Blood will flow. Or rather... it has.

You will NOT believe the day I have had. Seriously.

Firstly, you have to understand that I worked a late shift last night. This means that I worked until 2am, drove half an hour to get home, had a drink, read my book to wind down, and was probably asleep by 3.15am.

Today I worked a double shift. This means a 10am start, work through until 4pm. Go on an hour break, and start again at 5pm. Work through until 2am. Tonight I got home a little early.

The day started out with the usual rubbish. Our manager drives us mad. I don't mean like managers usually do. I mean in the way that makes you see red with rage and fury. I seldom lose my temper at work. In fact, I have prided myself on the fact that I have NEVER sworn at my staff, shouted at them for anything less than outright insubordination, and that my staff have always stuck around because I treat them with respect. This manager doesn't know what that means. I quite regularly have to go stand in a dark corner somewhere and breathe, so that I dont actually walk out of the restaurant, or, you know, kill him.

I was pretty tense. Next thing I know, its mid lunch service, and one of the waiters is shouting at one of the chefs because the pasta that goes with the veal is cold. The chef wants him to take it anyway. What does he care, he cant see the customer. Before anyone can blink the guys are actually punching each other over the food pass, veal and cold pasta is all over the floor, and I am standing there absolutely frozen, when I know I should be backing rapidly away.

I want you to picture this for a moment. Both the chef and the waiter are diminutive. I am 5ft 8" and they are both shorter than me. The manager who breaks them up is 6ft 2". He cant actually pull them apart they are so locked in together. The kitchen resounds with the words "jou ma se poes" (and no I am not going to translate) and the two continue to go at each other in what is an almost comical parody of a dog fight involving chihuahuas on crack.

Finally the whole thing calms down, and food is distributed hot, and a slightly confused customer appeased. It gets towards the end of my shift and I can see my break rapidly approaching. About 20mins before I am due to leave, when I can almost taste the cigarette I am going to light up immediately, I suddenly hear a massive fight going on in the kitchen and next thing I see a chef run into the back area behind the building with blood actually POURING out of his head.

WHAT? ..I hear you say. Yes. Blood. Pouring. It appears that two of the chefs in the kitchen (not the two previously involved) decided that the best way to deal with an argument was to pull knives on each other and make like one of the Scream films. The ENTIRE kitchen was drenched in blood, managers were running around with pristine white shirts dripping crimson, waiters were sent out to deal with customers the best way they knew how, and kitchen staff were scattering in every direction. Police sirens began to wail, closely followed by ambulances. What exactly do you say to a customer when your chefs are carried out the restaurant by emergency medics, while being handcuffed at the same time?

We all assumed we would close for the night. But no. The show must go on. We were booked to capacity, and over capacity and we had to find a way to serve them all. We went though a list of what food has been taken off the menu due to 'contamination' and the staff meeting at 6pm resounded with the sound of jokes that went something along the lines of: 'Our steak is to DIE for' or 'you should try the linefish, its BLOODY good'. Also, you would think that everyone would be very very very nice to the kitchen staff for the evening. Not true. That kitchen was like a Nazi interrogation chamber. We all avoided it like the plague, unless we knew that the food being served next was ours. Then we just took a deep breathe and plunged into the fray as one would plunge into a river full of piranhas... as quickly as humanly possible.

Finally the night was almost over. And then Mr Sarcastic (the manager that makes us all see red and is single handedly responsible for about 6 waiters walking out the restaurant mid-shift) felt that clearly he hadn't needled me enough this evening and started walking round my section making sarcastic remarks about absolutely nothing as all.

I gave up. I just cashed up, did the duty assigned to me, and walked away. The drive home was miserable, as I was driving my brothers car in which I cant smoke, and by the time I got home I was tense and tired and craving. I arrived home, and as I was closing the door, I realised it was going to slam, and instead of propping it with a foot, I grabbed it with my hand... which instead of halting the impact, merely provided a means with which to inflict pain on myself. It was only then that I cried.

I have written it down, so maybe I can sleep now. I am working another double tomorrow. I hope that no one tries attempted murder, and that if someone does, it isn't me getting homicidal on my manager. Wish me luck.