The owner's decided to take family day off, and so the restaurant is closed, the week goes downhill after that.
The long weekend, the closure of that extra half day, means everyone comes in on Tuesday, all regularly scheduled days off are out the window, if we dare to take a regular day off in addition to the holiday he's be screaming that we're all taking the piss, that we're lazy, etc, etc, and so to save ourselves any grief on that front we all come in, and let him decide when people will be sent home.
M and Z somehow manage to wrangle 2 lunches off, the Nephew and G get one, I don't get any, despite this we're splitting the tips even throughout the week, it's not worth the hassle to calculate who gets how many nickels more given how slow the lunches are. I don't care, particularly, am just tired, but the Nephew's vocal in his annoyance, M and Z worked a shift less than him, why are they getting the same amount? ...
It's a long, long week, more work than any non-holiday week ever was. Lunches are slow, evenings busy, Friday the nephew, out for a cigarette, spots a crackhead breaking into the owner's truck, him and G abandon the floor and drive about the neighborhood until they catch him.
Boring.
And Saturday, busy, always busy, we get a call for a reservation, table coming in from buttfuck alberta and they want to know if we'll be open, they'll be early, before opening, we take the reservation and unlock the doors.
At ten minutes to five they arrive early.
"reservation?" enquires the hostess.
"Yes" replies the wife, they're an older 60 something couple. There's a pause, waiting on a name, the husband clarifies:
"for today...."
They don't want to check their coats, by the time they're seated they've already taken them off and thrown them on the chairs.
They don't like the table they've been assigned, want a bigger table, it's still early and we can afford to move them, give them a bigger table. ...
"Only water" when prompted for drinks, the bigger table a necessity so they can spread out their water and buns, they chastise M for being closed on Family Day, there was no sign on the door, apparently the restaurant being locked wasn't enough for them to figure it out, and their lack of foresight in not calling to reserve or confirm is somehow our fault...
Getting their order the wife is on the phone, she can't hang up, important gossip, she signs her husband to order for her...
It's a long night, and my patience for rude half-wit rednecks is done, done, done.
***
End of the night, drinks with G and the Nephew, confirming my eventual departure, everyone has advice:
G: "You're going to need a camper van. And a gun. You bringing a gun for the bears?"
Me: "Probably not."
G: "You'll need pepper spray then. A big can, like a fire extinguisher worth" and here he mimes pepper spraying the entire bar, as if I'll be somehow confronting herds of angry grizzlies...
Me, I take a friendlier view of the wilderness wherein the bears lead me to a secret creek filled with gold nuggets that only they know about and in return for my catching fish and feeding them they work the pan and the sluice and at night we all sit around the campfire snuggling and singing campfire songs...
They both have lots of opinions as to what I'll need to bring and do. A camper. A truck. Heavy machinery. They're both expert campers and gold panners, despite neither of them having slept a night in a tent their entire lives.
***
Sunday, awake after a fashion, dye hair. Why not? Well, lots of reasons, but somehow it's been a long week and good sense is out the window. Blonde, bright, brilliant yellow-blonde. If I were to go dark it might look like I were covering my grey, blonde is better, it just confirms my insanity. Very Aryan, the Nephew will salute me when he sees me on Monday. It works, in it's way, although it would be better if I'd some bright blue contacts to slip in. Pick up the boy, await his reaction, for a couple of minutes there's none, he's busy on his phone, dramatic pause. He looks up. Another pause.
Worth it, for this alone.
He's onto "Les Liasons Dangereuse", my reading pick for him, enjoying it, the natural counterpoint to Lord Chesterfield (and eventually the memoirs of Casanova) - he's on the last book - observing: "You know, for the first part of the book I was thinking that Valmont was the protagonist...."
And he's been chosen for a leadership camp for school, as part of the requirement I'm to write him a "love letter", in which I detail all the things I find worthy and admirable about him, to be read upon his completion of the camp. He's enjoying my discomfort, I'm not so good with this overt praise and admiration shit, all sounds kinda-hokey-new-age to me, and I warn him not to drink the kool aid.
"Mom just told me to write my own and she'd sign it...", I hadn't even considered that, but I admire the way she got it done. My project for the week, write a book of praise for my son and ornament it with stickers of Unicorns and Rainbows and Hearts for his graduation from Camp Crusty...