Friday, 22 February 2013

Friday, Cry Day.

You know those days at work where you can't help but think : "fuck I can't wait to go home and get drunk."

Fridays in hospitality aren't one of them. That's really more of a 'Tuesday'.

No. Friday is the extra special day where you wish you had've been maggoted on Thursday night so that you wake up still pleasurably numb and you simply... continue it on.

They're busy. Faaaaarking busy. From the 3 hat restaurant to the dingy little Indian takeaway place on the corner that's run by a Vietnamese couple in a Caucasian neighbourhood so nobody's the wiser, everybody has the same mentality.

"We're gonna get raaaaped!"

Frontwards, backwards, upside down, sideways with a broom and plowed by Optimus Prime type rape.

I don't mind a good Friday night ass whooping, it gives me that delightful adrenaline rush I'm such a junkie for, it actually calms the nerves I'd acquired when my seafood order still hadn't arrived at 11:51am (a painful experience in itself which rarely benefits from the barrage of C and F bombs I launch at whoever is in sight.)

But then again, Fridays are the day that everything becomes a cunt. Your dishwasher is a cunt, the guy you have manoeuvring the dishwasher is a cunt, your pepper grinder, palette knife, service bell, they all become cunts at around... 8:15, give or take a few later walk ins right at the time you start running out of shit.

But it's the day of bantering. The witty, smartass comebacks come out to play, who can rile up the other one enough that they'll crack into a burnt, exhausted and most likely sobbing mess on the floor that has already accumlated three inches of compacted rubbish four minutes into service. What can I say, the pressure sneaks up on you.

It's the only day I can blatantly tell my boss to fuck off from the pass before I fork his brain out through his nose and he'll probably just giggle his motherfucking ass off.

But we still do it. We love it. I did it last week, I did it last night and be damn sure I'll still be here getting the shit beat out of me by some printer paper and a four-burner next week.

Because that's hospitality for you. Making someone feel at home, even if you wish they were.

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