Foodservice Eats Your Soul.

Last night I was once again stuck in my least favorite spot - behind the register at the Chick-Fil-A in our student food court. It was a slow night and I had too much time to look around and think about things. Across from the food court is a line of windows and booth seats; the windows are the kind of coated glass that you can always see your reflection in, especially when it's dark out. I've never paid them much attention before, because I'm too busy to look straight across five empty tables to stare at a dark window, but for some reason they caught my eye as I was standing behind the counter. I noticed the blinking icicle lights that were hung from the front of the counter, and then I noticed myself in the little picture. The window framed the register area perfectly, with me just to the side. There I stood in my neat grey uniform, black hat, hair in a utilitarian bun. I looked exactly like every other girl who worked register - not exactly in the physical sense, but in the conformity and posture and the way I just fit into the scene like I'd been there forever. From that distance I looked like the perfect generic foodservice worker, and when that image clicked into conscious thought, a little piece of me died.

I never wanted to work in foodservice - I've always said I'd hate it, and I do. Customers are seldom respectful and patient enough, and it seems they come up with new ways to torture the cashiers just for fun. Double orders to remember, huge orders with odd items, orders of just one item that happens to be the one we don't have in the warming trays. And the nugget sauce. We sell chicken nuggets, and stock nugget sauce. It's good stuff. People order it with all kinds of things, but they usually add it as an afterthought - "Oh, can I get some Barbeque Sauce?", after I've rung up their order. And nugget sauce without the nuggets is $.20 extra per packet. I've tried just giving it to them but you can't when the managers are watching, and charging them for it seems stupid, especially when CFA's policy regarding customers is: "Keep them happy no matter what." We're even supposed to take multiple or expired coupons if the customer wants us to, and reply to requests or thank-yous with "My Pleasure!" *shudder* I tried it once and couldn't hold back a giggle. Anyway, I'm stuck at the despised place until the end of the semester, when I'm officially quitting and hoping for more hours at the library to pay for my Ultima Online subscription (and food, clothing, my Christmas credit card bill...). I need to find an off-campus job, if I can get one that's flexible enough for student workers and pays me to do something I can stand, like office work.

I get to stay up late tonight, again. Here at the library (where I should be doing my homework, but have found ways to procrastinate thanks to the ready supply of laptops and wireless service) until 2:15, then home to crash. I'm running on about 4 hours of sleep and it doesn't feel as bad as it should. I think the tea this morning (Celestial Seasonings' "Morning Thunder") helped. Yay for caffeine in small doses. Sleep is for the tenured professors. I like my awake time, really.....z.zz.zzzzzzzz....