Half the time I fucking hate this job so much it's not even funny. The other half of the time it's great and I love it. Today was definitely more of the former...
I feel like the mom of fifty spoiled screaming whining picky demanding obnoxious little brats: Stylists and masseuses and "aestheticians"... bitchy gay men and other assorted prima donnas. They all wear black. They all have highlights (particularily the guys). They're all styled and coiffed and "put-together" and oh-so-sophisticated and oh-so-particular about their "dressing on the side," "no cheese on that," "i don't want any of that can you make me something else?" "I don't like RARE roast beef on my sandwiches, can you heat it up so it's well done?" "can I get a diet coke with a splash of regular coke?" "i know it's not on the menu and you're really busy but can you make me chicken salad?" "can you make me something that costs five dollars?" "oh yeah, and I need it RIGHT NOW"
They all act like that place is their fucking employee cafeteria, not a seperate business. Umm.. sorry that I have to charge you six dollars for a sandwich, but that's a dollar less than the CUSTOMERS have to pay (and they NEVER bitch) and we're STILL not making any money.
I leave to go to the store (to buy the fucking groceries to cook THEM all lunch) and I tell at LEAST six people, including the front desk, the office, and the owners. When I get back 45 minutes later, dragging a giant box of c-fold towels and six bags of groceries, dripping sweat from driving all over town in my broken-air-conditioning car, four or five people (who are sitting around on their asses, drinking their free sodas and gossiping about other employees) exclaim- "THERE you are! Everyone's been looking for you, where have you been???"(When I tell them, one guy says "oh YEAH! I guess you DID tell me you were going to the store...") No one offers to help me with the bags i can barely lift. They just stare at me while I put the bags down, wipe the sweat off my face, and go back downstairs to get the rest of them. Fucking spoiled jackasses. The SECOND I'm back upstairs, they don't wait for me to put the groceries away or give me a chance to sit down or get some water... no, they start right in with their fucking demands.
It's a fucking nightmare. It really is.
I bitched out the general manager today when he asked me to make him a cappucino for somebody's client. Umm... hi, the cafe opens at 11. I do not come in at 9 to wait on you. I come in at 9 to fucking prep. From the moment I step through the door I'm surrounded by whiny people telling me how hungry they are and can I make them this, and what am I going to make for lunch and why did I change the prices and I'm really tired can you make me some espresso... actually a latte... a skim white-chocolate latte, with just a little whipped cream and some cocoa on top???? When i show up I have two hours to prep. Before I do anything else I have to sweep floors and clear everyone's dishes from after I left last night (god forbid they dirty THEIR hands), fill the ice bucket, set out ice water and lemons and cups on a tray in the waiting area, make three different kinds of coffee, set out cream and sugar, and bagels and cream cheese and fruit (so they all quit bugging me about being hungry)... THEN I have to take inventory (I made a shopping list last night, but invariably some one has come in in my absence and finshed off the artichoke hearts and the bread I bought yesterday has mysteriously disappeared), go to the store, come back and put food away, write up my specials menu, wash all the dishes that have accumulated so far... THEN, at about 11 I finally get started actually prepping the food; that's also when the orders start. I don't take a lunch break. I don't sit down. Ever. I don't take bathroom breaks. I hold it for fucking 11 hours. I don't eat either... I get home and suddenly I'm starving and I realize I've been cooking for other people for 10 hours and somehow forgot to feed myself.
In the midst of all of this I'm also trying to work out the business aspects of the cafe... I'm starting completely from scratch. no one has trained me. On my first day, there was no menu, no systems for ordering or tickets or inventory or accounting. The office won't let me keep reciepts, so I can't do cost-analysis. People come in and out and take beers for their clients and snack on stuff, so I can't accurately track inventory. And somehow, I'm supposed to triple our income (that's what it will take for us to see a profit)? For the love of god, how can they possibly expect me to do all of this????
Fuck fuck fuck. I am so stressed and drained from dealing with all of these people. All I wanted tonight was someone to vent all this to, someone who'd hold me and tell me that it will be okay and I can do this and he's proud of me for doing all these things that I'm so terrified of, and doing them well, and that he loves me. But... I'm not able to articulate that on the phone... I'm just silent. And I say "I'm okay."
My roommate says i look like I've lost five pounds in the last three days.
I am drinking a beer right now (expiration date was March) that i found in our fridge when we moved in in May... I wish there were more.
Now I have to go cook five pounds of chicken to take to work tommorrow (did I mention, we have no stove.)
