Whoa.

So today I got to work a little before 7, like I usually do, and there was no one in the kitchen, although it looked like the usual opening was more or less in progress. I got to the registers to check in, and the first server I saw said, "Oh good! We have a cook!" Uh-oh.

Turns out the usual opener (Lisa) got to work but wasn't feeling very well and eventually got sent home. The manager on duty was on the phone trying to get ahold of another cook, but no luck. He ended up being my toast monkey while I held the line for close to two hours, running on nothing but pure adrenaline and the constant, dreadful feeling that I must've forgotten something ( It was the bacon, but even that turned out okay eventually. )

I had my first break at 11 and then it finally occurred to me to ask: did this mean I'd be working tomorrow? When I left a little after 2:30, it was still unclear whether Lisa would be sufficiently recovered to work (i.e. whether I'd have to cover for her). I rode my bike home the long way to relax, bitched to Peter for awhile before taking a nice long relaxing shower, but half an hour ago the phone rang and guess what? I'm opening tomorrow. Whee, ha.

I think it's time I asked for a raise. I mean, I held my own today under circumstances that would have made our other opener seriously freak out, and they're trusting me to open tomorrow, not him (although, granted, he's the 7 AM, so even if I'm super-slow he can probably have me caught up in no time). The manager who helped me on line today is the same guy who a few weeks ago gave me a bit of a talking-to, saying I needed to pick up the pace, but he's asking me to open tomorrow, so yeah. If they're gonna let me play like one of the big kids, then I'd like to get paid more like one of the big kids.

Oy vey. I stayed up kinda late last night playing with LJ style crap, thinking I only had to work today and could rest up over the weekend. I'd better go to bed early tonight, but before then I'm going to be really nice to myself. I see a lot of lounging around in bed in my future, even if the cat is being really loud and resentful at being locked inside so he can't make more trouble with the neighbor kitties.

Bad kitty! Bad Tracy!

So I went outside (in my pajamas, because wearing pajamas makes everything better) to check the mail (I got a new ATM card --- didn't know the old one was that close to expiring), and on my way back in Iggy Pop made a bold escape attempt. He got as far as the front porch, but I caught him by his tail and dragged him back inside, pulling the screen door closed behind us and trying my best to ignore his pathetic angry-hurt-sad cat noises.

Now I am feeling very guilty for being mean to my kitty, but dammit, if he's going to get into fights with the neighbor cats when he goes outside, then he's not going out. (Today, anyway; I bet we'll feel differently tomorrow at 5 AM or whenever he starts his yowling, and he gets really twitchy and unhappy if we keep him in for more than a few days anyway.) But I still feel like a really bad cat mama. I might have to buy back his love with canned food. I am such a wuss.