Long Ass-Entry
Sep. 22nd, 2008 08:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
exhilarationYes, as you can tell I am very mature.
One day, perhaps, I will get over my amusement with switching the hyphen from before "ass" to after it.
Today is not that day.
My Job
On Wednesday night I almost got fired from my job, basically for sticking up for myself to a guest. I guess in the hospitality industry we just don't do that. In the hospitality industry, see, we're always wrong and you're always right. Even when you're not.
I find my job extremely trying. Every day. I don't know if this means something is wrong with me, or what, but it doesn't seem like the rest of my coworkers have such a hard time with it. It shouldn't be difficult - there is nothing particularly hard about saying hello to people, writing down their name and telling them how long they will wait for a table, and then making sure I'm actually calling them for their table within that time I quoted them. There is nothing hard about hearing, over the headsets, which tables are available and calling people who are waiting to sit down to come sit at the clean tables in the most efficient way possible. There isn't even anything hard about hearing, over the headset, that party X needs to be taken to table Y, and then giving them menus and showing them there and introducing their server. THESE THINGS ARE VERY EASY.
And yet I find it excruciating. I can't stand standing up there in the lobby with stupid high school girls that giggle and whisper and don't do their job properly - I have to choose between being completely apart from their socialization, which is very boring, and participating in it, which is just insipid and disgusting at best. Or it could be the opposite - we're busy, because it's high volume hours, and now I'm hoping I've sufficiently socialized with the rest of the host staff earlier in the shift so that we can all work together efficiently and not be petty or stupid with each other.
I can't stand guests grabbing the wait list out of my hands - I can't stand them pulling on the clipboard or taking my pens or reaching over me or shouting "excuse me!" at me when I'm talking to another guest, or pushing up against me or flat out LYING - people lie a lot. They say their name was called when it wasn't - they say they are a party of six so they can sit at the big tables when they're really a party of four, taking up one of only three available large tables. They don't include their children when saying how many are in their party, even when I can see the child they're carrying. "How many?" says me. "Two," says mom, holding child, and smiling at dad. "Three?" I suggest, indicating the child. "No, two," snaps dad, implying that I am an idiot. I contemplate doing what they say and marking them down as a party of two, and then watching them try to figure out what to do when they're shown to a two person table, with two chairs and absolutely no room for anything else, high chair, baby carrier, third chair, nothing... but I don't, because in the end that's just more work and difficulty for me, or, if not me, then another employee. After all, we'd have to sit them at a four-seat table in the end, probably bumping them ahead of other parties of three or four because since we called their name, we have to seat them.
But you know what I really can't stand? People who talk about how "incompetent" my coworkers and I are, and how poorly run the restaurant is, as is evidenced by the fact that they have to wait for a table. Right in earshot. Usually deliberately in earshot. As if I should start to grovel and apologize for my poor service, when in fact, I am doing everything exactly right, better than most other people could, and everything is going exactly the way it should be. I can't snap my fingers and cause more seating to appear. I certainly can't kick people out of the tables they're eating at. I very, very rarely mis-quote a wait time. If I tell you it's an hour and a half to sit down, then that's how long it's going to take because there are that many people who were here first.
Talking to me like I'm an idiot is not going to get you seated faster. Pointing to your name on the wait sheet is not going to get you seated faster. Trash talking me and my coworkers right in front of me is not going to intimidate me into skipping over pages of patient, reasonable people in order to seat you faster. Bribing me? That might work, but no one has ever tried that as of yet. They stick to verbal intimidation. Asking for a manager. Telling lies. Saying I told them half an hour instead of ninety minutes, even though I've been saying ninety minutes all night. Saying they've been waiting for forty-five minutes when they've only been there for ten.
When I take someone's name, I write down the time they put their name in and the time I told them their table would be ready. So these lies do not work - but showing people the time they came in and the quote they were given never helps - it just encourages them to grab the clipboard from me. I hate grabby people. Children grab things they want. Babies grab things they like. Adults should fucking know better.
So when I told a woman that in fact, I did know what I was doing, in fact, we all did, and that we were doing everything correctly and that her table would be ready within the time frame I originally told her (in response to her LOUD statement TO her companion RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME that "they needed to have someone who knew what they were doing running things up here") I was, apparently, wrong to say that. Because this is a restaurant, and we're in the service industry. Meaning we are never to stick up for ourselves and never to correct a guest.
I went on to explain to her that she had NOT been skipped, that I had NOT made an error, and that I absolutely DID know what I was doing, and that her announcing that I was a "screw up" was extremely hurtful and in fact untrue.
And she, she went on to tell me that the restaurant needed to have some more "mature, competent" people running things, because I obviously did not understand what my job function was to be, that the explanation I had given her as to why she had NOT been skipped (her party was too large to sit at the regular tables, thus, she had to wait for a larger table to be available, which takes longer than a four-seat table, and so people who arrived after her were being seated before her) did not make sense and that the restaurant had done me a disservice by putting me in a position I couldn't handle, and she repeated, again, that someone with maturity needed to come take charge of the front.
And then - this is were it just gets outrageous, and this is where I really began to take this more personally then I guess I should have, and where I really began to "lose it" - then she said, after saying that someone more mature than I am needed to be doing my job, she said "like my daughter, she's twenty five, she's a grown woman, she's mature, she's grown, my daughter is a grown woman, you're a child, you don't correct me, you don't talk to me that way, you don't belong in this job, you need to learn how to act, you are nothing, you are not even a waitress, they don't even let you wait tables, this is the only job they let you do and you aren't even mature enough to handle it without some kind of problem, my daughter is grown, she has her own business, you're a child, you're a child, you need to wipe tables, you need to wash dishes, are you getting upset? Are you getting upset? What is that look for? I'm talking to you! Sir! Sir!" (she was shouting at a passing waiter) "I need a manager right now! Are you a manager? I need a manager right now!"
*deep breath* and of course the waiter was carrying like eight plates or something and was intent on getting them to their destinations before the food lost even a tenth of a degree of heat, and just passed right by her. Of course the only employee hearing this was me, because I was the only one in the lobby - the other hosts were seating people. And of course the only person who could actually summon a manager was me, because I had the headset. So I pressed the button and said, very shakily, "Sherrie, I need you to come to the lobby right now, Sherrie? Sherrie, I need you in the lobby, there is a guest who needs a manager," and so on, and she completely blew me off, she heard me and she indicated that she wasn't coming, and only showed up when some other employees DID notice that something was escalating in the lobby and went and got her in person.
