19 Oct Nobody likes a quitter
From when I was very little, I was taught, as I think most children are, that there’s “no such word as can’t”, and that if you start doing something, you should flipping well finish it, because nobody likes a quitter.
However, as far as that waitressing job of mine was concerned, I quite literally couldn’t do it any more.
I gave it a chance, a whole month of chance, but after the first two weeks which were hectic but OK, it became a bit of a nightmare, and I could take it no more.
The fundamental problem was that I was paid an absolute pittance to be running up and down stairs for anything from 6 to 12 hours per day, three to six days per week, most of the time dealing with all of the customers whilst Cruella De Vil shouted at me for things I didn’t even do wrong, told me off for not doing things she’d never even mentioned that needed to be done, and checked up on me for the most ridiculous things (the finest recent example being shouting my name repeatedly in order to call me down from the busy upstairs to ask me if I’d put the food on table 8. Of course I had. Putting the food on the table is what a waitress does).
In short, she wasn’t being very nice to me, and I wasn’t all too happy about it.
After coming home one day almost in tears after a royal bollocking about something completely trivial, and after having spoken to the other waitress about the numerous and assorted problems we had with the owner, I decided to take action, especially as during this conversation it also transpired that the other waitress was being paid more than me for doing exactly the same job and exactly the same hours. And somehow, this didn’t seem very fair.
The next day, I spoke to Cruella about money (more specifically, about how I wanted more of it), telling her that, to be perfectly honest, what I earned did not reflect the amount of hours I was working and the amount I was making was not worth the amount of pain my feet were in. She then ever so kindly offered to give me the amount that she was already giving the other girl, which was still a pretty miserable sum, and ended the conversation with an expectant “ti va bene?” although she didn’t really mean that as a question at all.
To her surprise, I told her I needed to think about it, and after talking the whole situation through with The Greek, who gave me some much-needed grown-up advice, I decided that I can’t be doing with a job that doesn’t make me happy, especially if it only barely pays me enough to live on, so I went back the next day to tell her that I quit.
I carried on for a few more days so that the other waitress could still go home for the weekend and so that Cruella could rifle through her enormous pile of CVs to find my replacement, but now I’ve finally finished, and the torture is over.
I may once again be unemployed and senza soldi, but I’m also at least 100% happier, and that’s what the Gap Life is all about.