not my real life

"Not my real life" - what I repeat to myself over and over in my head/under my breath while waitressing these days.





The country club has successfully broken my spirit leaving me crying in the wait station multiple times/days this week. The tears were for many reasons stemming predominantly from being completely overwhelmed with tables/special food requests/lack of knowledge of menu and computer system/being passive aggressively reprimanded by the manager/lack of sleep aka the general failure of my waitressing attempts this week. I don't do failure well. What's the point of doing something not to the best of your ability, I say.





While being in a state of pre-breakdown, ridiculous things continue to happen to me/around me:


-I was serving drinks at a 50th wedding anniversary party and the old man gave me a hug when I gave him his coke that lingered too long and then when he pulled away his hand grazed my boob. And I didn't even get tipped. God dammit.





-One of waiters was fucking up so bad that the head chef said he couldn't have any more tables so he sat in the waitstation the rest of the night. And got paid the same amount of money as me. Maybe I need to stop teetering on the edge of complete failure and just allow myself to slip entirely into the abyss.





-We now administer detailed comment cards to the members of the club so that they can rate us. Our boss then puts all the data into the computer and posts a weekly service rating of all of us in the wait station. It's like the god damn stickers for good behavior system in my 2nd grade class.





Ergo I cope by chanting 'this is not my real life'