From time to time, I find myself going back and reviewing posts I’ve written in days and weeks past. I do so with a hesitant, vulnerable mentality… the way you reluctantly skim through your phone the next morning after a baaaad night of drinking… just hoping to God you don’t find that you’ve texted Dahlia nine times at 4am, asking if she wants to get back together, then saying you’re sorry for everything, then calling her a bitch, followed again by seeing if she wants to come over and ‘watch a movie,’ all capped off by somehow calling her a bitch again, confessing your love, and referencing last week’s episode of ‘It’s Always Sunny’ for some reason in one last drunken, incoherent, regrettable text. Reading my own posts in retrospect, I feel I should play Devil’s Advocate for a minute so I may answer myself and clear up what is most likely the standard response of any reader after reading a number of my arguably whiney posts.
More specifically, I’m referring to the inevitable response the average reader (those NOT in the service industry warfront) must have after getting through three or four of my grumblings; “If everyone sucks so badly and your job blows this hard, find a new one!” Absolutely the standard response I would have if I heard or read someone saying the same thing with the same tone over and over and over. There are few things I should be more specific about, on a personal level, in order to accurately refute that statement.
First and foremost, I’m persistent in referring to my job, and all others like it, as a warfront because the two share so many similarities. Like most other soldiers, I’m not here because I want to be, I’m here because I have to. Putting myself through college, there are few, if any, other job opportunities which can offer straight cash (and lots of it) on a nightly basis…aside from selling drugs or yourself on Nebraska Ave… and I’ve tried both. I learned very quickly that I’m not nearly as cute as I’d like to think AND if you smoke your entire product, you literally cannot make ANY money. I never took economics so I don’t really understand the specifics behind it either, but just trust me on this one.
Second, I’m really not as miserable as I come off. My ramblings are simply a therapeutic caricature of myself. Don’t get me wrong, I can’t count how many times I’ve had one of ‘those nights’, only to go to bed swearing I going to find a new job in the morning. Like most occupations, you no longer reserve the right to free speech as defined in the constitution. Yah, I* could* say everything that’s marinating in brain as nine more Cosmopolitans clog up my service printer because the Sex and the City movie is opening upstairs, but I’d be looking for a new job before the opening credits even rolled if I did. This place here, I can let out just enough to keep me from shot gunning the bottle of bleach under the dish sink the next time I hear “Yo CHIEF! Seven more Jager-bombs for me and my boys...and more Jager than bomb… hook it up, aiiiiiight?”
Lastly, I’ve got a percentage of douche-bagginess running through my veins, as I think we all do. Because of this, it is in my nature to crack on anyone who carries themselves in an embarrassing manner and usually have no idea they’re doing so. Peoples Exhibit A: my 10th grade high school year book photo, where I’m sporting frosted tips and a wicked clever “Eager Beaver Lounge" Abercrombie tee shirt
I bring all this up to explain the why I’m so miserable. I acknowledge that at the end of the day, I don’t have the right to pass judgment on anyone in the way I do. I get that. That’s not really what I’m attempting to do. Basically, night after night, shift after shift, drink after drink, I’ve taken in a lot…and unfortunately, a lot of the same thing over and over. Witnessing people when they’re at their most primitive, unsophisticated state does something to you on the long wrong. It literally is gut wrenching to persistently watch these shameless acts, deprived of any self-respect, in an attempt to get laid or impresses your boss, or whatever. It’s fatiguing to enable people to act in such a sad manner after a prolonged period. These embarrassing displays I see in people time and time again literally make me sad. No joke, it makes me feel bad for humanity in general, because if THIS is the general public, the people voting to help direct our country, it baffles me that we’ve lasted this long. I share my pessimistic views in the hopes that others out there can read it and identify….and if they can and understand everything I’m writing about, at least then I know I’m not alone on this crazy train.
I just had to comment on the "more Jager than bomb" because I get that shit all the time. I simply ask if they want a double instead. If they say yes, that's money. I get many repeat offenders that say it every time they order a drink regardless of whether or not I hooked it up the last time. I just hate the people who want their drinks to taste like straight alcohol when they order a mixer. If you want straight alcohol...order straight alcohol. Overall server jobs are stressful and being pessimistic is inevitable. There are only so many years one can deal with drunks and love my job.
ReplyDeleteI feel your frustration. It's a completely different animal, but I've been delivering pizzas for 4 years now and I can relate to the stress of dealing with d-bags on a nightly basis.
ReplyDeleteMy typical night consisted of starting off slow as shit, we wouldn't pull consistent orders until close to 6 or 6:30 and I was asked to come in at either 4 or 5 every night. I was the closer, so I took advantage of being the nice guy and wouldn't show up until about 15 or 20 minutes after my shift started. My managers loved me for saving them the payroll, but the GM was a total hardass even though the three orders on screen were pickups! Come on, let's not waste your time and mine, now.
Then when we finally got hot, our cooks would flip out and suck on me. They would constantly forget the toppings or appetizers, and try as I might, I could never get through to them by being a nice guy about it. I finally had to start yelling to get my orders in the oven correctly because I was tired of hearing shit from the customers about how it was my fault that their food was late. It happens when you're the only person that they see.
Finally, closing time comes around and sure as shit, if we close at 11PM... those damn phones are ringing at 10:50 with 4 orders and all of them want it delivered. Now, a super late order is a guaranteed bust. I was lucky to make $7.50 out of those 4-5 postclosing orders and nearly all of that was a wash because of gas.
Hang in there, because we're all almost finished and then we can spend that last day at work telling everyone how we really feel.