too strong

i'm going to try very, very hard to never go to work hungover again. actually pulling yourself out of bed and doing anything the morning after a long night out is mentally and physically exhausting--unless, of course, the place you are going involves you and a beautiful pancake soaking up your alcohol. but my restaurant doesn't even serve pancakes, and all i wanted to do during my eight hour shift (yes, eight fucking hours. you'd think i'd have my own office) was shove a parfait spoon into my eye. and then quit. or be fired because i was blind and bloody, whichever came first.

it is a an extremely dangerous thing to go to work hungover when you are a waitress because every stressor is amplified. every request from a customer that much more annoying. and you end up consuming a lot of bread that you didn't need. on a normal day, i probably wouldn't have been so royally pissed off when the only thing between me and freedom was a broom which was already being used to sweep the entire kitchen. on a normal day, i most likely wouldn't have wanted to slap the co-worker who scolded how i executed possibly the most vital component of any successful enterprise: marrying the jams. if you're unfamiliar with restaurant jargon, "marrying" of anything--usually condiments---just means combining the contents of two (or more) less than full containers to make one full container. i know...heavy stuff.

but i haven't even told you the most dangerous part of being a hungover server: the urge to quit is too strong. too strong because you can't afford to quit and you need this job to survive. your head grows enormous with thoughts like, "i went to college for four years so i could clean up after people's messes?" stop it! STOP IT! you can't quit. everything will be better when you don't feel like a truck ran into your face. everything will be better tomorrow, you'll see...

in case you were wondering, that chick carrying the beverages is me.