And I just wanted to disappear. Just - poof! - gone. It was too unreal - was this really even happening? But I have neither an invisibility cloak nor an internal teleport activation device, and - I can't run away, either. So - I sat down. On the floor. Behind the podium. In the corner. Where it smelled like crayons and sanitized water and ketchup.
This woman and her entire party ate for free. They were served by a waitress AND the manager. They were seated immediately - four seat tables were pushed together, in the walkway and in front of the fire door where I was specifically told tables are NEVER to be because it violates the fire code by blocking the door and it's unsafe for both the servers who use the walkway and the guests who are sitting in the walkway - we serve these stupid sizzlin' platters on iron plates that are heated on the grill - you do not want to collide with someone carrying this food, believe me.
And I couldn't believe I fucking fell apart like that. I felt kind of unreal while I was telling her I was not a screw-up, like this big rush of power, like, finally, finally, I'm gonna do it, I'm gonna say something, I'm not taking another word of this, but it was unreal at the same time, like, am I really talking back to her? Am I really saying this? And from there it just - went wild.
I don't know where she was getting the shit she was saying. Typing it all out like that, I mean, who says shit like that? To a stranger? To a restaurant worker? To someone you're trying to get to accommodate your "special" demands? Where does all that come from? I have no fucking idea. Maybe she's just a cruel woman, maybe she could read my tone, my expression, my body language, maybe she could tell I was sure I knew what I was doing, maybe she could tell how much offense I was taking to the implication that I couldn't do a simple job, and she just took that and went with it, and kept repeating the stuff that got to me -
I work. With kids. With stupid, insipid, annoying, incompetent, immature kids, all day long. My manager (different manager, not the one who was working that day) said I am the best host, in fact, I am the only host she can trust to run the lobby without supervision, except for when she takes servers who used to be hosts and sticks them on the host staff for the night because she's short someone. I can't even take the compliment, either, because the job is so simple, and so boring, that it's not really a compliment to tell someone they don't suck at something simple, is it?
I work with kids. I am not a kid. I am the oldest person on the host staff, and most days, I feel like it. I am short, I don't know, maybe I look a little younger than I am, I do have pink hair, maybe that doesn't help my cause, but the fact remains, I AM NOT A KID. I do not act like one, and I do not live like one. A few years ago I'd say I stopped being a kid when I was fifteen. I take that back - I was very much a horrible teenager. But there's no way I'm a kid now - I am completely on my own. I have no familial support. I do everything myself. I get everything done. I do what I have to. I take care of everything. I AM NOT FUCKING IMMATURE.
Her daughter? Her daughter is twenty five? Her daughter who was sitting there, on the bench, not even reacting as her mother berated and verbally abused the FUCKING HOSTESS IN A RESTAURANT, she's twenty five? OH HOW FUCKING MATURE SHE MUST BE.
I'm twenty four and in another four months I'll be twenty five too and I AM NOT FUCKING IMMATURE.
...as is evidenced by the fact that I was sitting in the corner, behind the podium, with the crayons, trying to hide the fact that I was CRYING.
Yes, some stranger, who knows nothing about me, who is clearly a bad person, who is not someone I should even give a second thought, I let some stranger make me CRY. In PUBLIC. At my JOB.
And so then we have people, guests and coworkers both, being like, what's wrong with her, what happened, why is she crying, is she hurt, did something happen, OMG LARA HERE I AM RIGHT IN YOUR FACE, ARE YOU OKAY????
And the answer to that was really no, I'm not okay, I just want to disappear right now, and besides, I think I'm probably fired now, but people were acting like they thought I was hurt, so I had to say yes, I am fine, I am okay, everything is okay here.
People complain about me a lot. If I never mentioned that - they do. "That hostess has a bug up her ass" is a sentiment that has been repeated back to me by many a server. I am always right - always - okay, well, on occasion, I do make mistakes, and I always say I do, and apologize, offer to get a manager, do whatever is necessary to compensate for what ever mistake was made. But when I am right, I stick to it, and I do NOT let people get away with announcing to the rest of the guests that "the hostess does not know what she's doing." Even if "not letting them get away with it" only amounts to rolling my eyes when they turn their backs or clearly pointing out the written evidence on the wait sheet that I am right and they are wrong.
This is not acceptable behavior in the restaurant industry. I have been told this a few times before. There have been a few instances where legitimate complaints have been made. I have been told, by Sherrie, the same manager that was on that night, that if she gets another complaint about me, I'm not getting another chance. In fact, she made it sound like she was doing me a favor by not firing me right then and there.
She's the only manager who's ever held me responsible for the crazy people who come in. Every other manager has said "don't worry about it Lara, you're doing fine, you can't please everyone, some people are just ignorant, some people want something for nothing, just forget about it, it never happened, just let it roll."
She doesn't see it that way. So I figured I was probably fired.
So I'm sitting there in the corner with the crayons on the ground with people pressing in on me in my face and everywhere asking if I'm okay and I'm thinking what am I going to do without this job?"
And my brain is spinning with all the reasons why I'm totally fucked without this job.
Where else is gonna pay me fifteen bucks an hour? Where else am I going to be able to arrange an elaborate transportation plan with coworkers? Where else is even going to hire me - DON'T tell me to get a "real job" - I have a fucking criminal record, I CAN'T get a "real job," and don't make that face, you wouldn't hire me either. What other jobs ARE there here - oh wait, the season is winding down, NOWHERE is hiring, EVERYWHERE is letting their seasonal people go bit by bit...
And so I'm working myself up into a panic and dear, dear, perfect and chipper and infuriating Kimmy says "get away from her, you're sucking up all her air!" which - it's so like her to have my back but that was so not a Kimmy thing to say - makes me laugh and since I was crying it made nasty slimy snot shoot out my nose, which was lovely in itself, believe me - and I said some things to her, and she leaves and she's back right away with some water and she's telling me I'm not fired and to settle down, because I'm freaking out I guess (of course I am) and Kimmy, Kimmy-the-kid, after I just said I can't stand high school kids and they're all stupid and whatever, is like, "I am going to help you up, here are tissues, let me take the water, I am going to walk with you to the kitchen, you are getting out of the lobby, we are going to go to the employee bathrooms in the back, you are getting cleaned up, blah blah blah totally reasonable words blah blah"
Which - I did - but then, another host comes after me, telling me Sherrie says I'm not fired and I need to get back in the lobby right now and to get out there and I put the headset back on and there is Sherrie telling me exactly that - so I come back and she flings the wait sheet at me, and she's been taking names all professional and manager-like but she's telling people a half hour for a table, which couldn't possibly be right, and so after she leaves, with red eyes and a blotchy face and shaking hands and a wobbly voice, I have to call people's names and tell them that actually the wait is closer to an hour and do they still want to stay, and so on.
