I felt okay when I got to work today. I wasn't exactly thrilled to be there--why doesn't this spell check like any contractions today?--but it was alright. And then, one little thing, which was my own fault, set me off.
I'd taken a table on the opposite side of the restaurant from my section, because I happened to be walking by and saw that they hadn't been approached yet. They were fine, friendly and all. The problem happened when they gave me $50.25 for their $20.12 bill. I had no change, so I had to bother the bartender for it. However, my brain short-circuited and I instead of asking her to give me change for the quarter, I asked for $49 in bills and $1 in change. Which totally screwed me up. In the meantime, I'd gotten another table in addition to the two I already had on the OTHER side of the restaurant from these people. I was so flustered when I went to get their change that I totally counted it back wrong and looked like a big idiot. Twice.
After that, I was starting to get back into the swing of things. Everyone was there, we were in regular sections, I was only on one side of the restaurant, everything was fine. Until I was carrying my table's dinner out, just one plate in each hand, and something happened. I don't know exactly what; I think I might've bumped into the wall, but I'm not sure. At any rate, the plate in my right hand hit the tiles two feet in front of me. Quite loudly.
I tossed the other plate back in the window, told the cooks I needed another medium steak ... and burst into tears. It wasn't that the steak was a big deal; I was just so damned frustrated with myself. I went out back and took a few deep breaths, and then tried to go about my business. But after that, every little thing just set my teeth on edge. Every time I was in the kitchen I was grinding my teeth, or ranting to my coworkers, or just grumbling under my breath.
Then, then! I got cut from the floor right after getting two new tables. One of them I transferred as they were waiting for another two. The other I kept, since I had a table of campers--and they were awesome, those campers, who of whom claimed to have worked at this restaurant before, yet they hung around and left a crummy tip. I couldn't do my sidework, because it depended on someone else's work being done and checked, and there's this one closer who INSISTS that she checks that sidework, and has an absolute fucking conniption if anyone else checks it. But of course she was just SO BUSY, mostly bitching about the host, that she never checked them out. I couldn't roll silverware, because other people were taking up all the counter space. I couldn't clean my front of house because the tables were sat.
I didn't get out of there until 30 minutes after the restaurant closed. And I wasn't a closer. I ate something, bite by bite in between tasks, but it kept pissing me off more. We have a new dessert, and I'd been looking forward to having it all day, but couldn't get it because by the time Ig ot everything else done, including my hastily scarfed dinner, the kitchen was closed. A small thing, to be sure, but it sent me out the door still in a bad goddamn mood.
It was just one of those days where nothing bad really happened, but I just couldn't get out of my bad mood and everything every customer said to me made me want to punch them. I guess I faked happy well, though, because I made $70. Yippee!