat the words-
"Thats unacceptable... that really is... don't let it happen again or you WONT be on bar."
Steam actually came out of her ears. Her lips were so thin they were non-existent. I think I may have even seen horns protruding from her head... I'm not sure, it all happened very fast.

It was a mistake, I am an idiot... I am aware of this but jeez I have been there for fourteen months and its the first time I have ever costed that place money. Its the first time I have made a mistake that required her to morph into her soulless alter-ego, and considering how many freaking shifts I take for her, how many holidays and oppurtunities to see my family I have sacrified for her and how rarely I screw up (and this is a casual job remember, I am at university and do not want to pursue a career in hospitality) I felt like the possibility of cutting me a bit of slack may have been in order.

I left the place a crumbled shadow of my former self, recalling the primary school days when teachers would reprimand me publicly and I would feel myself going bright red, my throat tightening up and tears start welling in the corner of my eyes. The following night at work she was back to normal, being nicer than usual even, but its too late.. the damage is done. I am now petrified of her and if she blows up at me like that again, I may just quit... which isn't wise seeing as I am a poor student... but I can't handle being spoken to like that... if it was a regular thing I think it would honestly break me.

It seems to have blown over but I have nonetheless learnt a valuable lesson:

The restaurant industry turns people into demons. They come into the place with passion, energy and vision and slowly, over time, they become twisted and bitter and short-fused. They think mistakes that revolved around steaks and salads are catastrophic and that the perpetrators of these errors have committed some crime against humanity and deserve to be spoken to like their existence is a waste of time.
Maybe it's because I'm an idealist... maybe it's because I study the stuff, but I just think such vicious anger, laced with personal attacks and passive agression (in my boss's case) should be reserved for slightly more serious issues, like second degree murder, genocide, credit card fraud... whatever. Just not in the kitchen.

J