On turf wars and hamsters

Yesterday marked a week since I first started working. Today will mark a week of working at the restaurant. It feels much longer, like I started a really long time ago, even though the workday goes by in a flash. I'm almost feeling a little sad that I might have to rotate at least at the other sushi place soon, as I really like this restaurant, and I seriously hope to never have to go back to the bar. The bar was scary in comparison. A couple came in asking for Karate Husband to talk about work, and it makes me feel a little like this:

Back off, bitches.

Obviously I doubt they'd waste so much time and energy on me if they didn't want me to work there, but I've yet to see any sign of a contract and I'm worried that while my hours initially are really good, they'll start cutting back on them. Not that I understand why unless I didn't do a good job, so I shouldn't worry as Shan seems to like me, but I wonder how many people they were intending to hire and I don't want anyone stepping on my turf.


These past two days I've been able to sleep in, and it's felt glorious. I love bed. Nothing bad ever happens in bed. I was really tired yesterday when I got home from work, and just the feeling of sinking into all that fluff was amazing. Back when I was in Architecture school and I used to pull all-nighters, coming home to bed always felt like it was hugging you and I could sleep forever. I've always wondered about people who can get away with only four or five hours of sleep a night. I need more - eight, maybe ten, at least in the long run, or I'll end up with a nasty migraine and feeling really low and unhappy.

Bed-kun, I love you.

I've come to realize just how important tipping is. As a non-restaurant person, I just sorta figured that tipping wasn't necessary as the waitstaff gets paid anyway, and the salaries in Sweden aren't all bad, and I'm poor goddamn it! But working in the restaurant and getting tips, no matter how small, makes my evening. I'm still not counting on any (even though Shan seems to think that anyone who doesn't tip is a stingy asshole), but when I do get them I'm one happy camper. I've made it policy now not to touch my tip money though - it's happily hidden away in a box somewhere in the mess that's my room, not to be touched until they're going to be exchanged for yen (or deposited into the bank account named Japan, which for now is depressingly empty). I feel a little bit like a hamster, storing things for later. Being a hamster seems to feel pretty good.