I didn't get a five million dollar tip Monday. I didn't even get a five hundred dollar tip. I'm pretty sure I didn't even get a five dollar tip. Just many singles. Destiny is fucking with me.

I worked yesterday, and today. Tonight, I get to go BACK to work at 7:30, for a Staff Meeting. I hate those. There hasn't been one for a while, so everyone probably has just stacks of pissiness stockpiled, and we'll have to go through all of it. "The night girls never do anything, well that's because some of the sidework is supposed to be done by the morning people, X is stealing tips again, etc etc etc." Word on the street is that this time, we will be told no more smoke breaks, at all. That's clearly crazy talk, but that doesn't necessarily mean it won't happen. Le Sigh.

Tomorrow, more restaurant, Friday, NINE HOURS of restaurant, and Saturday, I get to work 7-2, then LARP. Grrr. I asked off, but there simply isn't anyone else. As I predicted, Nick waited until AFTER all the college students went home for the summer before even starting to call anyone in for an interview. One new person starts next week, and apparently the busser is going to get trained to wait tables, so this will not happen again, at least in theory.

Goddammit. When my day starts at 7, and I spend 7 hours running like crazy, I'm more or less useless by about 8pm. I hope Ellen doesn't have anything too important she'll have to do this weekend. "Duuur. Me Toreador." is about as dramatic as I'm going to be able to get.

OK, I'm through whining now.

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