Urk...

Ugg, Bluggxt. I have been awake for two days now drinking beer and cough syrup keeping myself at a level mentally charged enough to take on the task at hand at my work.

Forgive me if my thoughts, and/or this blog get a little sloppy in the meantime.

You see, I work in a restaurant which has been rather busy for the last few days, and we also just had three people walk out of the dish room, so me and my brother have been stalking around like ninjas for a couple of days, running things in the night dish works.. Hell, I wasn't even supposed to work today. I do believe I've torn something in my shoulder as well as poking my hip very deeply with the corner of a stainless steel table.

Most people probably have no idea how hard it is to work as a dishwasher at a high class restaurant for any length of time.

The difference of labor class is never more apparent than when working in a restaurant. The server would be the upper-middle class, the kitchen the blue collars. Dining room manager is pure white collar

Anyway, I work in the dishroom, and amb berry por childrens:)>, and cross over doing prep and ovens.

To listen to a lot of the servers whine sometimes, they make clear their origins. Wealthy parents, things coming in life too easily.

Not that there's anything wrong with that, but really, things haven't come to me in life so easily. I probably could have gone to college if anybody had happened to have the money or know how to get money for me from the government for community college. I guess I would have been a computer science major. At this point I seem to have lost interest and am pursuing other areas of advancement

But in the meantime, I work in a busy fucking restaurant, and I require a lot of chemicals to get me by on a daily basis. Therefore, I am treated like a scrub even though I can safely say that I work twice as hard and fast as anyone else there.

But I am lucky in that I have I actually found a narrow little niche here where my anarcho-capitlalist, zero-tolerance for lazy pussies attitude can be fully and publicly expressed in the form of the concentrated psychotic rage required simply to navigate about in that environment.

The General Manager often jokes that she should make all the servers spend at least one night in the dishroom.

That would be rather funny.

Really, if anyone is looking for modern day ninja training, restaurant dishroom work while tweaked out on dextromethorphan will make you sleak and silent as a motherfucker. I've seriously been putting on new bulk for when I (hope to) enter into MMA matches simply by picking up extra shifts.

It's better than any gym and they pay me for it.