My life is like a made for tv drama...

The past few days have been a whirlwind. I don't even know where to begin. For the past few days, I have been working 10.5 hour days as a banquet server. In a hotel. You know, like the people who you see working like a horse refreshing your beverages/food for you when you have a meeting in a hotel... yes that's what all buckten of me has been doing the past two days.
I don't know if you are familiar with unions and union workers, me I was only vaguely familiar before moving to San Francisco. However, this city seems to be a very union city. I don't really get them to be honest with you. I think union people are just lazy people who are very greedy. Not all union workers. I must clarify that but you will see why I have this conception after you read this blog. Anyhoo, so when union workers want more $$$ and they don't get it, they go on strike. Well in the hotel world, when the union decides to strike against a hotel all of the union workers have to get up and walk out. If you are in the union and you decide to go to work, you are therefore forced to resign from the union, blah blah blah. What does this mean for hoteliers that are not fortunate enough to be in the greedy ass union??? Well this means, we have to go do their jobs bc they are too busy out picketing and making a HUUUUGE scene in front of the hotel. Well we all knew there was a possibility of a strike happening with one of our hotels in the city this week and we knew there was the "potential" of having to get vaccuumed into a different dept at any moment and were on call 24/7 this week. I didn't really think that this would affect me though to be honest with you.
OH NO. At 6.11am on Tuesday morning (and after I accidentally consumed an entire bottle of white wine the night before... I was thirsty) I get a phone call saying there is a strike going on at one of our sister properties and I have been deployed as a banquet server. Ok and what do I wear? I say still half asleep. Yeah, good to know my priorities are straight. So my boss is like uhh, I don't know what they wear, wear what you want (basically) and tells me that I need to be there oh pretty much now. Awesome. So I was still half schwasted I think and I don't even bother to shower, wash my face, throw on some clothes and hop in a cab to get to work. (Ok, I think I went a little overboard bc I prooooobably could have taken a shower and then taken a cab to work, whatever!) I stop by work to pick up the only pair of flat shoes I own besides tennies and I go see our HR Director to see if there is anything I need to do in particular. She's like you're going to have to cross the picket line, are you okay with this? I don't mind. To me, I don't even know what this means. Then she says well they may shout at you. Profanities. Bring it bitches (that's what I say in my head! :-))
After getting thru the chaotic marching going on in front of the hotel that I'm going to work at I finally find my way into the banquet dept and get some direction. It was really funny bc there were a lot of people from my property working there and I would get really excited every time I'd see someone I know. Yes, I am aware of how unbelievable cool I am. The entire process was kind of fun and exciting because well a) it's all brand new to me and b) I mean comeon, it's like being indirectly in the middle of some juicy gossip story! Well it was fun the first day. I got to work with other fun people. I would tell you stories but they are too long and probably just wouldn't be that entertaining to you. But don't you worry, they were entertaining to me!! :-) The second day was not as fun. The tools in the shed I was working with were not that sharp. Really. I thought I was a bit dense at times. I am a mother f*'ing genius compared to these fools.
It's kind of like boot camp for the hotel industry. If you can survive task-forcing during a strike, you can handle anything. Overall it is a good learning experience (erm, that must be my wine talking) BUT I am seriously ready for it to be over with. 24 hour strike, fine. 48 hours, really? quit yer bitchin', 72 hours??? Somebody call KitKat cause I need someone to give me an effing break!!
And that's my life these days......