If I were describing a dating relationship, you would tell me to get out now. You see, we take each other for granted. One of us leaves, or we tell the other one to leave. I've ended it twice. And both times, I've gone back, asking for another chance. Not only does this relationship leave me physically sore, and feeling somewhat soulless, it also controls what I wear and who I spend time with.
I'm talking about my relationship with...The Cheesecake Factory.
I've gotten new jobs twice. The first time, I didn't even start. The shirts at New Job Number One had a rhinestone logo, and the place reeked of cigarette smoke and meat. (It wasn't a frat bar. It was a steak place in Leawood.)
I actually started New Job Number Two, but quit three days in, after:
1. Spending eight hours a day in training without sufficiently going over table numbers or the menu.
2. Being asked to serve a lunch shift while being followed by a trainer without sufficiently going over table numbers or a menu.
3. Being asked to spend several hours at night memorizing asinine facts about the menu, including all fourteen ingredients in the chicken salad. (Which, if you're curious, are dijon mustard, yellow mustard, salt, pepper, basil, oregano, red onion, green onion, worcestershire sauce, garlic, parsley, and red wine vinegar, apples, and walnuts. I would assume there's also some chicken in there somewhere.) You may assume that this would constitute going over the menu, but (perhaps not surprisingly) people usually don't ask how many ounces of dijon mustard are in the chicken salad.
4. Coming to the realization that there appeared to be only one other female who served in the restaurant.
5. Being told that women usually didn't make it at that particular restaurant.
6. Being told that we were not allowed to request time off but instead were responsible for finding someone to cover our shifts.
7. Having a phone conversation after the third day wherein the other party stated that at least I hadn't fallen on my face. I remembered after this comment that no, while I had not fallen on my face, I had slipped on the kitchen floor and managed to bruise both knees, my right elbow, and my right glute. (Don't ask.) Thing is, I had completely forgotten about falling because it was not actually the worst part of the day.
So anyway. Here I am. Still at the Cheese. One day, I hope to break the cycle. For now, I will continue to wear white pants, and be sure my guests realize the tea is a mango flavor. Did anyone save room for dessert?
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3 comments:
hm. mayhaps i should visit you at your abusive boyfriend's... i mean.. place of employment, next time i'm in op. but... that would require me to eat a large piece of cheesecake (yes, REQUIRE!) and i've vowed to "be good." my heart, however, goes out to you.
and who the hell says "women dont usually make it here"?! i mean, did anyone at that restaurant think that was odd since there are so many women who serve elsewhere, or stop to evaluate why it might be that women never stay long there...!? bah! good on you for leaving that place.
I applaud your leaving. Even if it means going back to the Cheese. This too shall pass.
ah the cheeeese. i just quit. it was only a temporary thing anyway, and i wasn't there very long, but i feel ya on the whole relationship thing...i actually loved it though! i was at the front desk though, little different, but still pretty demanding when you have a line out the door and you're trying to keep the restaurant full and busy w/out overquoting/underquoting the guests...ah, the cheese. i don't miss it, but i do miss the avacado eggrolls!!
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