Pressure

Everyone at work is exhausted. There are about five or six of us, all working more than five shifts a week, who are all on the verge of going crazy. It has been a slow process, but we're all starting to show the strain. It has been a busy summer, with New Year's and the tennis, and heaps of hot nights where everyone just wants to sit around and drink beer. There's also the Chinese New Year's events at Crown to deal with, and looming on the horizon, the Commonwealth Games.

It just doesn't stop. It doesn't get any easier. The bosses are putting on more pressure as it eases off slightly. It seems that nothing you do is good enough, and if you kill yourself working a horrible double or getting slammed for six hours at a time, they don't seem to care. You might get yelled at for not turning your tables fast enough, or forgetting to bill someone.

Tonight I was completely unenthused. I couldn't even work up the energy to smile and be nice to my customers. I was blank and stony. I suddenly didn't care.

We all need a holiday. One guy confessed to me that he wouldn't care if he got hit by a bus tomorrow, and a girl said that she'd been up at 4am on Friday night having a panic attack because she had done 14 closes in a row. Mind you, that's a 5-6 o'clock start and a 2am (if you're lucky) finish.

I am so glad that I'm going on holidays. I think it's about the only thing getting me through it, right now.

The work party had better go off.