When I went to bed last night, I was fine. I'd been sneezing a lot, and my throat was sore, but I thought it was because I forgot to take my allergy medicine. When I woke up this morning ... okay, this afternoon, whatever! ... I knew I had a cold. Fuck!
But, it's a Saturday, and the dreaded Valentine's Day, so I didn't even attempt to call anyone. If they weren't already there, they requested it off. So I swallowed some DayQuil and got ready to go. I dragged myself through a shower and into clothes. I put on a pink cami under a black button-up shirt, and my girliest heart-shaped sparkly necklace--it's Valentine's Day, and I have boobs, so of course I'm supposed to be all mushy about this day. I came in with my hair up, my apron on, looking cute and ready to go--except for my scratchy voice.
And I walked into a madhouse. Not because it was really all THAT busy--the place wasn't full, we weren't on a wait--but there was a ridiculous number of employees there. All four managers, the district manager, four hosts, two bartenders, three or four prep people, four or five cooks, and I don't even know how many servers. It made my head spin just walking through the kitchen. My DayQuil hadn't kicked in yet, and I was just NOT feeling up to it--even though I only had a three table section. But I was resigned.
I checked my section, and then started asking people if they would want to pick up either of my shifts tomorrow. Then the clouds parted and the sun shone down on me because someone asked "are you working tonight?" I said yeah, and she said she wasn't ... and offered to work for me! So instead of tripping over coworkers and waiting on old people and families (because younger couples don't come to my restaurant this night of the year, generally), I got to come home and drink OJ and rest. Very nice.