I mean, on the one hand I cleaned what was most likely shit off the bathroom floor, and a customer straight up asked me when I'd had my last pap smear*. But on the other, the cast of OITNB threw a party and asked me to clean their table, so....win?
The shit part was mostly self-explanatory. I go to the bathroom and notice a suspicious, oblong, brown smudge on the floor right next to the toilet. The bathroom smells funny. I am le grossed out so I just pour some bleach on that sucker and mop it up. Gross, annoying, destroying my hope for humanity, but not the worst job in the world. Worse has been cleaned in there.
But then I go to the fridge and first of all someone has touched my clearly labeled chocolate covered coffee beans. These shits were expensive, and I need them because I work nights and I freak if I have even a half a cup of coffee. My boss overhears me grumbling and says it was probably his boss, doing it just to emphasize his dominance in that "I own this place so who are you to tell me I can't eat your food" way. So I'm already in a bad mood when this big group of Aussies (New Zealanders?) comes in and proceeds to get wasted. They're already getting on my nerves because they don't listen to a word I say, so I have to explain everything to them 4+ times, and they're making exoticizing comments to another one of my coworkers (she's Chinese), and lying to try and jump the line for table games. But then comes the coup de grace: I'm talking to another customer when one of the guys interrupts to complain that they should've been served before him.
This is a bar. There is no real line, so while I'm doing the best I can to serve people in the order they arrive you can't fault me for skipping you, especially if I'm obviously working my way down the bar towards you. I turn to the man who interrupted me and as calmly as possible ask him what he'd like. He says "My friend here-" (points to a woman next to him) "wanted to ask you a question. She wanted to ask you: when was your last pap smear?"
WHEN WAS YOUR LAST PAP SMEAR?
The woman next to him punches his shoulder and grumbles something about how she didn't actually want him to say that, but I don't really hear it because my rage filter is now set to ignore anything coming from their filthy mouths except an apology. And neither of them look even remotely apologetic or even abashed. Here are some responses I wanted to give:
- Last week, and yours?
- Why do you ask? Wanna lick?
- Need a recommendation? Seeing as your face is one big smelly vagina I guess it needs a lot of maintenance.
- MY PUSSY STATUS IS NONE OF YOUR G*DDAMN BUSINESS, YOU WHITE-PRIVILEGED SHITS
- No words, just leap across the bar and slap them with hulk-hands then spit into their beer.
Instead, I walk away. Because any response I am capable of giving would probably get me fired. No matter how much my boss would agree they deserved it.
I go to the other end of the bar, too stunned and angry to say anything, and overhear two people discussing what was said to me. One woman is particularly enraged, but when I give them a smile of thanks they look incredibly embarrassed but don't stop talking about it. The woman looks close to tears or hulk-smashing herself, she's so angry.
Now, I was bullied as a kid and I am still a pushover, so it takes another person getting angry on my behalf for me to feel justified in my anger or believe that what happened was, in fact, really not ok. Right now I'm silently thanking this woman for backing me up in her own way when I see her talking to the two who insulted me. They seem to argue for a second before they pull her into a group hug and all three walk out together. All my brain can say is thanks for apologizing to the real victim here, guys!! Glad the sad white lady feels better! This is some white-privilege bullshit!!1!
But then later the cast of Orange Is The New Black decided to throw a party and very politely asked me to clean their table. So, that was cool?
*which, seeing as how I just saw a gyno due to complications from sexual assault, was NOT the thing to say to me.