The Show Is Over, Close The Storybook. There Will Be No Encore..
I’ve got to start looking harder, and with complete determination, for a new job. I’ve had it. I can’t take that place anymore. Everyone wants to quit (even my boss, Angelina), everyone is pissed off, and we all want to do it together as a team (go figure). Marshall, the owner, has contracted a bunch of foreigners from overseas to work at his restaurants, so they’re cutting shifts that need covering, and firing part-timers with the excuse that they simply have no hours and aren’t making enough to pay them, when the truth is, they’re replacing everyone with bodies from the Phillipines with work visas. It digusts me that we’re putting up with intolerable crap, daily, while they’re chuckling and patting one another on the back, padding their pockets with the cash they’re saving because they can pay these ‘labourers’ at PHILLIPINO minimum wage, because they’re contracted, agreed to it, and can’t quit. I feel physically ill when I know that all of these cut corners on their end that make my working life difficult are paying for their next McMansion. They’re also constantly lecturing us about how our service times need improvement, but they bar us from taking any affirmative action towards being able to do so. We were able to shave time off by using the walk-thru that separates the counter from the foyer. We’ve been told not to use it, out of concerns over security with the till. The till sounds like a fork on an empty plate in 5.1 surround. Trust me, if it got opened, we’d hear it. I can hear it when it opens when I’m in the bathroom doing my business. We’re also not allowed to keep much stock behind the countercause it ‘looks crammed and unslightly’ (not that any of the customers can see it), so we’re constantly running around to the back room trying to find stock, and consequently have no room for new stock, so we’re always out of stuff. Our equipment is old and crappy and half of the time we’re out of things we need. We also just had out 10-6 swing shift cut, so there’s no third person to finish prep and wash dishes, and since there is only one cook and one cashier per shift, none of us are getting our half hour breaks now. We don’t even have the option anymore.
I’m also supposed to park vehicles waiting for their orders in drive-thru, only I’m running the foyer counter, drive-thru, bussing tables , washing dishes and cooking a lot of the time, all in one shift. I would also add prepping to that list, if the doorbell on the Island Hwy entrance wasn’t pooched. Now I’m not allowed to go into the back and prep because customers can walk in without making a sound and end up standing there for however long until they start shouting for service. It was so bad today that we started running out of prepped things. We ran out of onions entirely, so I had to start telling customers that they could wait until I was finished prepping them, or they couldn’t have any. This, in the middle of lunch rush. And of course, by the back end of lunch rush, I was so stressed out that I had a full-sensory migraine trying to murder my right hemisphere. I finally got out into the lobby to clean the tables when we got smacked by another drive-thru rush. I was headed back towards the staff door to get to the front service aisle, when some severely drunk guy tried to get into the back room, thinking it was the can. I couldn’t even deny him access, because the maintenance guys left the door open to let the hallway ventilate after painting the walls. He peed his pants in the lobby, used the bathroom, then proceeded to pass out on one of our counters. It took 2 security guards, 2 paramedics, a cop and a firetruck to get him out of the restaurant. Then another drunk guy stumbles in, mumbles something in slurred gibberish, which I translated roughly as a Large Fries. He paid, I gave them to him, he reamed me out because A&W’s largest fry size isn’t large enough, poured ketchup on them, walked two feet and then dumped them all over the floor. He stumbled back to the counter, insisted on a replacement (even though he was the idiot who dumped them), and when I brought them out to him to avoid disaster #2, he gave me the same spiel about how they were too small. He returned to the till about 3 times to complain in more slurred gibberish before I managed to get him to leave.
By the end of my shift, only hysterical laughter was blocking my tears of stress. I used to enjoy going to work. Now I just plain hate my job, and I can’t wait to be free of it. I’m sick of being tired all the time, and being underappreciated by the people who should kiss the ground that I walk on because I show up for my shifts and don’t cause trouble. I don’t plan to make the time from now until I leave easy for those people. I deserve a fucking raise. One lady was in the restaurant for the bulk of all of these shenanigans. She told me that not only did I deserve a raise, and kudos to me for keeping my cool, but that she had never been in an environment that she detested that much before, and she never wanted to come back. I don’t blame her. Thank God for having a day off tomorrow. I feel like eviscerating someone.