Now that it’s been almost six weeks of this, here’s how my schedule works:
8:30 AM: Wake up to my alarm and shower. Drink several glasses of water while spending an hour on the computer waking up and catching up with the world.
10 AM: Go to the bus stop
10:30 AM: Get to Breck. Go to one of three quick breakfast spots (Or, if town’s unreasonably busy, Subway cause it’s always dead haha) and fill my face before work.
11 AM: Get to work. Clean (Dig) dried guacamole and salsa out of the wireframe tables, this can take a while -_- Put up happy hour boards.
12 AM: Deal with the lunch rush, which consists of a bunch of families coming to a tequila bar and being unhappy we 1) Don’t have burgers or salads 2) Don’t have olives for martinis or coffee 3) We don’t have their specific craft beer they tried on their last vacation. I’m not listing you the beer taps. We have 37. Here’s a list.
1 PM: Deal with the tables at the end of the lunch rush, which on a busy day are unhappy because their everything-made-fresh bar food took more than thirty minutes to prepare. I do try to warn tables when I notice the entire town coming in for a meal at one time, but I do forget on occasion because I also have to:
All Day: In addition to serving, I have to bus and host at all times. This can mean pausing a table from ordering to steer a two top to a small table and not blocking my eight seater for two hours. As this is White People capital of the U.S., everyone gets extremely... how do I say... ‘Officially’ pushy with their requests. They’re being nice about asking for things. Technically. Too bad they word their request so there’s no right answer except letting two people take up a huge table.
Oh, and if there’s no food runner I have to balance all of that while going DOWNSTAIRS into the kitchen for chips and tacos. A few times I have to help with making drinks too. I’m not supposed to until I’m being yelled at to do so. Yay.
3 PM: Much-needed moment of respite, as lunch ends and the happy hour crowd starts creeping into town. Along with the constant misunderstanding on how clearly-labeled happy hour specials work, the bartenders change shifts and 1-3 other servers arrive between now and 5. Hosting now involves a 3-5 person rotation, which without a designated host I’m the most qualified to accommodate the mental juggling. A bit of light humor with my coworkers as we run our asses off for $20 four tops. Still the lowest stress part of the day.
6:30 PM: Dinnertime. What always begins with a fully stocked restaurant quickly devolves into a pit of chaos. I juggle the rotation until the owner starts forcing tables out of order, or I get sent downstairs for a party or someone can’t handle more tables. The water cups quickly all find use, and pitchers become empty constantly. Refilling them involves forcing oneself into a narrow bar area and getting in the way, so nobody does it.
What starts with happy groups of well-spending drinkers quickly breaks down into drunken vacationers pissed their tacos are taking 45-60 minutes to arrive. Parents can’t eat and get their loud, starving kids away from the loud, cussing partiers in the tequila bar they willingly entered. More white people enter as the tables are all full and get visibly angry at other white people for daring to eat dinner at the same time as them.
8:30 PM: My brain hurts. Several tables have walked out or gotten stuff comped, overly entitled people are trying to banish me to Hell for not making my restaurant do things it’s not designed to do. A couple coworkers are joking about walking out, the owners have started drinking, and I’m struggling to keep my face on so I don’t get short with the slowly-diminishing inflow of new guests. Everything looks bleak.
9:30 PM: Sun is down, it’s getting cold. The patio finally flips for the final time, which means not as many servers are needed. I’m finally nearing the end. Sidework the only part of this entire experience that’s easier than average: Maybe 20 minutes tops. Oh, another positive: Jaded bartenders pouring me more and stronger shift drinks than I’m supposed to have as they want to be vicariously drunk through me as they have their own personal Hell following dinner, which lasts until 12-2 AM. I joke with a few of the cool guests and finally completely ignore the shitty ones. Head out before the owners suspect I’m drinking more whiskey than I should.
Rest of night: Whether it be home or out, I am drinking. Alcohol always. It kills everything inside. Being alone is harder, all the thoughts of my broken future I had lost with her find new ways to manifest themselves at all times. Being out and about with people keeps me occupied. Hopefully I’m asleep by 2, 2:30 on a good night. The bad ones I’m up until the very beginning of sunrise and finally black out enough to wake up again.
8:30 AM: Wake up to my alarm and shower. I do this six days in a row.
It’s just the same day. They’re unique but they’re not.
How my off day goes:
Off day: Numb Bliss
My off day is tomorrow. Just gotta survive today, Monday, which is easier than the weekends by a bit. Wish me luck.
Until next time you beautiful fucks
