A wonderfully lazy Sunday evening. I have a few posts simmering, but I emphasize the word lazy in that last sentence and you draw your own conclusions. It's been a long and somewhat insane week. Although I like restaurant work well enough, it's hard, really hard at times, and last week was no exception. Physically, you're on your feet for up to ten hours a day, if not more; carrying heavy trays and bus tubs, trying not to strain your back and trying to dodge the other servers, customers trying to find the bathroom (yes, around the corner ma'am, well, if it won't open it probably means there's someone in there) and the dishwashers dancing and trying to smack each other with wet towels as you try to get through. Mentally, you're keeping a list of what all needs to be done and in what order (need to run table 60's food, take 63's order, get 55 butter, and, oh look, there's people on 61, wonder how long they've been sitting there). Emotionally you have to keep an appearance of calmness, friendliness and sanity while you deal with some pretty strange characters and tables that want to know your life history while you're trying to remember their order, along with the ever-increasing above mental list. A few nights ago I had cleared off a table and was standing there with my arms full of heavy plates and the customers ask if I know how to get to Canyon Road, a street with a ton of galleries and even more tourists. So I tell them how to get there. They then go on to ask how long I've lived in Santa Fe, where I'm from originally and if I like the town. All the while the plates are getting heavier and heavier and I feel the silverware start shifting ominously. But I smile and answer their questions as quickly as possible. Then they say something like, "So are you married, are you with anyone, are you single?" "Uh . . . I'll go get your check now." Yeah, people are weird and you certainly see that in the restaurant business. So all in all it's pretty draining. And then it doesn't help that you get done in the middle of the night, high on adrenaline. So we go next door to the bar to have a drink (as in one) and compare horror stories from the night. But the next thing you know the bar staff, who knows us, repeatedly shows up with free shots of whatever the bartender has concocted and then it's some ungodly hour of the night and you have to work a double tomorrow and hmmm. . . can anybody drive home? But all that being said, the money is very good (usually), I like my co-workers, can't complain about my manager and I do have a perverse liking for the insanity and chaos. It's certainly a lot more fun than any office job.