I feel like the mom of fifty spoiled screaming whining picky demanding obnoxious little brats: Stylists and masseuses and "aestheticians"... bitchy gay men and other assorted prima donnas. They all wear black. They all have highlights (particularily the guys). They're all styled and coiffed and "put-together" and oh-so-sophisticated and oh-so-particular about their "dressing on the side," "no cheese on that," "i don't want any of that can you make me something else?" "I don't like RARE roast beef on my sandwiches, can you heat it up so it's well done?" "can I get a diet coke with a splash of regular coke?" "i know it's not on the menu and you're really busy but can you make me chicken salad?" "can you make me something that costs five dollars?" "oh yeah, and I need it RIGHT NOW"
They all act like that place is their fucking employee cafeteria, not a seperate business. Umm.. sorry that I have to charge you six dollars for a sandwich, but that's a dollar less than the CUSTOMERS have to pay (and they NEVER bitch) and we're STILL not making any money.
I leave to go to the store (to buy the fucking groceries to cook THEM all lunch) and I tell at LEAST six people, including the front desk, the office, and the owners. When I get back 45 minutes later, dragging a giant box of c-fold towels and six bags of groceries, dripping sweat from driving all over town in my broken-air-conditioning car, four or five people (who are sitting around on their asses, drinking their free sodas and gossiping about other employees) exclaim- "THERE you are! Everyone's been looking for you, where have you been???"(When I tell them, one guy says "oh YEAH! I guess you DID tell me you were going to the store...") No one offers to help me with the bags i can barely lift. They just stare at me while I put the bags down, wipe the sweat off my face, and go back downstairs to get the rest of them. Fucking spoiled jackasses. The SECOND I'm back upstairs, they don't wait for me to put the groceries away or give me a chance to sit down or get some water... no, they start right in with their fucking demands.
It's a fucking nightmare. It really is.
I bitched out the general manager today when he asked me to make him a cappucino for somebody's client. Umm... hi, the cafe opens at 11. I do not come in at 9 to wait on you. I come in at 9 to fucking prep. From the moment I step through the door I'm surrounded by whiny people telling me how hungry they are and can I make them this, and what am I going to make for lunch and why did I change the prices and I'm really tired can you make me some espresso... actually a latte... a skim white-chocolate latte, with just a little whipped cream and some cocoa on top???? When i show up I have two hours to prep. Before I do anything else I have to sweep floors and clear everyone's dishes from after I left last night (god forbid they dirty THEIR hands), fill the ice bucket, set out ice water and lemons and cups on a tray in the waiting area, make three different kinds of coffee, set out cream and sugar, and bagels and cream cheese and fruit (so they all quit bugging me about being hungry)... THEN I have to take inventory (I made a shopping list last night, but invariably some one has come in in my absence and finshed off the artichoke hearts and the bread I bought yesterday has mysteriously disappeared), go to the store, come back and put food away, write up my specials menu, wash all the dishes that have accumulated so far... THEN, at about 11 I finally get started actually prepping the food; that's also when the orders start. I don't take a lunch break. I don't sit down. Ever. I don't take bathroom breaks. I hold it for fucking 11 hours. I don't eat either... I get home and suddenly I'm starving and I realize I've been cooking for other people for 10 hours and somehow forgot to feed myself.
In the midst of all of this I'm also trying to work out the business aspects of the cafe... I'm starting completely from scratch. no one has trained me. On my first day, there was no menu, no systems for ordering or tickets or inventory or accounting. The office won't let me keep reciepts, so I can't do cost-analysis. People come in and out and take beers for their clients and snack on stuff, so I can't accurately track inventory. And somehow, I'm supposed to triple our income (that's what it will take for us to see a profit)? For the love of god, how can they possibly expect me to do all of this????
Fuck fuck fuck. I am so stressed and drained from dealing with all of these people. All I wanted tonight was someone to vent all this to, someone who'd hold me and tell me that it will be okay and I can do this and he's proud of me for doing all these things that I'm so terrified of, and doing them well, and that he loves me. But... I'm not able to articulate that on the phone... I'm just silent. And I say "I'm okay."
My roommate says i look like I've lost five pounds in the last three days.
I am drinking a beer right now (expiration date was March) that i found in our fridge when we moved in in May... I wish there were more.
Now I have to go cook five pounds of chicken to take to work tommorrow (did I mention, we have no stove.)
Finally....stress gets you nowhere, so keep tabs on that. One human can only do so much so no worries, ok?
OK??
I'd say, "you can do this" but it seems you already ARE doing it and doing it well considering the circumstances and pressures involved. I doubt there's much you can't do
At the very least, do it until you simply can't anymore, if things don't get better. Take from it what you can, learn, think about what it might look like on your resume.
P.S. Vent here any time you like. I loved reading this journal, and i hope my ideas at least trigger an idea of your own that helps out.