Goddamn, It's Friday

I know, I know, I'm a twisted individual. It's Friday! The week's over! Exhale, change out of your work clothes, and have a drink. Go to a movie, an art gallery. Read a book in bed for the next twelve hours and then sleep until 1 pm.

No, don't do that, you will be so tired and then it will be practically dark again by the time you've gotten dressed and had breakfast.

But Friday, for me, is the worst. You'd think I'd be used to closing Friday nights at the restaurant. This is what, my eleventh month doing it? Before, though, I had Saturday and Sunday off so I could spend it with my boyfriend. You have to get your priorities right when you're in a long-distance relationship, no matter how long the distance is. Before, I just worked the six- or seven-hour closing shift, sweeping and mopping my way to weekend freedom. Now, I work at the law firm for four hours--easy, I know--bike over to campus, eat reluctant Italian-inspired dinner, maybe read a bit, and start working by six. I usually get home after eleven and want nothing but my bed, after over ten hours apart from it.

The biggest problem, though, is the ANGER. It's like the time I closed the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. I volunteered to do this. And then I was standing there at the register, let's say 6 p.m., and it's black outside. And no one is coming into the restaurant. (I was actually probably scrubbing the inside of a refrigerator because there were so few customers.) Why, you ask? Why? Because it's Thanksgiving! They are on their way to or already with their families, you dummy! Why are you working? But it was just one time. I was okay. I went to the parade in the morning, and Thanksgiving went on.

This is almost EVERY FRIDAY. I have to serve jerks! Who can afford to eat out! On Friday! And add extra toppings, ninety-nine cents a pop! And a pop to drink! I don't buy drinks on Friday night. I scrape creamy marinara sauce out of bowls and wash them in soapy bleach-water that turns my hands to painful red monsters. On Friday night! And then I only have one day off before everything starts again.

Of course, I chose Friday night. I wanted one day completely off, and I picked Saturday, and that is my fault. It is also my fault that I haven't tried to get a Real Job that pays Real Money. Okay. You win.

So go forth, all ye who have the night off, and have a great time, while I try my best to reset my head to forget it's Friday so I don't scowl all night. Either way, don't come near me after 9 p.m. I will stab you with a to-go fork, or smother you with a to-go bag, because YOU DON'T NEED TO EAT HERE I WANT TO GO HOME TAKE YOUR FOOD WITH YOU BUT DON'T TAKE A BAG WHEN YOU ONLY HAVE ONE BOX TO TAKE WITH YOU, YOU INSENSITIVE EARTH-WRECKER.

Okay. No. It's just funnier this way. I'm okay. I can breathe. I'm gonna go enjoy some fettuccine alfredo. With broccoli, so I don't die.