And then I had to wait all the way until close for a ride home, and I didn't get home, I ended up at the bar, because that's where Heather wanted to go, and I was miserable and just wanted to go home... and Heather was drunk by the time we left, so, again, I got driven home by a drunk person, and I hate that and I really need to just suck it up and get some car insurance or get really good at never getting in an accident and just drive without it - and get the car fixed besides...
My Date
I know, I know that what that woman said to me was verbal abuse and that I should just let it roll, I should have just laughed in her face and said, "whatever, lady, I'll call you when your table's ready," or something, but I didn't, and it hit me really, really hard, it just totally... knocked me on my ass. Into a corner. Like a child.
My mood was shot. My confidence - of which I usually have a fair amount - was shot. I just - couldn't even look at myself in the mirror without hearing her saying "you're a child, you're a child" over and over again. Kimmy told me the lady was crazy, just to forget it, she was wrong and she was crazy, but Sherrie didn't. Sherrie told me I reacted wrong, that I can't talk to people like that - in other words, yes, the lady was crazy. But I was still wrong to react that way, and because I did, I let the situation escalate into something that ended up costing the restaurant six meals.
I didn't wake up hungover on Thursday. I didn't drink at the bar. I know better than to drink when I'm in that kind of mood. It doesn't help - it makes me feel worse, and it makes me reckless and stupid and likely to drink to much and fall off the barstool or something. And yeah, I've done that more than once, thanks, it doesn't need to be repeated, it was bad enough the first time(s). I just woke up... messed up, I guess. All night, in my sleep, I guess, I kept replaying the whole thing in my head, sometimes with me giving her what-for, sometimes with me giving Sherrie what-for, sometimes with Sherrie giving the woman what-for, sometimes with me giving a lengthy explanation for why I am not immature -
I couldn't find anything cute to wear for my date with this girl - her name is Kirsten - not Krissy, my ex. Kirsten, with a t and an en and the r and the i switched, funny, huh - because I hadn't done laundry like I should have (because I am immature and have been slacking off instead of doing necessary grown-up things) and maybe possibly I have been dreading this date and so I never planned what to wear until the last minute - I have a washing machine but it is upstairs and believe it or not, there are people up there right now so I can't just waltz in and use the washer. In fact I haven't done laundry since they moved in up there - I need to get a washer down here but I haven't been on that - because I am mature you see - and it took me five years to figure out what to wear and I never got my hair to look right and my outfit never really looked right either - something about a blue shirt and pink hair looks kind of off but that's how it ended up - not that cute -
So Erica came to pick me up with Hanna and Kirsten in the car and that would be the first time I met either of them, and we went to Philly, because it seems that's where both Hanna and Kirsten go to school. Hanna, OF COURSE, is an art student. Fourth year. UArts. Nothing like Erica. Kind of silly, kind of your typical pretentious art student, but in an endearing kind of way I guess, she's pretty easy to talk to, I thought - of course she's younger than I am. Erica just turned 23. This girl is 21.
Kirsten is my age, which is nice for a change, right? And she's a grad student, so she's smart and motivated and stuff. Also a plus. She doesn't have a car. Neither does Hanna. And now I've kind of got the Erica/Hanna story - Hanna is from around here. She was home for the summer doing an internship at the zoo, yes, I know, why is an art student doing and internship at the zoo, I don't really know, I wanted to ask her but she changed the subject right away. So Erica and Hanna met this summer (basically Erica ditched me for Hanna, who has red and black hair instead of pink like mine - red and black like mine was before I bleached it, huh, go figure) and now Hanna is back at school so Erica is playing the AC Expressway every night game. Kind of like me and Krissy when I first moved here.
And so we drove to Philly, and they were acting like they didn't have a plan for the night, we were just going to do "whatever" but that was a little bit BS, cause we conveniently parked in the lot by the waterfront - I MISS PHILLY!
I never lived down there - South Philly was never my 'hood. But I still miss it! The busses! The trains! The trolleys! The taxis - who needs a freakin' car? There was an opening at one of the galleries on 2nd street - someone Hanna went to school with - so we went to that. No plan, my ass, I say! And I liked the show - I like art, anyway, I'm like, not an artist, but, the product of art enmeshment, or whatever. I appreciate it. I wish I could make it. And I know a hell of a lot about it, and can talk about it for about five hours without taking a breath.
When I'm on my game, that is.
Which I was not. So instead, Kirsten thinks I am a dim-witted poser, or something.
We went to an Irish pub - claimed a nice table outside - it was a decent night. Can't see many stars at night in Philly - I forget that when I'm away from the place, you know? From my sidewalk I feel like I can see almost all the stars. From out on the beach I think I can see all the stars. Every one of them. Philly - no. Just - no. I tried to talk to Hanna about the show, Kirsten interrupted, started shooting all these questions at me, about how if I like art I must be an artist, and I kept trying to say I'm not really, and she was like, then you're just holding yourself back, it's all in your head, you're thinking negatively and so you can't make any art -
and I kept trying to counter that - I can draw a very, very decent copy of a photograph. Even right handed, and I'm actually left-handed. I can paint a very realistic portrait. And it's a very peaceful and relaxing thing to do, and I like it. But there's a certain amount of visual creativity that I just - don't have.
I love art. I look at art all the time. I loved seeing Hanna's classmate's show. And I know that I don't have that kind of creativity in me. I can be creative. Just not like that - it's not my thing, I guess.
And besides that, I've just been so... I don't know. The last few years I've just been, well, nothing is my thing. I don't write stories. I don't write poetry. I very rarely draw. I just... don't have that drive to create, even though I know when I get into it it's such a rush. I really wish there was something I could really sink into - instead I've been playing around with fanfiction, and I'm not even taking that terribly seriously anyway.
It's just that, well, this is kind of a very personal thing for me. People have always told me I'm creative. I've always thought I'm creative. So the fact that I'm not really "feeling it" is just another aspect of that deep undercurrent of "something's wrong" that I try very hard to either fix or ignore - so maybe I a little bit snapped at Kirsten when she was pressing the issue.
Ok so I definitely did. It's just something that I feel very passionately about and I wanted to make absolutely certain I was not misunderstood - and in the process, I definitely snapped at her.
And there went the awkward turtle, swimmin' on by...
And Kirsten went up to the bar to get another beer without asking me if I wanted anything or bringing anything back for me - which I don't know if she meant anything by that but it kind of seemed like it to me.
