Saturday, February 21, 2004
Mardi Gras made the work day a living nightmare. Saturdays are usually busy, but this was worse than usual.at 8:57 PM
At approximately four-thirty the shake machine blew up. It spewed mix (consisting of milk, mostly) all over itself, the floor below, and the cooler where the ice cream lives (which is situated next to the shake machine). I took an hour and-a-half cleaning the sour milk mess, because then a million people suddenly decided shakes sounded appetizing. I had to stop every five seconds to hand-dip vanilla ice cream and pour mix (half-frozen, when it ought to be full liquid) into the can, then spent an extra twenty or thirty seconds trying to mix the crap. I spazzed out enough trying to get the shakes out on time (a million people in between all this suddenly decided cookies, brownies, and pie sounded appetizing, which meant I stopped mixing shakes to deal with customers at the counter), but then, oh horror of horrors, I ran out of vanilla ice cream. I walked in the freezer, jumped on the wire rack to grab the bucket of vanilla ice cream, but found myself face to face with a lone carton of chocolate ice cream.
I walked back out, looked across the room (which was difficult with a huge line of expectant guests blocking my view), and saw five more shake orders printing on my ticket register. Suppressing my screams, I told my manager, 'Um, Rob- as you know, there is no more shake mix. However, now there is no more vanilla ice cream. I think perhaps we should notify the cashiers not to ring any more shakes.' [I often don't use contractions when I speak, either- so bite me.] Mercifully, three of the five orders were chocolates (I still had chocolate ice cream).
Just when I thought the drama would finally end- I ran out of Rice Krispy Treats. Then a couple of people bought me out of all my chocolate chunk cookies, the walnut brownies, and the double chocolate brownies. Things got ugly.
I should have been out at 8:30 (I came in at 11:15 and worked without break), but I stayed over an hour more busing, in addition to my closing duties at bakery. This blows. I had planned to go home and straight to bed, because tomorrow I open bakery at 7:00 a.m. However, now that I am here, I am too wired on all the caffeine I imbibed (to remain awake during the course of my shifts). I drank the last of the Nyquil three nights ago.
Oh, the drama.
My bonus: I made one (1) dollar. Someone left it as a tip on one of the tables I bused.
Woo-fucking-hoo.
