Yeah, You Really Must Think You're Great

I don't know if I've said this before, but at the restaurant where I work, Sundays seems to be the day where all of the dumbest people in the city descend up on us like some swarm of hungry, indecisive and very incredibly stupid zombies. Why I continue to work Sundays is beyond me.

Oh, wait, yeah, it's because I'm broke. Now I remember.

I also happen to work with two of my friends, who are both super chill and completely and utterly fucking useless. But still, it's impossible to work alone at take out, so I take what I can get, really. Unfortunately, it was Kelsie's birthday the last weekend of January, so she decided to take that weekend off, as well as the one that just passed. Awesome.

I wouldn't really mind this, is Kayla didn't call in, saying she couldn't come in because she had "Homework" (Read: A Hangover). So of course, I had to suck it up and work an entire shift alone. AND, just to top it all of, we got all of 36 orders in the space of three hours, which for a real restaurant, is pure unadulterated hell.

Take for instance, the one motherfucker who took ten goddamn minutes to decided between Chicken and Ribs, while there were three other orders I had to pack. I'm sorry, but it's Chicken and Ribs here people. It's not like I'm holding your wife and kids at gunpoint and making you decide who lives, here.

Today, I met up with Kayla and asked her how her homework turned out, and was met with the blank-eyed stare I usually get when I ask her about Quantum Physics. As I guessed, she had no homework. Only a headache. Whoopee. I bottled up the frustration and listened yet again as she regaled me with the story of her booze-filled weekend.

One thing you should probably know about me is that while I paint on a happy face when it happens, I really don't take being stood-up well. Mostly because I find it one of the most insulting things you can do to me. What, do you think I don't have any plans of my own? That I just wait by the phone waiting for Oh-So-Wonderful You to call me up and have me push aside everything I'm doing because you need me to drive you from point A to point B because you're so smashed out of your mind to walk a couple blocks?

But whatever, I'm use to it by now. In high school, while everyone was out having fun and having lives, I was off running errands and shit like that. I should just tattoo "Plan B" on my forehead and drop the formalities. I am constant Designated Driver. Awesome. The best part is, that when I finally do start having some fun with my life soon, it probably won't go over too well with them. But fuck it, I've got some fun to catch up on.

/weepy emo bullshit