Today I had the displeasure of working what was — likely — one of the worst services I have ever worked. Quite literally ran out of half the menu, an eighty-six list which had to tuck its tail between its legs and resort to a series of columns. The abhorred culmination of a week’s worth of missing food deliveries paired alongside a kitchen which itself is teeming with new staff. In short, it was a putrid, vile, sickening mess.
In the wake of walking homeward from this wretched workday I have retired myself to my kitchen floor, wrecked.Stripped of my work clothes I feel as if a starfish in an ocean of granite (or whatever tiles are made of), reptilian minded delight. Here I lie, a cold sensation across my backside and the gentle singing of wind-chimes in my ears. The stress of the day is dissipating into the grout beneath me and I cannot help but think: maybe it’ll all be okay.
