There Aint Nothing That you Can Do

I used to work in a restaurant.  

I started in Glasgow, and then when we opened a second branch I moved to the wonderous town that is Dunfermline.  After a horrific 18 months in that hell hole, I moved back to Glasgow and whilst I waited for the house in Dunfermline to sell, we arranged my rota so that my lates coincided with earlies, and I slept over with one of my co-managers. 

She was a biatch from hell. A biatch of the highest order.   When you were on her Good List, life was good, when you were on her bad list  - you life was not worth living. 

After a late; and after she had waited up for me "her very closest friend in the whole world, I love talking to you, I haven't ever had a friend I can talk to like this"; we ate supper together, had a night cap and went to bed. 

I woke in the morning with the phone ringing, "No, she should be there, is she not there?".  I lifted my head and the pillow came with me.  I was laying in a pool of vomit.  On the floor there was another pillow similarly covered in vomit. 

She opened the door and said "Oh good god".  I said, "I'm ill, I'm sorry, I don't know when I was sick", and promptly threw up again.   "You need to get up, they are waiting to get in".   I looked at her, and she screamed "Get in the shower, you need to go in". 

As I stood in the shower, washing stale sick off me, I shouted, I don't think I should go in.  I'm ill".  

"It's your shift.  You'll need to find someone else to cover for you".  

"Can you?"  

"No, I'm getting my hair done". 

Between leaving the shower and getting in the taxi I was sick twice more.  Between the Merchant City and Sauchiehall Street, The taxi driver had to stop twice to let me throw up. 

I made it into the restaurant, opened the doors, opened the kitchens, opened the bar, - all the while running back and forward to the loo.  Then I took up residence on the floor of the staff toilet, which gave me a view of the bar service area, and the bus boy section from where I could gauge what was happening. 

We had a special deal in the restaurant. "15 minutes or free"  

For a Tuesday, by 1145 we seemed unbelievably busy.  And I heard in passing, while still trying to get someone to come in early and cover for me, that there had been a bomb scare in the local BP offices, and all the staff had decanted to us. 

We lost £478.00 in lunches.