At another point in the evening I got into a conversation with Hanna about art too, and that one didn't go so well either, it was her asking me who my favorite artist is, so I named my all time faves, but I guess she meant my favorite current artist, and really, how the fuck am I supposed to have a favorite current artist? That's like having a favorite current band - how are you supposed to hear all the popular stuff and then pick a favorite from all the drivel, and then why even bother, because bands go in and out like birthday candles, you never know who's sticking around.
Ask me my favorite band, maybe I'll say Radiohead, I've been listening to them for a good ten years and I still think they're great. PATD ain't bad, they're current, but they haven't been growing on me for over a decade and at this time next year they might be less than a memory, who knows? I'd never lump them in with my FAVES.
And of course, I could not pull out such an eloquent explanation as to why "who's your favorite artist" had me so stumped. It came out more like "errr, uhhh, ummmm, wellll, I really like, uh, Frida Kahlo -"
"Oh, Frida, everybody's favorite tortured little soul, how about somebody current, who's your favorite working artist?"
And I don't have one, and I don't have much opportunity to see the work of working artists, being that I live in South Jersey and have no car. If I lived in SoHo or something, yeah, okay. Cause 2nd street is great, for Philly, but it ain't NYC and an art student really should know that.
And I couldn't come up with that explanation either.
And then... and theeeeennnn, I was kind of just watching Erica and Hanna together - it's not like they were making out and I was just peeping on them or anything - I was watching them get drinks, I was watching them linger inside the bar, you know, just regular stuff - cause that's what I do, that's my thing, I watch everything, and Kirsten kept moving her head around and saying, "you're watching them again. Stop watching. Why are you looking at them?"
So I told her honestly, Erica is my friend, I'm curious what she's like when she's stuck at the hip to someone who isn't me, and I never really realized she was even into girls, and it was interesting.
Which of course lead Kirsten to say something along the lines of, what's wrong with being into girls??? Like all of a sudden she thought she had been mislead, like this wasn't a date after all, like I wasn't a lesbian anyway and all was a misunderstanding - BUT SHE TOTALLY WAS NOT ACTING LIKE THIS WAS A DATE ANYWAY.
A little later in the evening we walked around some on South Street - which I hate because the sidewalks are terrible - and things went a little better. Kirsten talked about how she used to come to South Street when she was in high school (I guess she is from Philly, went away for college, and came back for grad school...) and thought it was so cool, and how much it's changed, and how all the "scene kids" are out now and she feels old...
And we kind of did have a real conversation about that, cause I'm starting to feel the same way, I mean, even getting dressed for the night, part of me was thinking, ok, I gotta pull out all my best stuff so she knows I'm cool, but the stuff I was thinking about was stuff I'd never wear now, high school stuff, gothy stuff, and... I don't dress even remotely like a scene kid. Or an emo kid, or whatever seems to have replaced that little niche.
Maybe it's something about being twenty four, I don't know. But it was a real, non-awkward conversation, and that's always preferable.
We then stopped in to the margarita bar, I forget what it's called, and Erica and Hanna did a shot, or possibly two, and Kirsten and I did not partake, and she expressed her concern about Erica driving back to Jersey, and Erica said she might as well spend the night with Hanna, and I was like, ok, then, you are going to leave me stuck in Philly?
This would have been where Kirsten could have said something about me coming home with her but that didn't happen and I really didn't expect it to anyway.
Kirsten was not feeling this date. That was pretty clear. I tried. I really did. I asked her about herself. I asked her about what she was studying (art history - which she could have talked to me for five hours about but she didn't, probably cause I snapped at her early on) and I asked her about growing up in her neighborhood, which I don't know much about since Philly is so huge and I lived somewhere totally different. It just... wasn't... happening.
And it was fairly mutual.
It could have gone much differently but... it didn't. I guess everyone has a "type." She's not mine. I'm clearly not hers. We didn't click at all. Sustaining conversation was not easy. I always felt like she was misunderstanding things I said. And... I didn't find her that interesting. I don't want to sound like a snob, but... she's just not a person I felt any interest in. Maybe she was holding back. Maybe there are very interesting things about her that she neglected to mention. I mean, I didn't tell her I've lived in Africa - I usually don't tell people that, but it's an interesting fact, isn't it? She probably thought I wasn't very interesting either.
She could have been one of those wild and crazy girls. She could have suggested we leave Erica and Hanna in Philly and go to AC and gamble all night and watch the sun come up over the ocean. She could have been one of those really kinky girls and made dildo comments and suggested we go into that sexy shop there on South Street or whatever, and we could have played around with the boas and the toys and whatever, and then... whatever.
These things did not happen, nor did they even come close to happening, and the date was a big hype for nothing. It wasn't even really a date. It definitely didn't feel like a date - whatever, as if I've been on a lot of dates or something.
I guess cause usually if you go out with someone, you do for a reason. Something about them interests you. So you want to see more of them, get to know more about them, and you go out one night. I guess blind dates are just kind of out of order. I mean, even internet dating sites try to match you up with someone you'd be compatible with, or might be, anyway.
So Kirsten went home around eleven, and Erica, Hanna, and I sat around on the waterfront, and I said I was really sorry her friend didn't like me and I tried to be as awesome as I could, and she said Kirsten was in a weird mood tonight or something and whatever, don't worry, I'm not getting left in Philly, we'll all go back to Jersey together and Hanna will skip her Friday class, blah blah blah...
It makes me feel a little better that it wasn't really Erica that set this up in the first place, it was Hanna, and I guess it sounded like a good idea at the time. It's not like Erica met Kirsten and said, hey, you and Lara would be perfect together, or anything. She told Hanna she really wanted me to meet her, and Hanna suggested we make it a double date because she knew another single girl.
Whatever. It didn't work out. Blegh. I should have worn a different shirt. A black one, maybe. With rhinestones. Kinda like this one I have that isn't even close to clean.
There's More
So Friday I went to work for lunch and dinner, which is my usual thing these days, and then because I come in so early I get to leave early, and Bevan works the same shifts as me on the weekends (and yes, Friday counts as the weekend!) and since we were both getting done early I got another invitation to go to the strip club.
Which I finally, after some deliberation, made myself turn down.
I like going out with Bevan anywhere, and I like going out and being "one of the guys" even though I'm definitely not a guy, but I feel like every time I went I was just working up the courage to get a lap dance, and then I got one and I've kind of been trying to shake that off ever since.
I paid a naked girl to make out with me. It cost forty dollars.
And I left with a serious case of SF.
And I seem to lose at... people, judging by my "date" with Kirsten, and I don't want to be in a relationship, or try to start one, or go on another date, ever, ever again, for a million years, and, to put it very, very bluntly, I don't seem to be very good at getting myself off.
