Sunday nights have become my least favorite night of the week for a couple of different reasons.
First I always have to work on Sunday nights. This is fine except the cards are stacked against you in terms of having a good night. The restaurant is always a zoo. The kitchen can’t handle the masses and crashes every 20 minutes. We run out of things like French fries and hamburgers and lettuce. Everyone seems to be in a bad mood. Especially the staff because they are all hung over from Saturday night. You are probably getting the picture. It’s always an adventure working Sunday nights.
Second, I always have to be up early on Monday mornings because I usually work Monday mornings. This means that I get home around 2:00 a.m. and have to be up at 7:00 a.m. And me and five hours of sleep don’t always get along. And to make matters worse I’m usually wired from the night shift and can’t sleep. Of course I say all of this and I have tomorrow off. On the ride home I was celebrating the fact I could sleep late when I remembered Lydia, our cleaning lady comes tomorrow. So I still have to be up early tomorrow. Damn. I’ll have to catch up on my sleep on Tuesday morning. But at least the sheets will be clean, the bed made, the floors shiny and the apartment will smell wonderfully.
Maybe Sundays aren’t so bad after all.