No Rest For The Weary

I’ve not felt much like writing lately…at least, not like writing about my life. I thought I’d take five minutes this morning to write (vent) about happenings there-in.

Flaky cook did indeed manage to re-appear at work on Saturday and Sunday of the Memorial Day weekend (though I wasn’t informed of her intentions until very late on Friday) so I WAS able to take my long-planned vacation. After stressing out about it for two days, I REALLY needed it by the time if finally became a reality. Weather in Seaside was not very nice, though. Lots of clouds, some rain, some wind, cool temps. I would rather have found somewhere that I could lie in the sun all day. I’ve HAD my vacation for the summer, and I still look as white as I did in mid-January. Sigh!

Returned home Monday, everything went rather smoothly on Tuesday, and then I get a call on Wednesday morning that flaky cook has failed to show up for her scheduled shift. Apparently, she has decided she no longer wants to work for us. Did not hear from her again, and in fact have not seen her since. She showed up to pick up her final paycheck when she knew I was not there. Jeez. Thirty-eight years old, with a teen-ager of her own, and she has no more class or manners than a kid. Things will be a little tough around the cafe for awhile, but we are well rid of Ms. Cook and her constant drama, I think.

Pickings are still slim in the local labor market, though. I’ve hired three new girls, and they are all YOUNG. Eighteen or just about to turn so. I’m thinking if I am having trouble communicating with the twenty-somethings, the teen-agers ought to be a real challenge. I have no idea what motivates children these days. They don’t seem to need or want the money, so I’m not sure why they even work. It’s almost more for the social value than anything else…and I cannot have the café turn into the local high-school (drop-out) hang-out.

So I worked a lot of long shifts last week, and have pretty much shot through any re-invigoration provided by my short vacation. I feel like I’m about a hundred years old…my hands are killing me, my right knee is giving me crap. I had just got to the point were I was able to separate myself a tad from the hash-slinging part of owning the restaurant and then Ms. Cook craps out on me. One step forward, two steps back. 

It's going to be a long summer.