So no, I'm not going to put myself in that situation again.
It seems like it shouldn't bother me as much as it did. It's her job, she did it and she did it well, I payed her, I enjoyed it, end of story. It's not like we're in Nevada and she's a prostitute or something. But a lot of things bother me that shouldn't.
Kind of like I say, in theory, that sex is good, I like sex, I like to have sex, and casual sex is great and fun and healthy and good. And then I follow through on that and end up all messed up in the head after.
And so I said I wasn't going, and, since it was Bevan, I said why, too. I said all that happened last time was I ended up seriously sexually frustrated, and I don't need a second round of that, thanks. And he was like, but, I thought you went on a date? And I was like, blegh.
And then, the restaurant was so busy, and we weren't really staffed well enough, because everyone's hours are getting cut because the season is ending, or it was supposed to be, anyway, and Bevan didn't get done until almost twelve, and he said he'd stop for a drink with me if I wanted and then meet his friends at the club, and I was like, okay! And I spilled all the woes of my date, and said I didn't even look cute, and he was like, "you would look cuter if you didn't have animal-cookie-icing hair" and I was like 0.o I don't like your hair either so nya!
Then we went to my house and looked at videos of scene kids in wal-mart on youtube for what turned into two hours, and I of course offered my couch because driving home at four just cuts down on sleep time at that point - so no strip club for either of us, and then we both woke up and went right back to the restaurant and did it all again, a lunch and a dinner shift both and then and then and then -
So, part of me does understand that casual sex is just, apparently, not for me. It gets me all out of sorts. Every time. The part of me that understands that has written about that fact several times now.
And yet... part of me does not.
Part of me is very, very lonely. Part of me likes to be touched. Part of me likes to be held. Part of me likes to feel attractive, part of me likes the excitement and the rush, and ALL of me likes sex. No part of me doesn't like that.
Part of me likes waking up, in the morning, naked under the sheets with sun streaming in the window, with someone next to me.
Someone.
With Krissy that never really happened. There were certain ways that she and I just never connected. There's an element of a relationship, I think, where you do things just because you know the other person likes it that way. We missed that. We were always missing that. She never stayed in bed. She'd get up and go home, or, when I was living with her, she'd just get up, start doing whatever, eating, straightening up, leaving for work, I don't know. Some things are just unavoidable, but...
It's nice to wake up like that.
"You must promise me," I said, "that we cannot be weird after this. I like you too much to avoid you because we slept together and now we need an 'awkwardness time out' or whatever."
And then we grabbed breakfast from Wawa because, as always, I was out of food in the house, and went to work for lunch, and then today I bought a washing machine and a dryer for my downstairs but... my kitchen cabinets are still in my living room and... I feel like shit, I thought I was getting a cold but now I feel like I have a little bit of a fever cause my skin is super sensitive and I'm hot and I know it isn't hot in here and the back of my throat is dry - yay. I love being sick, and, of course, my shoulder hurts. Of course, just one shoulder hurts right now, but I'm pretty sure that really they both hurt and for some reason my brain is only listening to one...
So now I can accuse Bevan of making me sick.
Or, I have made him sick.
Either way. Sick sucks.
And thats... what's been up.
Yep.
One day, perhaps, I will get over my amusement with switching the hyphen from before "ass" to after it.
Today is not that day.
My Job
On Wednesday night I almost got fired from my job, basically for sticking up for myself to a guest. I guess in the hospitality industry we just don't do that. In the hospitality industry, see, we're always wrong and you're always right. Even when you're not.
I find my job extremely trying. Every day. I don't know if this means something is wrong with me, or what, but it doesn't seem like the rest of my coworkers have such a hard time with it. It shouldn't be difficult - there is nothing particularly hard about saying hello to people, writing down their name and telling them how long they will wait for a table, and then making sure I'm actually calling them for their table within that time I quoted them. There is nothing hard about hearing, over the headsets, which tables are available and calling people who are waiting to sit down to come sit at the clean tables in the most efficient way possible. There isn't even anything hard about hearing, over the headset, that party X needs to be taken to table Y, and then giving them menus and showing them there and introducing their server. THESE THINGS ARE VERY EASY.
And yet I find it excruciating. I can't stand standing up there in the lobby with stupid high school girls that giggle and whisper and don't do their job properly - I have to choose between being completely apart from their socialization, which is very boring, and participating in it, which is just insipid and disgusting at best. Or it could be the opposite - we're busy, because it's high volume hours, and now I'm hoping I've sufficiently socialized with the rest of the host staff earlier in the shift so that we can all work together efficiently and not be petty or stupid with each other.
I can't stand guests grabbing the wait list out of my hands - I can't stand them pulling on the clipboard or taking my pens or reaching over me or shouting "excuse me!" at me when I'm talking to another guest, or pushing up against me or flat out LYING - people lie a lot. They say their name was called when it wasn't - they say they are a party of six so they can sit at the big tables when they're really a party of four, taking up one of only three available large tables. They don't include their children when saying how many are in their party, even when I can see the child they're carrying. "How many?" says me. "Two," says mom, holding child, and smiling at dad. "Three?" I suggest, indicating the child. "No, two," snaps dad, implying that I am an idiot. I contemplate doing what they say and marking them down as a party of two, and then watching them try to figure out what to do when they're shown to a two person table, with two chairs and absolutely no room for anything else, high chair, baby carrier, third chair, nothing... but I don't, because in the end that's just more work and difficulty for me, or, if not me, then another employee. After all, we'd have to sit them at a four-seat table in the end, probably bumping them ahead of other parties of three or four because since we called their name, we have to seat them.
But you know what I really can't stand? People who talk about how "incompetent" my coworkers and I are, and how poorly run the restaurant is, as is evidenced by the fact that they have to wait for a table. Right in earshot. Usually deliberately in earshot. As if I should start to grovel and apologize for my poor service, when in fact, I am doing everything exactly right, better than most other people could, and everything is going exactly the way it should be. I can't snap my fingers and cause more seating to appear. I certainly can't kick people out of the tables they're eating at. I very, very rarely mis-quote a wait time. If I tell you it's an hour and a half to sit down, then that's how long it's going to take because there are that many people who were here first.
Talking to me like I'm an idiot is not going to get you seated faster. Pointing to your name on the wait sheet is not going to get you seated faster. Trash talking me and my coworkers right in front of me is not going to intimidate me into skipping over pages of patient, reasonable people in order to seat you faster. Bribing me? That might work, but no one has ever tried that as of yet. They stick to verbal intimidation. Asking for a manager. Telling lies. Saying I told them half an hour instead of ninety minutes, even though I've been saying ninety minutes all night. Saying they've been waiting for forty-five minutes when they've only been there for ten.
