A few short weeks ago, I started a new job at a tavern. At the interview, the boss–man and I talked about a number of things… things like the tavern being understaffed, things like him requesting that I resign from my other job (a clockwork–stable, although clockwork–boring, job) so I could devote my time to the tavern, things like the promise of all–you–can–work shifts. Dollar signs were springing up in my eyeballs, since I already knew what the pay was like.
Things don’t always work out the way you expect them to.
It turns out he tells that story to practically everybody he hires. The tavern is actually overstaffed, and everybody but the old timers (people who’ve been working there for years) are getting two to three shifts a week. Yes. Two. Two to three. This is not the kind of situation you need or want to be in when the rent must be paid.
This places me in an awkward position. I can call him on it and ask for more hours (and I plan to do so), but any hours I gain would be to the detriment of my coworkers. Alternatively, I can find another job and work the both of them… something many of the other guys at the tavern do already. Either way it sucks, and although I plan to speak to the boss–man tomorrow, I also plan to buy tomorrow’s West Australian later tonight and check out the employment section.