I tried...I really did. I put in a respectable amount of effort, with a decent amount of optimism...and I really did try, truly. However, after working a total of thirteen hours as a floor server...I'm not surprised when I tell you, it wasn't my cup of tea. People kept telling me that I would have a new found respect for the girls who work this position...nope, sure didn't.
I'm incredibly sad for them, because I just can't justify it as a true job, you're simply the go-between, allowing people to become more lazy and glutenous, and after drinking seven Pepsi's and not tipping you for a single one (why would they, the soda's free), want you to watch their machine while they use the restroom, as if it's pretty much your fault they need to pee anyways...you're an enabler of everything that is wrong with the world...and these poor girls are doing this as a profession. I'd rather sell my body, at least I have pride in my body...I'd probably lose respect for myself, but I'll tell you what, I had zero respect for myself while donning the royal blue shirt (not my color by the way), walking through the same rows of people, offering them beverages for eight hours.
It's just not a job...scrubbing toliets, that's a job...garbage-picker-upper-guy, that's a job...there's a need, and you're providing the necessesities to fulfill that need...handing people a soda, which is offered to them at their despense less than four feet away from them...that's rediculious...it's poppy-cock. Get off your fat, lazy ass and get it yourself!!! Holy hell.
Yeah, I refuse to do it again...it's not okay that they put me there.
The last week or so has proven to be quite the testament to Drew's and my relationship. His working day shift put a wrench into our typical schedule of dinner at two a.m. and off to bed around four. I've been staying out later with friends, (mostly the girls from my bar who have also be out-casted since our bar closed), because I didn't feel like hittin the hay at eleven at night.
And to be completely honest, I was in a really miserable place, working as a beverage server really killed me on the inside...and he didn't understand. I didn't wanna go home because I didn't wanna complain...espesially to someone who thought I was just being overly cynical. I was trying to blow off steam, so it wouldn't be pent up inside when I got home...but instead, I drank myself to the brink of an emotional breakdown, and then I'd head home, and break down there. He was beside himself...not knowing how to take this behavior at all...trying to show support by offering perspective...which, when you're as broken as I was, isn't something you welcome.
Yeah, the last week's been hard...but luckily, I have some supervisors who offered me positions in the restaurant and in the non-smoking lounge. I'm so grateful. I just need these next few weeks to hurry by...and I really hope the night club is as good or exceeds all expectations, because the last few months have been ruining me. I don't want to be ruined.
Just some of the wonderful staff that I worked with in my bar.
