Changing posts

The inevitable has happened; I'm changing night jobs. After months of wondering when The Restaurant was going to settle down, I realized it wasn't. I was the senior server there, after a mere 8 months of employment. During that time, the front-of-the-house staff turned over completely TWICE, and although management had directed its psychotic fits of rage elsewhere for the time being, I still felt as though I was walking on eggshells every time I came to work. It was a hard decision to leave, because I enjoy the clientele very much, and I did a good job there and was lauded for it often, but for the last several months the stresses have been outweighing the benefits.

I went to dinner with my girls Mariah and Marissa on Friday night, at the bar of a tiny Pacific Heights neighborhood place where my dear friend is the head server. The chef came and sat with us at the bar while we ate, and as I bitched to him about my current night-time job, he got a look of introspection.

"Want us to fire someone here so you can come work with us?" he asked.

I thought about it, and replied that under no circumstances would I want to cost someone their job.

"No, really!" piped in the GM, who'd been listening in. "We've been trying to get rid of this guy for a while. We'd love to have you come and work with us!"

It was as simple as that. I emailed my resume when I got home that night, and filled out my paperwork the next day.
The Restaurant was disappointed when I gave my notice but I hope to leave on good terms. It was a good run, and every restaurant has bullshit to deal with--this one was probably no better and no worse. After giving notice, I sat at the bar because Valentino was working and a friend of his, who works at the super cheesy Wipeout Bar & Grill.
I'd seen this restaurant when the Country Cousins were in town last week, and we had poked fun at its tourist-trap cheesy Waikiki surf decor, because San Francisco doens't have a surf culture to speak of. But when Valentino's friend told me he'd just made $175 at his LUNCH shift, I nearly choked on my hot toddy. Kamaha'o!