Day in, Day out, entering the building to do a job I hate.
It became a job out of pure convenience. When I first started working a Pizza Hut back in June 2005 I love it. I enjoyed going to work. I could work the opposite shift to hubster and that way we could both work a full-time job yet never have to pay for childcare and always be with G.
It worked great, we managed to move out and get our first family home. We went on holidays. We even managed to work hard enough to single-handedly paid for our wedding through wages and tips alone.
Life was happy we were happy, until management changed and The World Cup 2006- my hours went from 40+ to 6 hours. We could no longer afford life. I had to get a proper job. So I went into sales and the rest they say is history. Or so they say.
However in Sept 2008 I fell down the stairs and broke my pelvis whilst pregnant with my youngest son (who is 2 today boohoo), and I decided I could no longer do the 70+ hour weeks working and never seeing my husband and child. I was snappy and horrible, the house was a tip because I didn’t have the time or energy to clean it. Weekends were constantly spent out, husbter still worked them, So I took G out and spoilt him to the cinema, a soft play area anything but be at home.
It was whilst picking G up from school one day and spending some really lovely quality time with him at home that I remember all the times when working at the hut that we used to do it. It was then I decided I would go back. I phoned my old manager she had no work available in her store however her husband who was the deputy manager of the closer Pizza Hut to my home would happily take me on.
It was a massive cut in wages, we also lost a car, however we would work it, somehow. At first it was great, getting just enough hours to afford to live. It however soon began to become apparent that unlike last time we needed help from Grandparents which didn’t always happen. Hubster worked a solid morning shift so we very rarely got to see each other. I was working solid evenings and most weekend nights and as my bump grew the pain increased, yet I was still on all of the kitchen closes and being told my work just wasn’t good enough.
Being crossed-trained in a restaurant is a difficult job. Your mind races at 101 mph because you have so much to do. The main restaurant manager didn’t seem to notice I was pregnant most of the time, as he had me lifting pans and working 8 solid hours without a break. However I needed the wages, so I bit my lip and carried on. One day I worked a 14 hour shift with only 1 hour off in the middle and I was 35 weeks pregnant in half term. To say I came home and cried myself to sleep that night was an understatement.
I started my mat leave a week early at 37 weeks not because I couldn’t cope, no, because I was worked so hard on a shift that my labour started.
Whilst on mat leave husbter’s shifts changed he had to do evening shifts now. This made me going back to work even more difficult, I would do 1 week of 12 hours another week of 40 hours. I went back Christmas week. It was hell on Earth. I hated every second of it. I had also trained to be a Childminder whilst I was off, so until I had I been all signed off by Ofsted I was back in that horrible situation of needing the job. So my routine became up with the boys around 6am have them all day, go to work at 3pm – 11pm go to a second cleaning job I have from 11:15pm to 12:30am go to bed and have to do it all over again.
However the manager had become even worse now I was back, the things he expected of me became unreal. I was really, really down. I was told horrible things he has said about me once by a cover manager. I would cry myself to sleep almost every night.
Then 1 weekend I was working 3 straight closes, Friday 3-midnight, Saturday 4pm-midnight then the same Sunday, in the mean time Chris was also working so I had the boys all day by myself. The Friday was the usual hell on Earth. Not getting out till 1am and being rushed off feet all night. Come Saturday I was tired and as soon as I walked in he had a go. “Your late”, it was 4pm bang on, “and the place was a shit hole last night I expect it to be much better tonight and your only getting paid till midnight”. All night the digs came, then someone I knew walked in and were placed in my section. My friend couldn’t believe the way he was talking to me. He kept belittling me the entire night. Till in the night I had, had enough I left my bumbag filled with all my money handed it to the manager told him to do his own close and that I wouldn’t be back.
I didn’t turn round to see what his face was like. I didn’t care to know all I know is I wanted to be home, with people who loved me. I never have walked back into there and it has been 16 months.