free at last, free at last!!!
So I finally quit my god-awful horrible job at the Cheesecake Factory.
YESSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!
Today I went in for my shift as usual, and things were horrible as usual, and somewhere between trying to add a side of mushroom gravy to a to-go order and some lady screaming at me about her buffalo chicken strips, I decided that I had had enough. I was sick, and I was tired, and I wasn't taking it anymore.
I was tired of being patronized by my managers. I was tired of being treated as sub-human by the customers. I was tired of the front-desk bitches acting like they were better than I was. I was tired of a co-worker mumbling behind my back about the way I did my job. I was tired of the hours. I was tired of never getting breaks. I was tired of relying on Red Bull to survive. I was tired of thinking I was going insane. Correction: I had already gone insane. I was tired of being physically sickened by the very idea of having to go to that god-forsaken place and get treated like shit. My stomach has been in a constant state of indigestion with every thought of that stupid restaurant.
I told the customers that I'd be right back. But instead of finding a manager, or shattering a bunch of glass and making a scene, or even locking myself in the bathroom for the rest of the shift, I just left. I walked to the back of the restaurant, gathered my things, and quietly slipped out the back door. No drama or anything. I just disappeared. I called my parents so they knew where I was in case a manager called home looking for me, and I drove home.
God only knows how the rest of the night went over there. I have probably been called every nasty name ever invented about someone in the history of non-college-educated-middle-aged man. I am most likely the biggest story in that place right now, unless it managed to finally fall into a sinkhole or burn to the ground in some sick twist of irony. I don't even know how I'm supposed to go about turning in my stuff and collecting my last paycheck. I don't want to go back to that place for a long, long time, but I know I'll have to make at least one last appearance.
Despite the feeling of my stomach eating away at itself, I feel pretty good. Kinda like I've been in a fight and the adrenaline has worn off, so I'm left with that exhausted satisfaction of delivering a good ass kicking. Or the relief that one feels after they've been through something hellish and it's finally over. Which would accurately describe my situation.
So I'm going to chill out now...maybe try to get an update on what happened at my ex-place of employment, and then sleep knowing that I will most likely (because I can't say definitely) never work in another restaurant as long as I live.
Happy Labor Day.
And fuck the Cheesecake Factory.
YESSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!
Today I went in for my shift as usual, and things were horrible as usual, and somewhere between trying to add a side of mushroom gravy to a to-go order and some lady screaming at me about her buffalo chicken strips, I decided that I had had enough. I was sick, and I was tired, and I wasn't taking it anymore.
I was tired of being patronized by my managers. I was tired of being treated as sub-human by the customers. I was tired of the front-desk bitches acting like they were better than I was. I was tired of a co-worker mumbling behind my back about the way I did my job. I was tired of the hours. I was tired of never getting breaks. I was tired of relying on Red Bull to survive. I was tired of thinking I was going insane. Correction: I had already gone insane. I was tired of being physically sickened by the very idea of having to go to that god-forsaken place and get treated like shit. My stomach has been in a constant state of indigestion with every thought of that stupid restaurant.
I told the customers that I'd be right back. But instead of finding a manager, or shattering a bunch of glass and making a scene, or even locking myself in the bathroom for the rest of the shift, I just left. I walked to the back of the restaurant, gathered my things, and quietly slipped out the back door. No drama or anything. I just disappeared. I called my parents so they knew where I was in case a manager called home looking for me, and I drove home.
God only knows how the rest of the night went over there. I have probably been called every nasty name ever invented about someone in the history of non-college-educated-middle-aged man. I am most likely the biggest story in that place right now, unless it managed to finally fall into a sinkhole or burn to the ground in some sick twist of irony. I don't even know how I'm supposed to go about turning in my stuff and collecting my last paycheck. I don't want to go back to that place for a long, long time, but I know I'll have to make at least one last appearance.
Despite the feeling of my stomach eating away at itself, I feel pretty good. Kinda like I've been in a fight and the adrenaline has worn off, so I'm left with that exhausted satisfaction of delivering a good ass kicking. Or the relief that one feels after they've been through something hellish and it's finally over. Which would accurately describe my situation.
So I'm going to chill out now...maybe try to get an update on what happened at my ex-place of employment, and then sleep knowing that I will most likely (because I can't say definitely) never work in another restaurant as long as I live.
Happy Labor Day.
And fuck the Cheesecake Factory.
Comments
I am sending positive vibes your way, and hoping your last trip to the hell-hole is OK.