When I take someone's name, I write down the time they put their name in and the time I told them their table would be ready. So these lies do not work - but showing people the time they came in and the quote they were given never helps - it just encourages them to grab the clipboard from me. I hate grabby people. Children grab things they want. Babies grab things they like. Adults should fucking know better.
So when I told a woman that in fact, I did know what I was doing, in fact, we all did, and that we were doing everything correctly and that her table would be ready within the time frame I originally told her (in response to her LOUD statement TO her companion RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME that "they needed to have someone who knew what they were doing running things up here") I was, apparently, wrong to say that. Because this is a restaurant, and we're in the service industry. Meaning we are never to stick up for ourselves and never to correct a guest.
I went on to explain to her that she had NOT been skipped, that I had NOT made an error, and that I absolutely DID know what I was doing, and that her announcing that I was a "screw up" was extremely hurtful and in fact untrue.
And she, she went on to tell me that the restaurant needed to have some more "mature, competent" people running things, because I obviously did not understand what my job function was to be, that the explanation I had given her as to why she had NOT been skipped (her party was too large to sit at the regular tables, thus, she had to wait for a larger table to be available, which takes longer than a four-seat table, and so people who arrived after her were being seated before her) did not make sense and that the restaurant had done me a disservice by putting me in a position I couldn't handle, and she repeated, again, that someone with maturity needed to come take charge of the front.
And then - this is were it just gets outrageous, and this is where I really began to take this more personally then I guess I should have, and where I really began to "lose it" - then she said, after saying that someone more mature than I am needed to be doing my job, she said "like my daughter, she's twenty five, she's a grown woman, she's mature, she's grown, my daughter is a grown woman, you're a child, you don't correct me, you don't talk to me that way, you don't belong in this job, you need to learn how to act, you are nothing, you are not even a waitress, they don't even let you wait tables, this is the only job they let you do and you aren't even mature enough to handle it without some kind of problem, my daughter is grown, she has her own business, you're a child, you're a child, you need to wipe tables, you need to wash dishes, are you getting upset? Are you getting upset? What is that look for? I'm talking to you! Sir! Sir!" (she was shouting at a passing waiter) "I need a manager right now! Are you a manager? I need a manager right now!"
*deep breath* and of course the waiter was carrying like eight plates or something and was intent on getting them to their destinations before the food lost even a tenth of a degree of heat, and just passed right by her. Of course the only employee hearing this was me, because I was the only one in the lobby - the other hosts were seating people. And of course the only person who could actually summon a manager was me, because I had the headset. So I pressed the button and said, very shakily, "Sherrie, I need you to come to the lobby right now, Sherrie? Sherrie, I need you in the lobby, there is a guest who needs a manager," and so on, and she completely blew me off, she heard me and she indicated that she wasn't coming, and only showed up when some other employees DID notice that something was escalating in the lobby and went and got her in person.
And I just wanted to disappear. Just - poof! - gone. It was too unreal - was this really even happening? But I have neither an invisibility cloak nor an internal teleport activation device, and - I can't run away, either. So - I sat down. On the floor. Behind the podium. In the corner. Where it smelled like crayons and sanitized water and ketchup.
This woman and her entire party ate for free. They were served by a waitress AND the manager. They were seated immediately - four seat tables were pushed together, in the walkway and in front of the fire door where I was specifically told tables are NEVER to be because it violates the fire code by blocking the door and it's unsafe for both the servers who use the walkway and the guests who are sitting in the walkway - we serve these stupid sizzlin' platters on iron plates that are heated on the grill - you do not want to collide with someone carrying this food, believe me.
And I couldn't believe I fucking fell apart like that. I felt kind of unreal while I was telling her I was not a screw-up, like this big rush of power, like, finally, finally, I'm gonna do it, I'm gonna say something, I'm not taking another word of this, but it was unreal at the same time, like, am I really talking back to her? Am I really saying this? And from there it just - went wild.
I don't know where she was getting the shit she was saying. Typing it all out like that, I mean, who says shit like that? To a stranger? To a restaurant worker? To someone you're trying to get to accommodate your "special" demands? Where does all that come from? I have no fucking idea. Maybe she's just a cruel woman, maybe she could read my tone, my expression, my body language, maybe she could tell I was sure I knew what I was doing, maybe she could tell how much offense I was taking to the implication that I couldn't do a simple job, and she just took that and went with it, and kept repeating the stuff that got to me -
I work. With kids. With stupid, insipid, annoying, incompetent, immature kids, all day long. My manager (different manager, not the one who was working that day) said I am the best host, in fact, I am the only host she can trust to run the lobby without supervision, except for when she takes servers who used to be hosts and sticks them on the host staff for the night because she's short someone. I can't even take the compliment, either, because the job is so simple, and so boring, that it's not really a compliment to tell someone they don't suck at something simple, is it?
I work with kids. I am not a kid. I am the oldest person on the host staff, and most days, I feel like it. I am short, I don't know, maybe I look a little younger than I am, I do have pink hair, maybe that doesn't help my cause, but the fact remains, I AM NOT A KID. I do not act like one, and I do not live like one. A few years ago I'd say I stopped being a kid when I was fifteen. I take that back - I was very much a horrible teenager. But there's no way I'm a kid now - I am completely on my own. I have no familial support. I do everything myself. I get everything done. I do what I have to. I take care of everything. I AM NOT FUCKING IMMATURE.
Her daughter? Her daughter is twenty five? Her daughter who was sitting there, on the bench, not even reacting as her mother berated and verbally abused the FUCKING HOSTESS IN A RESTAURANT, she's twenty five? OH HOW FUCKING MATURE SHE MUST BE.
I'm twenty four and in another four months I'll be twenty five too and I AM NOT FUCKING IMMATURE.
...as is evidenced by the fact that I was sitting in the corner, behind the podium, with the crayons, trying to hide the fact that I was CRYING.
Yes, some stranger, who knows nothing about me, who is clearly a bad person, who is not someone I should even give a second thought, I let some stranger make me CRY. In PUBLIC. At my JOB.
And so then we have people, guests and coworkers both, being like, what's wrong with her, what happened, why is she crying, is she hurt, did something happen, OMG LARA HERE I AM RIGHT IN YOUR FACE, ARE YOU OKAY????
And the answer to that was really no, I'm not okay, I just want to disappear right now, and besides, I think I'm probably fired now, but people were acting like they thought I was hurt, so I had to say yes, I am fine, I am okay, everything is okay here.
