Sunday, May 2, 2010

Typical Sunday

I'm going to go out on a limb, and say that my typical Sunday is not quite the same as your typical Sunday. I could be wrong (it's been known to happen, sometimes even more than one time a day), but for the majority of people, I'd say that my Sunday is more like something out of their worst nightmare.

Sunday starts at 4:30--in the morning. Yes, in the morning. I'm at work by 5:30 (ok, 5:45, but close enough), and I kick off what could be anywhere from an 8 to a 10 hours shift. I haven't pulled a straight 10 hour shift in a while, and I'm not complaining about that at all. Come football season--which reminds me, I need to find out ticket prices for the FSU v. Florida game--a 10 hour shift is much more likely.

The job that gets me up at such an ungodly hour in order to pay my bills is one that keeps me on my feet, no break, no stopping, and a lot of ingratitude. Yes, I work in the restaurant industry, or as I call it on a particularly bad day, the ninth level of hell. I won't say where I work, or who I work for, just because it's something that you can't really pull a CYA on. Besides, if I truly hated it (which is only on some days), I wouldn't still be working there after nearly six years.

Most people sleep late on Sunday, or late-ish. They get up and go to church, maybe, or putter around the house. But it's astounding the number of people who go out for breakfast on Sunday mornings. Astounding. When I was growing up, Saturday was the going out for breakfast day, because Sunday was church and then Sunday dinner. Maybe people just don't do Sunday dinner anymore.

Sunday is busy. Ridiculous, insane, sick busy. On average, there are about 13, maybe 14 girls (yes, we're all girls--men, you're awesome for some things, but every guy I've worked with has been a whiner--just saying) going in and out of the kitchen, getting drinks, traying food, bringing back dishes, and so on and so forth. Add in 2-3 dishwashers and at least 6 cooks, and the back of the house is pretty packed.

Which says nothing about the front of the house, or what most people call the dining room. Our average turn in an hour is about 120, 130. We've done 145+, sometimes for two or three hours straight, and that gives a whole new definition to brutal. We've got extra chairs on the ends of booths, people squeezed in next to each other--it's more than a little crowded.

I'll leave how people act up to your imagination. If you're interested, there are any number of blogs out there by people far more disgruntled than I am. But if you've ever worked in anything involving sales, you'll understand the dynamics of a buyer/seller relationship, and how some people don't understand that rudeness really doesn't get you very far. Actually, it gets you nowhere, except for someone remembering who you are, and going out of their way to avoid you at any time in the future.

After my shift, and the journey of getting home, I always have the best of intentions to wash the smell of hell off me, and then put in some time writing. It doesn't always work, because, let's face it, sometimes I make it to the bed, and pass out for hours. But sometimes, and those are the good days, I make it to the computer. I throw on my iTunes (and we'll discuss my crazy music tastes some other day), read over what I last wrote, and then sit down, and get to my real work.

Except, since it's what I love, most of the time it's not really work. Yeah, I have to work my brain, but it's still what I love. So my Sunday, what I love, really happens when most people's days are ending.

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