What a freaking day.
Very busy night...no problems until the 44 people from our sister company showed up for their Christmas Party.
Not one issue from any items coming out of my station. Not one.
Then the ridiculous pasta orders started rolling in and the roof fell in.
Our Chef, whom I have never treated with anything less than total respect, and who was attending the party, and liberally sampling adult beverages, came completely unhooked...I stepped in to the saute station (not my station tonight) to attempt to help and he literally starts screaming.
"If you can't handle it, get off my fucking line!"
Bending over backward, working 60 or so hours a week, never late, never called in sick...attempting to pull these orders together and that's what I get?
I am a grown assed man. I know I have to pay my dues, but I never have been, nor ever will be any body's punk. I am the oldest cat in the place, which normally is cause for lots of laughs from the fucking children I work with. It will not happen again. Or it may be that God's trying to tell me to move on.
I hate it when he works in mysterious ways.
We will talk...