Sundays Off.
So, last night before my third shift (second at the restaurant) I was contacted by my boss at the motel, begging me to come in the next morning -- which would be a holiday, last minute, and yet another Sunday I'm not supposed to be working. Apparently, the people who were going to check out Monday morning decided to check out Sunday, instead, and Boss Lady can't handle it, even with B's help. You know, for a woman who once said if she did some laundry for me so she could take away some of my hours, she could afford new pillow shams? She sure does want me there all the time.
Now, before I get off track, I'd like to clarify the actual reason I'm irritated. Is it because they're calling me in on another friggin' day off? Meh. What else is new? Is it because it was last minute? No. I'm so used to that, I almost want to laugh. Is it because it was the first Labor Day weekend where I'd have an actual day off? It's not even that, although the fact that no one can live without me for a day so my life passes me by kinda irks me. No, it's because I know for a fact that, were it *me* needing the help, I'd be up a creek without a paddle.
How do I know this, you ask? Do you remember earlier in this entry when I said the Monday departures decide to check out on Sunday? Guess who was on the schedule to handle it all by themselves on Monday? Yep. Me. And, do you think anyone offered to help me strip and clean all those rooms by myself? Absolutely not.
The fact that they didn't tell me until the evening before, when they knew I had to work all night, so I'll go in to clean rooms having no sleep... that's just the icing on the cake.
I'm fed up. I'm done. One of the teenagers who works at the restaurant is leaving in November, and I've asked my boss there if I can pick her shifts up. Two more months and I can quit the motel. Ugh, just saying that gives me a boost! Wish me luck!
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