People complain about me a lot. If I never mentioned that - they do. "That hostess has a bug up her ass" is a sentiment that has been repeated back to me by many a server. I am always right - always - okay, well, on occasion, I do make mistakes, and I always say I do, and apologize, offer to get a manager, do whatever is necessary to compensate for what ever mistake was made. But when I am right, I stick to it, and I do NOT let people get away with announcing to the rest of the guests that "the hostess does not know what she's doing." Even if "not letting them get away with it" only amounts to rolling my eyes when they turn their backs or clearly pointing out the written evidence on the wait sheet that I am right and they are wrong.
This is not acceptable behavior in the restaurant industry. I have been told this a few times before. There have been a few instances where legitimate complaints have been made. I have been told, by Sherrie, the same manager that was on that night, that if she gets another complaint about me, I'm not getting another chance. In fact, she made it sound like she was doing me a favor by not firing me right then and there.
She's the only manager who's ever held me responsible for the crazy people who come in. Every other manager has said "don't worry about it Lara, you're doing fine, you can't please everyone, some people are just ignorant, some people want something for nothing, just forget about it, it never happened, just let it roll."
She doesn't see it that way. So I figured I was probably fired.
So I'm sitting there in the corner with the crayons on the ground with people pressing in on me in my face and everywhere asking if I'm okay and I'm thinking what am I going to do without this job?"
And my brain is spinning with all the reasons why I'm totally fucked without this job.
Where else is gonna pay me fifteen bucks an hour? Where else am I going to be able to arrange an elaborate transportation plan with coworkers? Where else is even going to hire me - DON'T tell me to get a "real job" - I have a fucking criminal record, I CAN'T get a "real job," and don't make that face, you wouldn't hire me either. What other jobs ARE there here - oh wait, the season is winding down, NOWHERE is hiring, EVERYWHERE is letting their seasonal people go bit by bit...
And so I'm working myself up into a panic and dear, dear, perfect and chipper and infuriating Kimmy says "get away from her, you're sucking up all her air!" which - it's so like her to have my back but that was so not a Kimmy thing to say - makes me laugh and since I was crying it made nasty slimy snot shoot out my nose, which was lovely in itself, believe me - and I said some things to her, and she leaves and she's back right away with some water and she's telling me I'm not fired and to settle down, because I'm freaking out I guess (of course I am) and Kimmy, Kimmy-the-kid, after I just said I can't stand high school kids and they're all stupid and whatever, is like, "I am going to help you up, here are tissues, let me take the water, I am going to walk with you to the kitchen, you are getting out of the lobby, we are going to go to the employee bathrooms in the back, you are getting cleaned up, blah blah blah totally reasonable words blah blah"
Which - I did - but then, another host comes after me, telling me Sherrie says I'm not fired and I need to get back in the lobby right now and to get out there and I put the headset back on and there is Sherrie telling me exactly that - so I come back and she flings the wait sheet at me, and she's been taking names all professional and manager-like but she's telling people a half hour for a table, which couldn't possibly be right, and so after she leaves, with red eyes and a blotchy face and shaking hands and a wobbly voice, I have to call people's names and tell them that actually the wait is closer to an hour and do they still want to stay, and so on.
And then I had to wait all the way until close for a ride home, and I didn't get home, I ended up at the bar, because that's where Heather wanted to go, and I was miserable and just wanted to go home... and Heather was drunk by the time we left, so, again, I got driven home by a drunk person, and I hate that and I really need to just suck it up and get some car insurance or get really good at never getting in an accident and just drive without it - and get the car fixed besides...
My Date
I know, I know that what that woman said to me was verbal abuse and that I should just let it roll, I should have just laughed in her face and said, "whatever, lady, I'll call you when your table's ready," or something, but I didn't, and it hit me really, really hard, it just totally... knocked me on my ass. Into a corner. Like a child.
My mood was shot. My confidence - of which I usually have a fair amount - was shot. I just - couldn't even look at myself in the mirror without hearing her saying "you're a child, you're a child" over and over again. Kimmy told me the lady was crazy, just to forget it, she was wrong and she was crazy, but Sherrie didn't. Sherrie told me I reacted wrong, that I can't talk to people like that - in other words, yes, the lady was crazy. But I was still wrong to react that way, and because I did, I let the situation escalate into something that ended up costing the restaurant six meals.
I didn't wake up hungover on Thursday. I didn't drink at the bar. I know better than to drink when I'm in that kind of mood. It doesn't help - it makes me feel worse, and it makes me reckless and stupid and likely to drink to much and fall off the barstool or something. And yeah, I've done that more than once, thanks, it doesn't need to be repeated, it was bad enough the first time(s). I just woke up... messed up, I guess. All night, in my sleep, I guess, I kept replaying the whole thing in my head, sometimes with me giving her what-for, sometimes with me giving Sherrie what-for, sometimes with Sherrie giving the woman what-for, sometimes with me giving a lengthy explanation for why I am not immature -
I couldn't find anything cute to wear for my date with this girl - her name is Kirsten - not Krissy, my ex. Kirsten, with a t and an en and the r and the i switched, funny, huh - because I hadn't done laundry like I should have (because I am immature and have been slacking off instead of doing necessary grown-up things) and maybe possibly I have been dreading this date and so I never planned what to wear until the last minute - I have a washing machine but it is upstairs and believe it or not, there are people up there right now so I can't just waltz in and use the washer. In fact I haven't done laundry since they moved in up there - I need to get a washer down here but I haven't been on that - because I am mature you see - and it took me five years to figure out what to wear and I never got my hair to look right and my outfit never really looked right either - something about a blue shirt and pink hair looks kind of off but that's how it ended up - not that cute -
So Erica came to pick me up with Hanna and Kirsten in the car and that would be the first time I met either of them, and we went to Philly, because it seems that's where both Hanna and Kirsten go to school. Hanna, OF COURSE, is an art student. Fourth year. UArts. Nothing like Erica. Kind of silly, kind of your typical pretentious art student, but in an endearing kind of way I guess, she's pretty easy to talk to, I thought - of course she's younger than I am. Erica just turned 23. This girl is 21.
Kirsten is my age, which is nice for a change, right? And she's a grad student, so she's smart and motivated and stuff. Also a plus. She doesn't have a car. Neither does Hanna. And now I've kind of got the Erica/Hanna story - Hanna is from around here. She was home for the summer doing an internship at the zoo, yes, I know, why is an art student doing and internship at the zoo, I don't really know, I wanted to ask her but she changed the subject right away. So Erica and Hanna met this summer (basically Erica ditched me for Hanna, who has red and black hair instead of pink like mine - red and black like mine was before I bleached it, huh, go figure) and now Hanna is back at school so Erica is playing the AC Expressway every night game. Kind of like me and Krissy when I first moved here.
