I’m so sick, still. Bronchitis is making me cough so hard that it hurts, I’m spewing filth-containing lung lubricant, sneezing like a mother, and I can’t take a deep breath. My head hurts, I’m still a little feverish.
And it’s St. Patrick’s Day, and I am bartending. From 3:30pm to 4am.
All the green beer bullshit, the beads and Car Bombs….Oh, so help me god, Car Bomb shots are a mess to clean out because of the curdled cream….eww *shudder*
I want to curl up and crawl back into bed and just go to sleep and ignore six piles of laundry, a dirty kitchen, an assignment about King Lear (FOUR assignments about King Lear), and a speech I need to make a powerpoint presentation for. I”m standing in my room delivering my speech to my socks and the blinds and pollen and my laptop and I can’t keep the bullet points straight in my head and I finally just gave up.
Deep breath. Deep breath.
And as for work drama, did I mention that AFTER we did our pour and liquor tests, that our numbers plummeted? Our A is now a C, which means…. (doing math slowly), we’re short 2,000$ and it’s mostly across the board overpouring. Except for where it says on the report that we’re missing 4 bottles of Crown Royal, almost a full apiece of Absolut and Grey Goose, Jamison and Glenlivet. Just, poof, the most expensive booze in the house, GONE.
So now we’ve all been threatened with our jobs. Lovely. We have 8 days to make the numbers good. Or we get turned over.
I thought that was kinda funny, really, 8 days means that gearing up for a full weekend they would somehow have to train an entire staff (minimum 5 bartenders), work them for the weekend, morning and night shifts, deal with all the new personalities, teach everyone where everything is and how the computer system is laid out…WHILE we’re working.
Did anyone follow that?
I’m going to work.
Erin Go Fucking Bragh, bitches.