When I worked a more traditional office-type job (and perhaps when I do again), vacations were a double-edged sword. I’d enjoy the time away. I’d come back fully aware that my desk would be piled high with stuff to catch up on when I returned.
Obviously, my drinkers at the bar don’t just wait all week for me to return so that they can all return at once and make sure to get in a solid medley of all of the most annoying drink recipes. I know this. Intuitively and logically I know this.
Doesn’t stop me feeling like it though. Good grief, but we were busy last night. It was a service bar night, and I’d half been hoping we’d be slow and dead and go-home early-ish. Not so much. By the time the night was done, I felt like I’d spent the night getting recreationally backed over by a semi. “Allow me to be the first one to say Ouch!”, as Messir Freakaziod once stated.
And seriously – the number of people I had to repeat things to – I mean – like ‘Ok sir, you can’t have a shot and chase it with a beer here. It’s against our rules. I’m sorry about that.” “You mean I can’t do that here?” “That’s right.” “Can I have a shot and a beer?” (facepalm ensues). Pretty much like that for half the night.
Our supervisory staff was a little short-staffed too. Getting someone to bring me needed supplies was largely an exercise in futility. There’s been days in the past I’ve just shut the bar briefly and gone to get it all myself, which was a tempting 0ption, but due to aforementioned semi-running-over, I just got to the point in the last hour where I just told folks, “Look, I”m sorry – I’m out of that”, and we found them something else to drink. I generously left the huge supply list I’d drawn up in the bar for the next guy. Maybe it’ll help.
‘Twas a good night though financially at least. I hit my conservative tip intake projection for 4 nights in a single shift, which makes the rest of the weekly tour nothing but icing and bill catch-ups, and that my friends, is a very good thing.
Off to the races we go tomorrow.
Take it easy, folks.