Last night was the absolute busiest I’ve ever been in a restaurant. I was weeded before I even walked in. I would have been in the kitchen until 2:30 AM if someone hadn’t stepped in and said, “it’s time to go home.” I was sad and almost crying when I left, because I’ve been that morning person who’s walked in and said, “what the hell happened here?” I was on dish pit, and would have stayed until everything was clean and put away, but there was just too much. I know I am going to have to beg for forgiveness, because the person that discovers everything I left undone will probably be livid. I just couldn’t work any faster with a two minute dish cycle. If it was legal to wash everything by hand, I could have had some help. But lest we get three more dish machines, it’s a one woman operation. Between prep dishes, an insane Saturday night, and a huge catered party which has a completely different set of dishes, I had more than I could say grace over. I even felt bad about taking a 10 minute break to stuff down food quickly, but I shouldn’t, because I worked for nine hours straight without even sitting down.
I just felt so much empathy for the morning person. I don’t know who was scheduled, but it doesn’t matter. I still feel like a sack of shit, even though my situation was unavoidable.
I can’t today. I just can’t.
Stories That Are All True 