Mondays are special.

When I say Mondays are special, I really mean it. 

When I served we used to make this joke about Sundays and how the church crowds got the god out of them and were statistically a bunch of jackasses.  Don’t get me wrong, I had one group that was phenomenal.  Needy, but phenomenal.  I really liked those people and I still miss their kind smiles.  I wasn’t serving them because the money was fantastic, I served them because they were genuinely good people. They were kind and old, charming, full of jokes, and they really cared how you were as a person.  But there was another group too.  The group that brought 30 people in and just couldn’t figure out WHY each person wasn’t the center of the universe.  It took too long to get water, it took too long to get their food, it took too long to order, wah wah wah.  They wanted their checks separated and their child was somewhere over there (because we totally know how your child is).  When it’s all said and done they leave you less than 10 bucks on over $100 worth of food after you run your ass off and you’ve smiled so much that your face actually hurts.  Oh and to top it off, they’ve asked you to join in during their saying of grace and left you a damn tip card.  Have you ever gotten a tip card?  OMFG.  Most. Annoying. Thing. Ever.  I don’t really care if you leave a prayer card for a tip, but leave some money too.  $2.13/hour does not cover the bills… it barely covers the taxes.  Not all servers are worthless people, as a matter of fact, most are not.  I hate when people treat others like they are sub-human.  I don’t care what someone’s job is, I will still treat them like a person.

Mondays bring out a special group of people.  Anyway, I work my ass off.  I have this special work ethic that really only says, “GO!”  Not only do I work my ass off, but I like to think I do a halfway decent job.  I may not know where all of my 77 baseball players are and if they’re coming to practices, but I follow up with coaches and swing by on every game when possible.  It really bums me out when someone tells me that my program sucks because of an experience they had the prior year before I’d ever taken the job.  I already knew that a few people hadn’t done their jobs properly in the past, thank you for assuming that I suck too.  My resume and work history reads like complicated climb up the corporate ladder.  The people who bitch at me wouldn’t be able to define my acronyms, they don’t know what a BSR is, much less 2.  They couldn’t tell you what CYSA means.  They might be able to tell you what a CPR/FA Instructor means but they wouldn’t be able to tell you what JOPERD is.  I have more acronyms than they can shake a stick at much less; some they wouldn’t even know how to google.  But you know what, don’t assume that I can’t do my job because someone didn’t and you didn’t bother to say anything about it, you just let it happen.  Don’t assume that I’m not working hard to make my program better when you aren’t a participant and haven’t been since the last person ran the program (and in his defense, it was his first season and almost last).  Don’t assume I don’t know what I’m doing if you don’t know my name.

My resume impresses me, but you wearing your husband’s rank does not.


3 thoughts on “Mondays are special.

  1. "My resume impresses me, but you wearing your husband's rank does not."If blog sentences had a "Like" button like Facebook, I would "Like" the hell outa that comment.

  2. YOU have impressed me most at that place, and it IS remarkable how many things you have turned around… and we're only in one sport!We had to make the hard decision between base soccer or downtown soccer this fall only because – again – they were the same dates as each other (or else Jack would've played both). We chose downtown, but only after heavily weighing pros & cons. The 4-days-a-week commuting sucks BIG time, but it only lasts for a month. I can do anything for a month!

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