This is how we mark the years in restaurants.
The Valentines' Day Massacre.
Friday the 13th, slow in the book, but in real life we're slammed. Busy, busy, busy, just the two of us.
Then Saturday, again - slow in the book, tables, 2 every half hour. We've scheduled for the nightmare, 3 servers, the owner's wife to manage bar and take-outs, only the take outs are crazy. People are smart, don't go out for Valentines, get a take-away, but the sheer volume of take aways exceeds the volume of food we're selling in the restaurant, slowing us down in a major way.
And the low volume of reservations, well, we're still getting them, "we'll be coming down in 20 minutes and would like a reservation for 6 people" sort of idiocy, less a reservation than "do you have room?"... and we do, we think. From 6:00 to 8:00 we're full, full up, line out the door, walk-ins, reservations, can't keep up.
Keeping up on the bussing, resetting of tables, it's a nightmare. And chaos slowly builds, servers take shortcuts, drop their dirty dishes off on the bar meaning to pick them up later and shuffle them to the bus-bins, glasses piled by the sink for washing, empty drink cans and containers tossed wherever, the mess compounds itself, a thousand trifles soon add up and then there's the unending volumes of plates, glasses, washed and to be put away...
On my own I'm not so busy. If I had this section, 7 tables, all deuces, on my own, I'd be fine. But the interference of others, waiting to get into the till, the bar, working around the increasing piles of rubbish, this is the craziness.
****
The night ends and now time for the plan, the Valentine's Dosed party. I've bought tickets for everyone. H*, cafe acquaintance, E* and his wife, R*, Mr. Tickles, I've assembled a posse.
We meet outside the rave, get our wristbands. R* takes his and promises to come back later, around midnight. He never does.
E and his wife, well, she's not comfortable, finds a sofa, sits in it, scrolls her phone. She's out of her league. E* gets it, he's down to party, but what can he do?
They're gone by 12:00. As is H*, who is as well a fish out of water. Leaving just me and Mr. Tickles, who's taken the MDMA and has become, as he always does, a security guard standing by the doors looking for trouble...
***
It's pretty damned good, I have to say, Tickles gets it, E* gets it, I go until 2:00 and then pack it in. The outfits, the crowd, the people, it's great, but it's been the Valentines Day Massacre after all and I'm a little bit exhausted and have vague hopes of being somewhat productive on Sunday.
Vague is the key word.
***
Sunday, wake up around 9:00, grab a coffee, head back to bed. Wake up again at 1:00, up until 4:00, having foraged for some lunch, then back to bed. The Valentines Recovery. Today, up at 8:00, feeling surprisingly refreshed, but - not taking any chances, will be back to bed soon. In a few hours, back to the real world, work, the land of the fairies left far behind...
E left in a hurry, his wife upset, I will catch up on that, and R will make his excuses and the night will pass.
Outside now it's snowing, the snow, gently falling, flakes, the tell-tale signs of winter that's never arrived...