work is bad, m'kay
Okay, so, let's talk about this whole Sunday thing. It's a long story, but I'll try to keep it short. Basically, I work every day, doubles half the time, triples sometimes. I am always tired, and I have zero time to actually live. Between the barbecue restaurant and the roadside motel, and all the freelancing I need to do to pay my bills, I live in a constant state of work.
At the beginning of the year, they hired a new girl (B, for the purposes of this blog post), and she wanted more hours so, without asking me, she was given my Sundays. Okay, fine, whatever. Gives me a day off, and I definitely needed a day off. But, oh. Nothing's ever so simple.
You see, we have these two other maids at the motel. Let's call them J and the aforementioned B. J is a bit of a... character. She's always late, she's always drunk, sometimes just doesn't show up and it was always ignored because the boss is her aunt, so J gets away with murder. B, on the other hand, is just kind of... there. She doesn't really do much, but she's always complaining about how hard she has it.
Anyway, when I started getting Sundays off, J and B immediately started whining. They said they couldn't handle the workload by themselves. A workload I routinely do by myself without any help from them. But, my boss asked me to come in now and then when it was too busy for them to handle by themselves and, being a the good subordinate that I am, I agreed.
And let me tell you, it's been a nightmare. I've only had three Sundays off in the past six months. Every other Sunday, I've been there. Stripping rooms, washing laundry, scrubbing toilets and wiping hair out of bathtubs.
And when I do have to work a Sunday, I'm always left to do it alone. Oh, most of the time one of them is there, but not so you'd notice. J and B are either too hungover, too busy, or just too lazy to show up. It's like they're counting on me to bail them out, and I'm starting to get really tired of it. My sister likes to say that they figured out I'd carry the bus so they just pick their feet up, which is a friggin' Flintstones reference, if you're wondering.
I mean, I get that people have their own problems. I don't gaf. I'm sorry, I just don't. I don't because they don't care what happens to me, whether or not I am able to live my lie, or how long I have to stay at work to do the job they never finished. I didn't have a ton of gaf to begin with.
I don't know what I'm going to do. I'm starting to think it might be time to find a new job. A job where I'm actually appreciated and respected. A job where I don't have to work every single weekend. A job where I'm not treated like a doormat.
Sigh. I guess I'll just keep on cleaning until I find a better gig. Or until I go completely insane. I kinda feel like that last thing's already a thing...
Comments