i suppose i might have been better off swallowing my frustration and staying clocked in till five, but the boy needed food and i needed a few minutes to listen to music and just sit. before i actually started to get angry, and an angry sara makes no money.

actually, today has been rather perfect. perfect being a relative term, in accordance with the conversation nick and i were having last night about my desire to move out and the need to get a different job in order to do that. if anything could have enforced that point, this morning was that anything.

nancy called me yesterday to ask me to work this morning for her, even though i was scheduled at five. only ten thirty till one or two, i'd just be taking over the rest of her shift. i'd leave, then come back at five. no big deal. the whole day wouldn't have been such a fucking mess if it had all been organised before hand. at about twelve thirty, everything died down and i could have left easy and free but upon asking if it was okay for me to go, i was told, "oh, no. i actually need you to stay until three when the other girls show up." uh. okay.

at some point, i'd pulled my pant leg up to show marcelo the bruise on my knee [this mystery bruise that was deepened a few times during the show yesterday] and he made fun of me because my skin was so pale. mary comes around the corner after he's left and starts telling me how i don't need to be doing that in front of THEM, tempting them to do things because oh, men don't think like we do. "mary, i'm not really afraid of marcelo." all the while my eyes wide open and nodding my head ever so slightly to show that i am indeed paying attention but really i could care more what you are saying to me. she then proceeds to tell me that it's not just me, that he might think it's okay to do it to other ladies and then there would be a sexual harrassment lawsuit. i nodded and said, "okay, mary. sure thing." because. you know. those mexican dishwashers are savages. mhm.

this also from the same woman who replied to my "gracias, senorita," with a demand that i only speak english around her, never to speak another language because she was damn proud of being an american and blah blah fucking blah.

i call my dad and tell him to be there precisely at three so i can walk out the door (which was really my mistake, i should have learned better by now), even though he's to be back at work at four. he arrives. i haven't had any tables in fourty five minutes, because i've given them all to the other two girls. and we sit. and we wait. and neither of the three o clock shift people have shown up. another waitress tells me that helene has called in to say she'll be late. ten minutes later, mary lets me know, but still requires that i sit there. on the clock, mind you. felice shows up. felice, who was scheduled at three, though mary knows full well she doesn't get out of her other job until quarter till three. at this point, brian's stuck there because it's already three thirty, and here we are. eighteen dollars made, and thirtyfive seconds to go to brush my hair and run out the door. back to work where there are a whopping seven girls scheduled! that's right, ladies, and gentlemen. three girls in the back for the party [where only two are needed]. and four in the front. i suspect i'll be making five dollars. hasta la pasta.