The promotion I was given, got took back, in the space of 12 hours. Being a Bar back is far from a glamorous job, but I'm good at hacking away at it, and if I sometimes get beer sprayed in my face, so be it. So it was a very awesome elevation, to be told I would be a server...and then...NO.
Fuck. To add insult to injury, I worked tonight, on my night off, at the last moment (I was asked asked 12 hours prior) to cover a shift, which I dutifully did, and grinded my teeth serving Lincoln Park yuppies, up and down stairs all night...all the while a thin blonde girl was being trained for the server shift I was promised.
That's some bullshit right there, and although I did what was asked of me, I was vocal, and let it be known about my frustration...and then...I was tasked with doing inventory, counting every...fucking...bottle...of booze in the joint. This was not fun.
Oh, and I had a date, which I had to cancel on. Post work I went to the only bar in Boystown I am willing to step foot in, but no one, and I mean NO ONE would give me the time of day, which makes sense because I smelled like beer (but not in a fun/drunk way) and was literally wearing my clothes on my back (via a backpack).
CHRIST. Can a get a fucking break?