Yay, blog post!
I've been pondering a career change lately.
PFFT.
No I haven't. I'm a full-time college student, working at a country club on the weekends over the summer/breaks to pay for gas. I have no other options.
So this post will be spent griping about useless coworkers and supervisors, and the delusions that people have about my profession.
Adventures in Waitstaffery!
Why yes, I just made up the word waitstaffery. I think it sounds robust and descriptive.
I have been working at a country club for the past 3-4 years. I honestly love this job. It constantly challenges me, engages my attention, and it pleases my ADD. Constantly being on the move is something that really suits my jittery side, and I enjoy the RUSHOMFGRUSH atmosphere.
We will call my employer FML Country Club. Specializing in all your snobbish needs. You want to throw a birthday party at $1000 for room rental, not including the $35+ per plate dinner? Be my guest. Invite 500 of your closest friends for your birthday bash!
Want to throw a Quinceañera?
Go right ahead! I'll only hate you for the rest of your life! Inviting 600 of your closest relatives straight from Mexico is notokay with me!
I mostly work wedding receptions. There is often alcohol, with open bars paid for by in-laws, and beautifully decorated cakes that occasionally look like this:
Don't worry, honey. The cake isn't leaning! I promise! It's just pulling a fun house mirror trick! Look at it from the other side and it's perfect! The guests won't know a thing!
Yes, they do.
They gossip about it while the wedding couple is making rounds. They go tsk-tsk-tsk about the sorry state of that cake, and how awful it must be to be the bride with a sagging wedding cake. It's the equivalent of premature sagging breasts. Perhaps even an indicator.
So here is the lesson: don't have a saggy cake. Bad juju.
I used to have this idyllic delusion about waitstaff. Other people may join in on this delusion. I once believed that the waitstaff at country clubs/catered parties were the epitome of grace and professionalism. They were always calm and collected, full of smiles and good manners. They would take my plate and be more than attentive to my needs.
Something like this ^
I've even done this. I doubt I looked half that composed.
They were graceful and exuded confidence and charm like an x-ray technician exudes radiation.
Clad in white and black, they would always stand out from the crowd, easily identifiable. They would sweep across the room, refilling drinks and doing their jobs with such zeal and vigor that I could only be enviable of their energy, or how crisp their uniforms looked despite the stifling heat of the ballroom, or how fantastically they handled that contrary relative of mine.
This is all a lie. The reassurances about the sagging cake breasts is a lie. LIES!!!!111!!
I will often work long shifts under incredulous amounts of stress and vexation, dealing with lazy coworkers and recalcitrant supervisors. My job is equivalent to waitressing, only I don't work half as often. Thank goodnes my job is only sporadic. If I worked every day for hours on end, I'd go crazy. Working three nights in a row is tantamount to taking my soul, running it over, stabbing it, running it over again for good measure, putting it under a steamroller just because you weren't really sure your tires did a good enough job, poking it with a knife just to make sure it's dead, and then tossing it in the river to drown. Yeah. That's how it feels. No pressure :DDD
My coworkers are all my age. They're teenagers on the verge of adulthood
gigglesnort , with no work ethic. I was like that once. I started working at FML Country Club when I was 16 and foolish. At first I liked to goof off just like everyone else.
Eventually exhaustion put an end to that. I wanted to get out on time, earlier if possible, dammit! Screwing around just wasn't an option anymore when time was of the essence. Sure, my time card would be shiny. But who the f*ck cares about hours when it's 2 AM and you want to go the hell home?
No one. That's who.
So now that I have grown up and realized that
actually working is cool, like sliced bread, I have begun to notice that my fellow employees do not share the same work ethic. When I'm all: GO GO GO! :D
They're all: NO NO NO!
See what I did there? ^ Rhyming. Yeah, bitches.
It irritates me to no end. I want to work. I'm an active person who likes to move, get stuff done, and not f*ck around unless I've had a terrible day. But no. They won't do it.
*sigh*
How terrible it is for me to be so mature at 19. *terribly dramatic sigh*
J/k, guys :D
*cough*
Ahem.
Anyways.
This has been a terrible post about how my illusions have been shattered. I deluded myself into thinking that my job was noble, and that I was truly making people happy.
More lies...-grumble-
So here's the skinny:
- Your parties/weddings/wakes make me miserable.
- I eat your food in the kitchen.
- I have and never plan on spitting in your food, so cut that gossip out right now.
- Everyone on the waitstaff secretly hates you for rearranging the room at the last minute, even though we're terribly gracious about it and act as though we're unfazed.
- We hate it when your wedding cake is disgusting, so get a good one. (We eat that too)
- Without fail we trash talk your decorations and your overweight mother-in law. We will most likely gossip about bastard children as well, so don't bring them along. (No offense intended to anyone...wedlock just isn't pretty.)
- Your DJ needs to be decent. The Cupid Shuffle, Cha-Cha Slide, Electric Slide are must-plays on your special day.
- Open bars are dangerous things. Cash bars are the way to go.
- After parties will probably end badly.
- At some point in the night, the entire waitstaff will hate you. This depends on if you've stayed later than you paid for, or if you're just plain out rude and bitchy. In any case, we secretly hated you anyways (for that last minute rearrangement), and this just solidified our hate.
- Leaving on time is next to godliness, so do it. I will bend over backwards to get your asses out at the scheduled time, so do me a favor--leave an hour early ;D
- And finally, TIP US. TIP US WELL. PLEASE, TIP US. I DON'T CARE IF IT'S TEN $1 BILLS STUFFED INTO MY BRA, JUST DO IT!
I actually care a lot--so don't touch me
And that is all. I hope you have enjoyed this insight into the world of waitstaffery.
(And my new layout/banner :D I hope you enjoy that too.)
-sob- MY DREAMS. MY BEAUTIFUL, DELUDED DREAMS
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