You'll pardon my absence, but I've been overworked, so if I seem particularly pissy today, blame the double shifts, the shitty tips, the lack of respect from management, the ones who says they'll call and never do, the ones who shouldn't call and always do, and the fact that I've given up coffee.
Oh, and blame Angela and Jessica, who were responsible for the suspension I just received from work.
Yesterday, in the throngs of a busy lunch shift - a lunch shift that was busy because the managers agreed to give their pet server the day off for his BIG AUDITION, even though I was denied a half day off to have my teeth cleaned but WHATEVER - I had 12 tables at once. That's roughly 50 people, all in a hurry, all bellowing for my attention, all presenting their ridiculous requests as more important than the ridiculous requests of their neighbors.
Angela and Jessica waltzed in, and the MENSA member of a hostess - who was seating the place as unevenly as the bumbled boob job she bought herself through a Groupon - gave me my 12th table while my co-worker stood polishing condiments in her empty section.
"We're ready to order," Angela said as she snapped her fingers when I passed by in a frenzy.
"IN A MINUTE," I yelled.
"Am I the only person here with sight?" I asked our moronic manager, Pee Wee.
"Yeah," he said dryly.
"Because you might want to explain to your hostess that, in an elaborate scheme to balance out the work of the restaurant, we actually recommend seating both sections instead of stacking one server's section first."
"You're cute when you're angry," he said while chewing his BIC pen lid down to a plastic turd.
I huffed and puffed and returned to my tables, caught them up, made it clear to Angela and Jessica that I was ignoring them, grabbed a drink out of the bartender's hand, gulped it, and greeted the newest horrors in my house of freaks.
"Yes?" I said to greet the gals.
"Did you not hear me when I said I was ready to order?" Angela asked with some serious 'tude.
"I did," I replied. "Just as I heard all of those other people who've been here longer tell me that they need more water, more chips, and more salsa, as I'm currently the server to everyone in the restaurant."
"Uhmmmm, Joss-ica?" Angela said, revealing the cacaphony of her valley girl accent. "I think someone's not getting a tip."
Joss-ica rolled her eyes and chimed in, "Can we seriously just, like, hurry this up? We have massage appointments."
Who the fuck eats Mexican food right before a massage appointment?
"Who eats Mexican food right before a massage appointment?" I decided to ask.
"We're not EATING, we're DRINKING," Joss-ica snapped.
"Then I suggest heading to THE BAR where the BARTENDER has little better to do than practice his two-line audition for Pretty Little Liars!"
"We'll sit wherever we want, THANK YOU!" Angela countered.
"Fine, but don't be upset if I can't get to you right away, as you're my 12th table in a row!!!!" I replied. "Now what do you want to drink?"
"A manager," Angela said with sassy, orbital move of her head.
"Not a very strong choice, but I'll be right back with that!"
I let Pee Wee deal with Angela and Jessica. After all, he'd fielded complaints about me before, always followed by an indifferent lecture and some mildly bi-curious come-ons.
But not this time. No, in an effort to really show those two sluts his manhood, he decided to inform me, in front of them, that I was suspended.
So yours truly now has a week off to have my teeth cleaned, fix those things around the house that needed fixing, see some matinees...
And who knows? Maybe I'll return to work a happier, more well-adjusted employee?
Or maybe this suspension will really propel me into a place of extreme sardonic vengeance...