I may have mentioned before that I have had a lot of restaurant jobs and therefore I have quit a lot of restaurant jobs. Every once in a while, I will give my employer the standard two weeks notice but on the very rare occasion (okay, almost every time) I will just decide that I am done with a certain job and move on immediately. That is how I left Houlihan’s. Both times. Yes, I worked there, quit with no notice and then they hired me back later. I don’t know who was more desperate, me or them. The second time I quit, I had really had it. I remember that it was a few before Christmas and I was sick to death of serving the dredge that had to come see The Radio City Christmas Ex-crap-aganza. Houlihan’s squeezed every drop of energy I had in my body and milked me dry. It was late at night probably around 1:00 AM or so, after we had closed and we were doing our sidework ready to get the fuck out. Our assistant manager came out of the office to give us a vital piece of information that he had forgotten to tell us hours earlier: the carpets were being cleaned that night and we had to move all the tables and chairs off the carpet and into the bar area. And he just told us this now? I wanted to strangle him. I wanted him to suffer a slow death. I wanted to force feed him a Houlihan’s chicken stir fry which may be the worst fate anyone would ever have to endure. That was the straw that broke this camel’s bitchy ass back. That was something we should have been told hours before so we could start preparing. You know, as soon as a table was cleared drag it over to the bar so we wouldn’t have to do all of them at once. There are no words to explain how pissed I was. I recall dragging chairs and throwing them with all my strength (which is not very strong so it’s not as menacing at it seems) down the bar and letting them crash into the wall and the floor. My manager told me to take it easy and I gave him a big look of “fuck you.” I had already done my money drop so there was really nothing keeping me there except for this carpet cleaning crap. After moving about four tables I decided I needed to leave. Christmas was days away and I really wanted that day off to go to mass and celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ our Heavenly savior. Either that or wake up and have mimosas on that day. Which ever one, it was time to compose my letter of resignation. I picked up a bev nap and did that very thing.
Effective immediately, I quit.
I laid the napkin on the manager’s desk, punched out and went home. I assume the carpets got cleaned. Good thing they were worried about the carpets. Yeah, the carpets were the grossest thing in that place, sure.