Day One-Seventy-Two: Why does he even bother

You know what? I don't care what other people say. I'M A DAMN FINE SERVER, AND IF THEY THINK OTHERWISE THEY CAN JUST GO TO HELL. TO HELL, I SAY.

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So today was not a great start to my temporary career as a worker in the kitchens. I think I did a GREAT job, but SOME people argue otherwise. So they're labelled 'dicks' in my book. DICKS, diary.

I arrived in the Beefiary at 7 this morning, just as I'd been told, and Robert was waiting. He gave me a quick breakfast, then told me to put on an apron (did) and a hat (did) and bade me serve people as he prepped the food. Said he'd start teaching me how to cook during the lull between breakfast and lunch.

So I served! People came in… by the droves, I might add, never really noticed HOW many customers they have in the Beefiary… and I served. Started off behind one of the counters, handing people their tarts and veggies and such, then eventually I was out among the tables, delivering food to the nobles.

And, by the gods, I was GOOD at it. All the peasants were happy with my work! I tossed their trays at 'em and they accepted everything with a nod and a wink. Lotsa rough talk and happiness when the workers were the only ones coming up to get their breakfast.

… but then I had to feed the nobles. And THEY, diary, are the DICKS.

See, whenever I get served in the morning, three things typically happen:

- The server gets my order wrong
- The server spills some of my meal on my clothes
- The server swears at me

And I FIGURED, y'know, that that's standard procedure. And with the commoners, it was! Every time somebody ordered something I'd just give 'em whatever was on hand, tossing it into their arms and saying 'Have a fuckin' good day, lad!' or something similar, and off they'd go! Happy times.

Not with the nobles. Noooo, I knew as soon as I got started that THEY expected something different. Take, for example, Lord Cumberland, the head of the castle's accounting departments. He ordered a tray of finely-prepared tarts, garnished with thinly-sliced vegetables.

So I brought him soup. And spilled a healthy dollop of it on his robes. And called him a fuckwit. That's just what you DO in the Beefiary, diary!

BUT NO. No, Cumberland got into this righteous rage, saying that 'a peasant should know his place' and that he'd see my head shoved in a hole somewhere while he paddled my bum with a mace. Then he splashed the soup in my face and told me to try again before he called the guards, and when I said I WAS a guard, he hit me with the tray.

No respect.

Didn't get much better after that, either. All of the nobles were arses to me. 'It's too hot', 'It's too cold', 'There's a hair', 'I think it's pubic', 'This tastes like feces', 'You have a stupid haircut', 'I feel more inept having met you'… UGH. What a day.

It was all made even worse when ROBERT yelled at me for getting so many damn complaints. Said I was the worst server he'd ever had, and that I'd have to improve ON THE DOUBLE if I didn't wanna be shitcanned! And when I said I would LOVE to be shitcanned, he hit me with a ladle! Full of hot soup! NO RESPECT, and he RUINED MY APRON!

Ugh. He taught me a few things about cooking, but not much. Barely remember what he said now. Bugger that anyway, I'm tired and I wanna go to bed. Enough talking about today.

Rrrrrrggghhgrgrrr,

Dragomir the Cook