Friday, April 08, 2005
So it's come down to this... my fantastic job now officially has a giant shitstain. I cling naively to the hope that it can be cleaned up, but I have serious doubts.
I have been so strung out and exhausted lately that I know I am on the verge of serious burnout. You can only work 6 days a week (with 2 small kids at home, no less) for so long before you crash. Let's ignore the fact that the stress certainly contributed to my recent miscarriage. When I started, they told me that "after things settle down", I would have a 5 day work week. Well, things settled down, so much so that I spend at least a quarter of every day looking for something to do. But have I been given a "day off" (this is a joke--see, a "day off" would mean I would "only" work 5 days a week, just BARELY over 40 hours a week)? No, no day off for Sassy. Instead, I'm pressured to be there MORE. Why? Well, when it's slow, they need to cut costs. It saves them money to have Sassy work since she's on salary. So every day I'm asked if I can come in for the dinner shift as well. Every day I get heavy sighs and eye rolls when I say no. I've stopped giving them reasons--they don't deserve them. But the pressure hasn't stopped.
Finally, Chef was talking with Tanner yesterday in his office and asked me what my schedule was like for the evening. As if he didn't already know. I gave him a blank look and waited for him to ask me to come in. He did, followed by the predictable whine about payroll costs. I cut him off and said, "I need to be here LESS, not more." He stopped cold, absolutely flabbergasted. "Chef, I'm already here 50 hours a week." "No you're not."
No, I'm NOT?
Yes, that's right. There, in front of the only other kitchen manager, he called me a liar. He correctly read my reaction on my face... the "FUCK YOU!" I wanted to say but couldn't. "Well, have Liz set you up on the computer so we can track your hours then."
Great, so now instead of the day off I've EARNED (more than 180 hours of overtime since December, unpaid of course, since I'm on salary), I'm treated like a freaking high school student and asked to clock in to prove I'm there. I believe that before I arrange for the change, I'm going to tell them that as long as they insist on such tactics, then they can pay me hourly, too. Put your money where your big fat asshole mouth is.
I have been so strung out and exhausted lately that I know I am on the verge of serious burnout. You can only work 6 days a week (with 2 small kids at home, no less) for so long before you crash. Let's ignore the fact that the stress certainly contributed to my recent miscarriage. When I started, they told me that "after things settle down", I would have a 5 day work week. Well, things settled down, so much so that I spend at least a quarter of every day looking for something to do. But have I been given a "day off" (this is a joke--see, a "day off" would mean I would "only" work 5 days a week, just BARELY over 40 hours a week)? No, no day off for Sassy. Instead, I'm pressured to be there MORE. Why? Well, when it's slow, they need to cut costs. It saves them money to have Sassy work since she's on salary. So every day I'm asked if I can come in for the dinner shift as well. Every day I get heavy sighs and eye rolls when I say no. I've stopped giving them reasons--they don't deserve them. But the pressure hasn't stopped.
Finally, Chef was talking with Tanner yesterday in his office and asked me what my schedule was like for the evening. As if he didn't already know. I gave him a blank look and waited for him to ask me to come in. He did, followed by the predictable whine about payroll costs. I cut him off and said, "I need to be here LESS, not more." He stopped cold, absolutely flabbergasted. "Chef, I'm already here 50 hours a week." "No you're not."
No, I'm NOT?
Yes, that's right. There, in front of the only other kitchen manager, he called me a liar. He correctly read my reaction on my face... the "FUCK YOU!" I wanted to say but couldn't. "Well, have Liz set you up on the computer so we can track your hours then."
Great, so now instead of the day off I've EARNED (more than 180 hours of overtime since December, unpaid of course, since I'm on salary), I'm treated like a freaking high school student and asked to clock in to prove I'm there. I believe that before I arrange for the change, I'm going to tell them that as long as they insist on such tactics, then they can pay me hourly, too. Put your money where your big fat asshole mouth is.
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