A couple of days ago, as I studied in my usual spot after working the first half of my day (I do nine hours worth of split-shifts each day, without a single break, and although I work in a kitchen, I am not entitled to eat any food there), I met a nice venerable north-country lady. I explained that I was on a split-shift, she asked, "What's it like?", and I replied, "It's like hell on earth." The lady immediately replied, "You must work at the Bridport Arms." This is not the first time that folks around here have mentioned this manner of working environment for this particular establishment.
Yesterday was tough, really tough, and today will be no different. Each day is a living hell, and much as I would like to say humbly doing good service is laudable (because it is), getting dermatitis and repetitive strain injury, a bad back and being ordered around by this little pathetic juvenile boy (one of my "learned" colleagues) makes my daily routine a hellish existence. Still, it will not last, cannot last, one way or the other. Either I move to Cambridge soon, or back to France. In any case, something has to give.
No comments:
Post a Comment