This Program is brought to you by the letters F.U.

Seriously. Waiting tables in Australia effing BLOWS. Okay, boys and girls, be good and cover your GD ears right now. It's not going to be pretty...

Let me take you on the whimsical journey that I call...Hell.

F. U. Sydney and your stupid "we don't believe in tips" attitude. I've done less work, shot people the freakin bird and spat in people's food (ok. so not really.) and STILL came out on top.

Ooooo No. Of course not. Not here. They suck ass. Hard. I do more work, move faster, THINK (whaa??) and what's my reward?

"KThxBye." W.T.F. People. Seriously -- what's the freakin point.

So. Evidence you ask me to provide? Done. Anaaad we're off.

My first day on the job was at a restaurant called Barzura. It's next door, so I thought -- why not? Only thing that blows is that it's open from 7am-11pm. Regardless, they asked me to do a trial at 11am on Thursday. So. I go out, buy me a cute all black outfit and as soon as I walk in -- I'm fed to the wolves.

"What do you mean you haven't seen our menu -- you only were notified about working here at 5pm yesterday -- what's the deal?"

O. The best part. They fired a girl after I was there for...mmm...about an hour. It. Was. Awesome. -- strike that -- effin' scary. So. Not. Cool.

The guy running the show, so to speak, reminded me of a guy I used to work with at Suddath. My old co-worker's name is Jose and he could barely speak English, but was audible enough you could figure out what he was trying to say. (that's harsh, he really wasn't THAT bad).

Anywho -- I whole time I'm really focusing on his words and trying to figure out what the 'h' he's trying to say. And the best part. After I told him numberous times my name is Ma-rye-aH -- he kept calling me Maria. Yelling my name,

"Maria! The bell, Maria!"

"Don't set that table, Maria!"

"Maria! The culterly needs to be polished!"

"Maria! Maria!"

SHUT. UP! MY NAME IS MA-RYE-AH!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Ah-hem. Sorry.

Anyway. I kept thinking, well there's always option B. That really chic place just across the street. Literally. Maybe it'll be better.

O. Wrong. Sorry. You lose. Go Die.

Well after a nice long break inbetween jobs, I was geared up and ready to take on something more posh and exciting.

Ha! WHATEVER.

What's my first 'tip' when I get there?

"Our boss is a real prick, he'll try to make you cry, just show him you have a backbone."

Hi. They weren't kidding. He was a DICK! He would yell at me for not knowing things. WTF?!?!? Hi. First day on the job. How about a swift kick in your balls? That might make ya feel a bit better about treating people like sh!t!

Remember Dr. Jones? She was the evil vet clinic doctor that made me cry because I obviously didn't know my right from my left. This is where Dr. Jones to the third power enters.

The best thing that happened all night, however, was the cook. They ring this damn bell when food's up -- it seems a bit...odd, I guess. I'm used to having a kitchen that you, o, I don't know, check on every now and again to see if your table's food is up. I know. That seems too complicated. Let's put a damn bell in the window that makes EVERYONE in the restaurant know someone's food is ready.

Anywhoo -- being the good little worker bee I am, I go running to the kitchen. The cook says, "Oh. Don't run that -- go get Evan, or someone, anyone else BUT YOU."

Um. For real? I literally rolled my eyes and walked away and mumbled to the manager (or big fat dick bossman) "the kitchen needs you or something..."

Ladies & Gents. This is the FIRST job, in my life, where I contemplated just walking out. Saying. Screw this, F.U. I'M OUT!

I know this is going to sound totally insane, but I'm in OZ to enjoy myself. Not be beaten over the head repeatedly with a dull knife. Or something like that.

The kicker? He'll call me if he wants me to continue working there. HE'LL CALL ME! HA! What a douche bag. I literally am going to mail him a douche bag that EXPLODES when opened. What a prick.

Hey! Wait a minute...I guess that means his employees were right.

So. I think I'm back on the job market. How about a nice, cozy, quiet office cubicle with a nice 'lil cup of joe, don'tchaknow? Anything. But serving tables.