There is no point trying to roll a piece of shit in glitter. It's still a piece of shit. It's just in disguise. And a split shift is still shit, no matter how you try to dress it up. I mean, What. The. Fuck?
You could be working in the kitchen or you could be working front of house. If you are on a split, it's rubbish and your day is fucked, no matter what you do. You know it. I know it. And if you are lucky enough to have one, your better half knows it. It really pisses them off. If you last six months with them it'll be a fucking miracle. They're a keeper for sure.
The truth is, it's not normal behaviour. Go to work. Go home. Go to work. Go home. It's stupid and it's annoying. Who wants to go to work twice in a day? Once is enough for anyone, no matter how much you enjoy it. And in the afternoon, while you're on your split, you're waiting to go back to work. That's what it is. That's what you're doing. Nothing more, nothing less. Waiting. Wasting time. Wasting time, you'll never get back. Watching more Top Gear. Watching more repeats. And up on the wall, the clock hands just keep moving steadily round. The skinny little second hand a constant reminder. The deadline is approaching. Tick, tock, tick, toc
"So how do you get around it then?", I hear myself asking in years gone by. Naive and starry-eyed. "Oh, that's easy. Just stay at work!" I can't believe that was reasonable answer. But it was and at the time it was reasonable. It really was. And so, it happens every day, somewhere. Everywhere. Because that's what you do. If you’re a chef or the waiting staff or a restaurant manager. It's the path of least resistance. It's acceptance. It's the life. It becomes the norm.
On a split, getting the bus back home is just a chore so it seldom happens. Driving home would cost loads in petrol so that doesn't happen either. Having a casual walk around town fulfils a purpose, if you need a new pair of jeans or a present for Daisy's birthday. But drifting in and out of shops, sipping at yet another can of Coke or Red Bull, is fucking tedious. Spending more money on more shit you don't need. Killing time like some covert ops sniper. The public at large see you around, but they don't know what you're up to. They don't know who you are or question your mission. They rest assured it's nothing glamorous because you're off the radar. You’re a ghost.
But it's not all bad. There are a couple of good points. You got all your prep done after lunch, and now you're set for tonight. Ready to go. You're not getting in the shit tonight. You're ready. You even managed to get something to eat. A meal! An actual meal, with a drink, and you sat down! Every cloud has a silver lining if you look hard enough. There is hope. You got a break. You re-fuelled. New tyres, starting grid place taken. Tonight, will be the usual sixty lap race to the finish with no racing incidents. How lucky you are that you get do it all again tomorrow......
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