Let's gripe about Sunday nights in restaurants. I do not recieve fish or meat delivery on the weekend, and no produce on Sunday. Since I have not yet developed the ability to fucking divine through grease spatters the exact amount of product we are going to sell, I have to guess. We are not a reservation place, I go by what reservations are made, hotel occupancy, and types of hotel functions. Sometimes I hit, sometimes I don't. Sunday nights are the nights when I feel the misses. We run out of shit, and after eight years, our servers can't get it through their thick fucking skulls that I am going to run out of shit occasionally on Sunday nights. "oh, but I just sold a pork to table 82, you should have let us know", we have an 86 board with countdowns, check it fuckwad. If you want me to do your work for you, give me your tip, otherwise take the fucking sand out of your pussy, and leave me the fuck alone. I got enough shit to deal with without having to fucking wetnurse you through your fucking incompetence.
Damn that felt good.