The Weekend of Very Certain Doom

It's true to say that in this business we work hardest when the rest of the world is doing the opposite. It's what we do. I have no complaints about this situation. You don't survive for over 18 years in catering if you want bank holidays off. If you want those off you should have got a job in a bank! You don't get St Valentines day off, instead you get to take your disgruntled partner out on the 15th! New Years Eve is celebrated over the breakfast table 10 hours after the fact, And on it goes. The general rule of thunb being that you get to celebrate the day after. As a miserable so and so I can live without the celebrating, but the "special one" gets upset.

There are days in the restaurant booking sheet that you know are going to be big; New Years Eve, the whole of December infact, St Valentines day, Mothers day, St Patricks day, and to a lesser extent Fathers day, (I am not going to do the obvious joke about confusion reigning over Belfast on that particular Sunday.) But these are always well spaced apart thus lessening the effect on my stress levels. But not this weekend. The shitty little fuckers that plan these things have conspired to put 2 of the biggest days of the year into one weekend, St Patricks day on Saturday and Mothering Sunday the day after. There is normally a week between the 2 events. This, readers, is the "perfect storm" for restaurants and bars. If you have no interest in either event I suggest stay at home, lock the door and get smashed out of your tiny mind. Or do some housework, whatever floats your boat. I don't care I have enough issues of my own to be dealing with.

St Patricks day is the lesser of these two evils. With St Patricks day you know what to expect. Everybody will be "Oirished" up for the day, drinking Guinness, eating Irish stew, and enjoying the craic. For the most part it's a full on, but enjoyable day. (Scudded myself now)

Mothers Day is very different gravy though. Gone are the "Hallmark card" type scenes of yesteryear. Families out together with Gran and Mum taking centre stage with jokes about Dad having to do everything. Not any more. That idyllic scenario has been replaced by gangs of women sucking brightly coloured alcopops through straws, dressed like they are going out clubbing (which they will be) from opening time. Bouquets of flowers, I suspect, have been replaced by cases of WKD. It's as raucous as it gets. If this blog was a video I would be playing Prodigy's Firestarter over pictures of drunk women flashing and being sick at this point. Then again when mothers 17 and gran is not even 40 what else you gonna do?!
Listen, don't get me wrong I am all for equal right between the sexes but why choose the worst aspects of being a man to copy.

I'm not looking forward to this weekend. And my next day off? Wednesday! Sorry mum.

At times like this there is one phrase that comes to mind:

"Cry 'Havoc,' and let slip the dogs of war;
That this foul deed shall smell above the earth
With carrion men, groaning for burial."
W. Shakespeare (who to my knowledge never worked as a waiter, but with a line like that maybe he did)