Life is all about choices, so choose wisely.

Chocolate Willy
"Waiter, do they cum with cream?"

Bank holiday weekends, what a joy! They are much the same as any other weekend but with a few slight differences, people are slightly giddier on the Friday, and practically out of their minds with joy come 8pm on Sunday night. This contrasts sharply with the usual Sunday "feeling", the one that has them in tears as they have to leave the bar, go home and lay out their clothes for work on Monday morning. The few that stay on after 8pm end up performing the "I've got a terrible cold" phone call to the boss at half eight on the Monday morning. Obviously none of this applies to those with children, who instead of going out on a 3 day bender like their single co-workers, have the "joy" of spending an extra day reacquainting themselves with the kids. Bless.

This, for me, is the pishiest Bank Holiday of all. It's hard to predict what's going to happen. And I am not a fan of surprises. I like my booking sheets full and my customers on time. This being a Bank Holiday and not a public holiday it lacks the full force mayhem of the Mayday Holiday. And that is the way it turned out. As I had been paid on Friday my need for the cash was reduced and as a consequence of such my charm levels were dropped by a grovel or two. I'm still knackered though so here is Manuel's weekend in pictures.

Friday
Now that was a good shift. The fact that I knew my bank account was bulging, the redistribution of funds doesn't take place until Friday (rent etc), meant that I had a much more relaxed attitude to serving the masses.

this happened not once,
not twice,
but three times on Friday night.

But I stayed cool and laughed it off. People were dropping and spilling like it was a cool new fad. I was running round with club soda and salt assuring worried ladies, and it was without exception ladies, that the stain would come out. The only exception being the pint of Guinness that went for a wobble covering both the lady and the gent. There is nowt you can do there. Silly moo, as Little Miss Manuel would say.

Saturday

As the only chap that works on the floor in the restaurant I get first preference when it comes to serving hen parties. It makes financial sense. Women tip male waiters better than female waiters. I don't like the word waitress, and rarely use it. It's as annoying as manageress. Male customers look at male waiters as being Gay, and female customers view female staff as being whores. It's a fact. But Saturday offered the unique joy that is not one, but two hen parties. I opted for the one that was booked in our private room. They were an organised group and had left in a box of decorations, (embarrassing pictures, silly signs, chocolate penis "treats") along with instructions. Plus they were booked earlier than the other so that meant finishing earlier. Wrong choice...

I got a table of these

a fellow co-worker got these!
I swear it was like the cast of a Russ Meyer movie

Yes, I got the hen party from hell, complete with drunken hen, overbearing mother, and Mrs "I've-got-my-own-drink-in-my-bag-and-I'm-gonna-drink-it". AAAAAAARRRGGGHHH! I would have been okay if I hadn't seen the Amazonian table in the restaurant. But cherry on the cake? The bit that sent me over the edge? THEY WERE TEACHERS! I should have guessed when I got instructions on how to put up the decorations. The lady who brought her own booze changed from an amusing and enjoyable person to serve to an utter moo cow when I confiscated her hooch. The hen and her Gay friend went for a smoke as I served their main course. This caused ructions amongst some of the group as they didn't return for twenty bloody minutes. They paid their bill with elevated service charge and fucked off. I went back to the main restaurant to help out with the other hen party. I'm just that sort of chap you understand, helpful.

Sunday
Sunday night was tourist night. I assume the native population of Belfast had nicked off to some desolate seaside "resort" for the day. There were some...

Dutch "yesh, I'll have the shalmon"

Spiffing, "Tip? We English don't tip when in the Colonies"

Lovely Americans. God I love them and their wonderful tipping.
30%, that's were the magic is!

Monday
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz, it got busy for a bit then zzzzzzzzzzzzzz

I was bored out of my skin

Not such a weekend in picture more of a weekend in pictures with subtitles. And whats with "Bank" Holidays anyway? Where's my Waiter Holiday? You would here some crying if that ever happened. The whole fabric of society would collapse as people had to make and serve their own food. We are the glue people, the glue that holds the whole thing together. Don't ever forget that...