Don't feel too bad, it's not like I've even shaved this week.
Festering things exploded this week. More than I can talk about.
Elise and I are juggling money like saber swords, counting and recounting and then we up and quit our jobs at the almighty Puck.
Money cannot buy happiness and working at Wolfgang Puck's certainly ain't making anybody happy. Heck, it wasn't even making us any money.
Elise was working more hours than she's ever worked in her life, only to walk out with less money than she did at Steak and Shake at 17.
Last week, I was in such terrible sections on terrible days, that I walked out with only pennies more than minimum wage. One day, I worked six hours and made 29 dollars. The next morning, Elise made $25 as the servers that had been there for years walked out with $150--one with $280.
What I'm saying is, it's all about seniority and we don't have the six to twelve months that they require to earn it. Some of the servers there make 4 to 5k a month, but they've been there for years. Elise and I together--both working full-time--were on track to make less than 2,200 this month. With our bills, barely enough to get by.
Today we're going into Market Street so that I can OFFICIALLY end that full circle of bussing at Market Street > going on television and writing books > bussing at Market Street.
Yesterday, I missed Ribcage again! And I don't even have a job this week. Elise and I have been spending our time with friends that need us. But I will try to make it up, before Sunday when I fly up to Connecticut to be on The Insider. That show with Pat O'Brien that's a lot like Entertainment Tonight or Access Hollywood and the like.
I'll keep you posted on the date of that to air.
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