Yeah, see those piddly numbers up there? Those are my hours. A week.
I got a call from my Supervisor/Last-Co-Irker M yesterday while I was making dinner. (I made another pot pie, yum!) She said that we have to cut hours again, and said I didn't have to come into "work" until 9 and work to 5. Nice that I get to work 8 hours a day again, I shrug this off and say okay.
Keep in mind I had been working 10 hours a day for three days a week for the past month and a half.
What she says next pisses me off to no end; but we'll be closed Sundays from now on.
Wait, excuse me? Did you just tell me that I lost an ENTIRE freaking day of work in one fell swoop?! I'm the best freaking employee you have in the freaking INDUSTRY and you're cutting MY days back.
So now I"m down to 16 hours a week. Yeah, right. NO way in HELL.
I'm at "work" today and tomorrow, but Sunday is when I'll be putting in my resume at other hotels. I have the experience and the drive and I'll be DAMNED if I'm going to let those Twits LET ME GO. As soon as I get another job, I'm dropping off the keys to the hotel and saying "So long folks! And Thanks for all the Fish!"
I've already put in at a few places near by. A new Hilton Garden Inn has just opened up another 2 miles from here, I'm going to stop in there and see about getting a job there since they have a nice high starting pay and require their clerks to have experience.
Wish me luck and I hope the hotel from Hell DIAF.
...I'm just a LITTLE hormonal. Can you tell?