In the restaurant business, everyone has a Friday. It’s never Friday. Having a Saturday off is like winning the lottery--the beginning of every week fills you with a new hope that this will be it, finally your just reward for hard work, faith, and loyalty. But then the schedule is posted, and just like last week, and the week before, and in fact your whole working life, you get screwed.
I feel a bit alienated at the weekend; while everyone else is at the beach, or having afternoon beers, or going to shows and plays and concerts, I am getting ready for work. Putting on long pants and sleeves, all buttoned up and stifling on a summer day when everyone else skips around in breezy cool dresses or shorts and t-shirts, I admit I curse them all. But then Monday morning comes around, and while I hear the 6am alarms buzzing outside my window from the house next door, I cozy further down into my bed and smile.
Monday, or any other weekday really, is a great day for errands, for getting shit done without the hassle of car and people traffic. Crowd-free, line-free, stress-free days where shops and grocery stores, bars and restaurants are blissfully empty. Even the service is better during the week. Customer service reps are pleasant and helpful, even nice because they aren’t dealing with hoards of impatient people like a Saturday afternoon can bring. I feel like they are there for me, that they actually want to be there for me. And for one in the business of customers, I can appreciate that.
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