Saturday was supposed to be my day off but around 4pm I checked my phone and saw a text from Elliot sent an hour earlier asking me if I could come in. “Henry is fucked,” it said. Uh oh…. I called him back to make sure he still wanted me to come in (yes) and after checking bus tracker, ran out my house.

Apparently Henry had pulled his back and said he needed to go the hospital.
Me: Huh?! Was he carrying wood?
Elliot: No. He was just turning.*Mimics turning motion*
Me: …. =__= *facepalm*

Henry is not going to make it. Not at this rate, at least. It makes me remember what Armanzo said last Wednesday when Henry worked 1, that he thought Henry told him he might quit. I always want to give people a chance, but Henry, GET THY ACT TOGETHER.
Oh well, it gave me a chance to get back on 1, teehee! Tess saw me and said, “Killin’ it, Betty! I love that smile!” because I was grinning. The guys can say what they want about loving 2 and 3 but 1 is so gosh-darn comforting. Cooking dates and shoulder are so comforting. Ahhh, so happy ❤

We had a stage that day. His name was Neal and apparently he knew Tess and Dylan and our barback Justin (from different areas of his life) which was weird. He gave me a weird vibe, but that could just be me. Honestly, he kind of looked like a rapist to me, not that I know what a rapist looks like. I'm saying, he gave me weird vibes and I don't want to see him hired. I didn't see how he worked in the initial stage prep stage, but later that evening when I went to get octopus for the octopus salad, I saw the way the octo had been cut and I could see who initialed the tape when they labeled it… I do not like Neal the Stage. If you can't cut something has simple as cooked octopus correctly, I wouldn't even want to let you touch a pan of dates. Hmph! (Koren would say I'm being too meticulous about this, but come on!! If you can't do simple tasks adequately, what does that say about you?)

The night was steady but not too crazy, owing to the Taste of Chicago and probably the Pride Parade on Sunday. Next week, Elliot tells me I'll be working six days out of the week. I'm probably going to be bone tired, but at least I'll have a helluva lot of overtime. Yay.

Also: after work while Elliot and I were waiting for a cab, server Sontra came out for a smoke and after telling us about her art show, she later turned to me and told me how fabulous I looked. Apparently it looked like I'd lost "a zillion pounds!" which, though flattering, left me feeling vaguely insulted. I mean, I know I'm chubby and I have lost about 10 lbs since last Halloween, but she made me feel like I used to be as big as a whale and now I'd slimmed down into a deer or something. This, coming from a woman who was, that night, wearing something that looked like a burlap sack with arm-holes cut into it. The only reasons I look so "good" is because I got a haircut with bangs to hide some of my fat face. That and I've not been eating. When you're on the line, you don't exactly get a dinner break. You're constantly working and sweating your way through dinner hour and I guess that kind of, sort of is a workout. The only thing I do consume on the line (besides tasting the food I'm preparing) is water. Not the best diet, not that it should even be counted as a "diet". I'm just mildly miffed that this huge deal was made over me by someone who didn't know me and made me feel like previously I was so awful looking. Lady, this is why I'm probably not going to attend your art show.

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