Some days are good, some are bad and others lack a clear word to define them. Well, I had, is it usually have, too many of those days.
Waking up in the morning and I feel like a bulldozer spent its free time cruising on my poor head. I look around and I am not even sure I am alive or gone to the other side. Curse the one who invented rum and coke. Why does it have to be so sweet yet so potent? I smell like a sailor and my eyes are seeing a blurred imitation of my house. Or is it mine? My phone is never far from me so I stretch out and look for it. I find it and to my horror, I have 30 minutes to get to work. To make matters worse, I am not at my house but at my equally wasted best friend’s house. There must have been an amnesia outbreak or something because neither of us has any idea how we even got to her place.
So I drag my dehydrated self into action and in no time I am showered and dressed. Or at least seemingly dressed. I have to go to work in a fraction of a dress because that is what I wore the previous night. This was enforced by the fact that my friend has a particular aversion to length, so I was better off showing up to work with familiar scandal in the name of a dress than with uncharted territory that may be too much for me to handle. Thank God for trench coats for it made me have a semblance of decency.
Sometimes I wish I had a regular office job where you sit around all day and pretend to work while chatting on Face book. As for me I get to walk around while balancing a tray and at moments like this, balancing my own body weight is an issue in itself. I slip into my uniform, and blend in with the rest before the managers notices I am late and slightly ‘disoriented’. I literally avoid serving anyone because I am still seeing some extraordinary visions that did not earlier exist at the restaurant. Who knows what type of illegal and legal substances I consumed? A very deliberate slap from a colleague plus a secret concoction from the bar man set me straight and I was near sober. And devilishly bloated. Or was it hunger? My whole body is in a blur. I should probably pay more attention to adverts and read the fine print that says that alcohol is bad for you. But who sees that stuff anyway, let alone care about it? If they wanted you to feel the impact of the warning, they would increase the font and change the font color to a bold atrocity.
The manager sees me and I say I am fine. Just a little off and with a splitting headache. He knows I am telling half truths but I don’t care. I go to the washroom to hope for retrieve. If I tried serving a guest, I would probably scare them off or bite off their head if they get obnoxious. I was feeling like a one girl Rugby team with a bad case of constipation so I was grouchy and itching for a fight. These are the days you just accept that you need help and go to the washroom to catch some shut eye. Yes, even us waiters have these episodes…
Blanco's Sports Grill 