Wednesday, February 27, 2013
The whole point of waiting tables is to earn tips. But I don't get my tips, I only get hourly. So you can imagine the lack of motivation I feel to keep everybody –manager included– pacified at all times. I make Jack Squat.
So I talked to my boss and communicated in the most tactful way possible that I need not only my tips, but documentation of my pay: gross, deductions, etc. (All I get is a handwritten check, normally under 200 every two weeks.)
That was Saturday night.
I'm pretty sure I won't be going back this weekend. I have never been treated as disrespectfully, as degradingly as I was that night. My manager served all the tables herself (effing a lot of stuff up!) on what was a normal (very busy) weekend shift.
I was not permitted to even bring water to the tables. She wouldn't make eye contact with me, would only snap orders.
The kitchen assistant has been shorted a week's pay and the girl who makes drinks just gave notice. She told the boss it's because she has to babysit her brother, but she told the rest of us the real reason: She works 6 days a week and makes even less than I do.
I have to get out of there!