Coastalblog

Nearly there, just NYE to prep for. I'm now going to drink until I can't see.

Apologies for the saminess of the tone over these entries, but I really am done in. This Christmas has been hell, and despite the (amittedly surprisingly huge) bonus I received I'm still wondering if the effort was worth it.

I have little patience for Christmas customers, and whilst I appreciate that this is a service industry and I just have to grin and bear the more goombah excesses of customers (passing out, falling off tables, unconscionable lack of manners and other complaints too numerous to list) I'm finally starting to wonder whether or not my time in catering has run its course.

The exhaustion is only to be expected, but the factthat I'm sat here on my break, with an evening shift to follow and I'm drinking a rhone red to cheer myself up is cause for some concern. My self-control has always been a strength at this time of year, I'm able just to keep going regardless by avoiding booze and just shaking off the all-round fed-upness. But now...

The problem is what does next year hold if I jack it all in? I'm by no means financially styable just yet and recognise that it's important that I keep working but I've truly had enough of this shit. I've had enough of no daylight. I've had enough of two a.m finishes, and most importantly I've had enough of being the reliable guy. I've had enough of being the one to turn to in a crisis. I've had enough of being the one who runs around sorting out all the minor problems so everything runs smoothly. I've had enough of being a manager who works much harder than his staff. I've also had more than enough of all this self-pity. I hate feeling like this.

I could really do with a nervous breakdown, I think.

So what's the solution? I think the answer is clear. More respect. More money, and a different job. I've been here nearly three years now and I'm doing essentially the same job I did when I started, only with a shedload more responsibility. Unless there's a promotion due I have to be gone before next Christmas. I simply can't do this again.

Two shifts to go. For you, it's Christmas day. For me it's simply a day off.

Gaaah. Long day. Long, bone-breaking day. Superiors not turing up due to being drunk, big boss angry, very VERY busy, running, swearing, sweating.Much in the way of recriminations. That sort of thing.

I am now in the uncomfortable position of being singularly unpopular for being the one who didn't fuck up. People are nuts.

Very proud of some of the staff though, they were great. So, when's Christmas all over then? I'll have to prep for Valentine's day...

It's just graft graft graft at the moment, leaving those few moments when I'm not actually in work free for the all important business of wolfing a quick meal down my neck (for which I thoroughly recommend frying a tin of chickpeas with an onion, cutting some chorizo into it and stirring some mustard through, takes five minutes, and time is definitely a factor as currently stands).

All writing is on hold while the season is in full swing, any which does appear is likely to be of a deeply misanthropic nature, and therefore not a great deal of cop. Everything is on hold. There is only the voracious public, and the implacable God of Catering.

I am incredibly fucking tired.

In the thick of it now. first cabaret night of the season last night. Also first fight between customers *sigh*.

Now, I like drnking, but these people are ridiculous. They come out for a meal and simply cram as much booze as possible down their throats as fast as possible. Nobody, it seems to me, is actually having a good time, it's as thoughthey are controlled by dome sort of inner force which compels them to drink, and to not really care what they're drinking. Everywhere I looked round the restaurant there were drawn, ashen faces, contemplating glasses. It got even worse when the cabaret started, at the point all the self-appointed "fun people" of the office started dancing, and dragging up those who clearly just didn't want to be there. Then they'd lurch and stumble, collapsing into my hard-working staff who were trying to balance full trays of drinks at the time. "Come on! Dance! It's Christmas!" Yes it is, and I'm working why can you imbeciles not see that?

I want nothing more than to hide in a room with some really difficult books and a steady supply of tea and apples until they've all gone away. Sadly I cannot. More singing and dancing and drinking tonight. Ooh! Oooh! D4vid Tubby solicitors are having their office do tonight! which means I get to scrape cute school-leavers off the floor after lecherous old goats have plied them with bacardi in an attempt to get a sloppy blowjob off a pert taut teen! What fun!Two weeks of this nightmare to go! I'm so happy!

You can always tell in catering when the festive season is rolling around. Table sizes go up from four to about eight. The wine stays largely untouched, sales of lager and alcopops go through the roof. It's depressing, but that's the nature of the beast. I'm not working in a high-end restaurant, I work in a bistro, and at this time of year the awful reality of that is works dos. All of our regulars, the ones who normally I'd stop and chat to, maybe recommend a new wine I've got in, the ones who ask you what's good today, or how your girlfriend is, whose family histories I know better than my own, sensibly stay away.

In their place come companies nights out. Cowrokers who may hate each other normally and a boss they barely know lumped togther and forced to have a good time on company money. Some things are ineivitable. A secretary will get pissed and start crying. The boss will attempt to cop off with someone. I will get my arse grabbed. They will demand festive songs and wear stupid hats with tinsel on them. They will be singing from the same hymn-book "come on! It's Christmas!"

So on Saturday a drunk tried to start a fight with me over his drinks. Somebody else threw up in the toilet. In the sink. As we manage to the theory that we'd never make a part-timer do something we wouldn't be prepared to do ourselves I cleaned it up. These are things that don't happen at any other time of the year. Merry bastard Christmas.

So tonight's the end of year reading bash for my research group, and it'll be held at Liverpool's Masque Theatre. As is always the case on the morning of a reading I have an open word document containing god knows ho wmany texts, and I'm struggling to select a few to do, with ineivitable quick rewrites. I was too busy to finish it last month because of NaNoWriMo, and last night was taken up with very important girlfriend-seeing duties, so I have nothing, as currently stands. I could do with spending the rest of the day working on it, however I have to go to work, as of approximately...now. Ah.