Thursday, shirts into dry-cleaners, maitre-d approaches and advises I need to use more deodorant.
It's not the deodorant, my shirts are a bit stale, I've no way of pressing them, never-mind, I buy a new shirt between shifts, double up on the deodorant, Necessary expenses if you want to make money and keep your job.
Evening, Chef pulls me aside, gives a couple of his shirts, new, still in the bag, a neutral IT blue, it's a kind gesture. Somehow I have the feeling that they're all seeing through me...
Now, Friday, another split/double shift, and I need shoes. These shoes I've been wearing, Jon Fluevogs', they've been damp/wet ever since leaving the Kootenays, wandering Hope, now downtown Vancouver, always wet, damp, never dry, and I fancy I can smell them, even a full six feet above them, have taken to filling them with kitty-litter in an attempt to dry them out, remove the smell, to no avail. So - before work, off to find another pair of shoes. My budget can't afford this, but I'll have no budget if I'm unemployed...
I sniff them. I can't smell them, not up close, but hold them a bit from my nose and it's there...
I find a pair, they fit perfectly, they'll do.
And - like any shoe that fits me perfectly within four hours into this 12 hour shift my feet are screaming. Not smelling - not anymore, but if they could talk you'd hear them.
I shut my mind up. Stand like a stork - one foot up, then the other.
FUCK FUCK FUCK
The shoes, I should note, they do fit perfectly, only I've never bought a pair of shoes that didn't require some breaking in. Some take longer than others.
The shift - Friday, lunch, work a small party of 20 people with another waitress. They spend $8000 - $9400 service in.
And a short break for an hour before back for dinner - another party, this my own, 9 people, they spend $6000, $2000 food, $3100 Wine & Cocktails, $920 Service.
This is insane. This is - note - not mine, not even a portion - there's expeditors, hostess, bartenders, sommeliers, a myriad of people with their fingers in this pie - but - there's no faulting the system, everyone is doing their job, better than me by a long shot, but as a waiter used only to tipping out a kitchen that kvetched about every order, where ringing out even $5000 in a day was a once-in-a-summer occurrence where I had quite literally to run 20 or 25 KM at marathon speeds without time to catch your breath, to doubling your ringout and doing nothing, merely topping up wine ...
It's crazy, and contributes a lot towards the surreal air that fills my days.
Tonight, the hostel has once again filled with tourists, largely Mexicans, it seems, returning at 1:00 AM to discover every bunk full, people rolling over while I discreetly change, charge my phone, have a drink before crashing...apparently - fingers crossed - they'll all be gone by Monday, we'll see. It's no great pleasure, this hostel, when it's empty, when full it's positively unlivable, what makes it bearable at the moment is that I'm so seldom here. This week, time to start looking for a place to live, permanent like...