And so we drove to Philly, and they were acting like they didn't have a plan for the night, we were just going to do "whatever" but that was a little bit BS, cause we conveniently parked in the lot by the waterfront - I MISS PHILLY!
I never lived down there - South Philly was never my 'hood. But I still miss it! The busses! The trains! The trolleys! The taxis - who needs a freakin' car? There was an opening at one of the galleries on 2nd street - someone Hanna went to school with - so we went to that. No plan, my ass, I say! And I liked the show - I like art, anyway, I'm like, not an artist, but, the product of art enmeshment, or whatever. I appreciate it. I wish I could make it. And I know a hell of a lot about it, and can talk about it for about five hours without taking a breath.
When I'm on my game, that is.
Which I was not. So instead, Kirsten thinks I am a dim-witted poser, or something.
We went to an Irish pub - claimed a nice table outside - it was a decent night. Can't see many stars at night in Philly - I forget that when I'm away from the place, you know? From my sidewalk I feel like I can see almost all the stars. From out on the beach I think I can see all the stars. Every one of them. Philly - no. Just - no. I tried to talk to Hanna about the show, Kirsten interrupted, started shooting all these questions at me, about how if I like art I must be an artist, and I kept trying to say I'm not really, and she was like, then you're just holding yourself back, it's all in your head, you're thinking negatively and so you can't make any art -
and I kept trying to counter that - I can draw a very, very decent copy of a photograph. Even right handed, and I'm actually left-handed. I can paint a very realistic portrait. And it's a very peaceful and relaxing thing to do, and I like it. But there's a certain amount of visual creativity that I just - don't have.
I love art. I look at art all the time. I loved seeing Hanna's classmate's show. And I know that I don't have that kind of creativity in me. I can be creative. Just not like that - it's not my thing, I guess.
And besides that, I've just been so... I don't know. The last few years I've just been, well, nothing is my thing. I don't write stories. I don't write poetry. I very rarely draw. I just... don't have that drive to create, even though I know when I get into it it's such a rush. I really wish there was something I could really sink into - instead I've been playing around with fanfiction, and I'm not even taking that terribly seriously anyway.
It's just that, well, this is kind of a very personal thing for me. People have always told me I'm creative. I've always thought I'm creative. So the fact that I'm not really "feeling it" is just another aspect of that deep undercurrent of "something's wrong" that I try very hard to either fix or ignore - so maybe I a little bit snapped at Kirsten when she was pressing the issue.
Ok so I definitely did. It's just something that I feel very passionately about and I wanted to make absolutely certain I was not misunderstood - and in the process, I definitely snapped at her.
And there went the awkward turtle, swimmin' on by...
And Kirsten went up to the bar to get another beer without asking me if I wanted anything or bringing anything back for me - which I don't know if she meant anything by that but it kind of seemed like it to me.
At another point in the evening I got into a conversation with Hanna about art too, and that one didn't go so well either, it was her asking me who my favorite artist is, so I named my all time faves, but I guess she meant my favorite current artist, and really, how the fuck am I supposed to have a favorite current artist? That's like having a favorite current band - how are you supposed to hear all the popular stuff and then pick a favorite from all the drivel, and then why even bother, because bands go in and out like birthday candles, you never know who's sticking around.
Ask me my favorite band, maybe I'll say Radiohead, I've been listening to them for a good ten years and I still think they're great. PATD ain't bad, they're current, but they haven't been growing on me for over a decade and at this time next year they might be less than a memory, who knows? I'd never lump them in with my FAVES.
And of course, I could not pull out such an eloquent explanation as to why "who's your favorite artist" had me so stumped. It came out more like "errr, uhhh, ummmm, wellll, I really like, uh, Frida Kahlo -"
"Oh, Frida, everybody's favorite tortured little soul, how about somebody current, who's your favorite working artist?"
And I don't have one, and I don't have much opportunity to see the work of working artists, being that I live in South Jersey and have no car. If I lived in SoHo or something, yeah, okay. Cause 2nd street is great, for Philly, but it ain't NYC and an art student really should know that.
And I couldn't come up with that explanation either.
And then... and theeeeennnn, I was kind of just watching Erica and Hanna together - it's not like they were making out and I was just peeping on them or anything - I was watching them get drinks, I was watching them linger inside the bar, you know, just regular stuff - cause that's what I do, that's my thing, I watch everything, and Kirsten kept moving her head around and saying, "you're watching them again. Stop watching. Why are you looking at them?"
So I told her honestly, Erica is my friend, I'm curious what she's like when she's stuck at the hip to someone who isn't me, and I never really realized she was even into girls, and it was interesting.
Which of course lead Kirsten to say something along the lines of, what's wrong with being into girls??? Like all of a sudden she thought she had been mislead, like this wasn't a date after all, like I wasn't a lesbian anyway and all was a misunderstanding - BUT SHE TOTALLY WAS NOT ACTING LIKE THIS WAS A DATE ANYWAY.
A little later in the evening we walked around some on South Street - which I hate because the sidewalks are terrible - and things went a little better. Kirsten talked about how she used to come to South Street when she was in high school (I guess she is from Philly, went away for college, and came back for grad school...) and thought it was so cool, and how much it's changed, and how all the "scene kids" are out now and she feels old...
And we kind of did have a real conversation about that, cause I'm starting to feel the same way, I mean, even getting dressed for the night, part of me was thinking, ok, I gotta pull out all my best stuff so she knows I'm cool, but the stuff I was thinking about was stuff I'd never wear now, high school stuff, gothy stuff, and... I don't dress even remotely like a scene kid. Or an emo kid, or whatever seems to have replaced that little niche.
Maybe it's something about being twenty four, I don't know. But it was a real, non-awkward conversation, and that's always preferable.
We then stopped in to the margarita bar, I forget what it's called, and Erica and Hanna did a shot, or possibly two, and Kirsten and I did not partake, and she expressed her concern about Erica driving back to Jersey, and Erica said she might as well spend the night with Hanna, and I was like, ok, then, you are going to leave me stuck in Philly?
This would have been where Kirsten could have said something about me coming home with her but that didn't happen and I really didn't expect it to anyway.
Kirsten was not feeling this date. That was pretty clear. I tried. I really did. I asked her about herself. I asked her about what she was studying (art history - which she could have talked to me for five hours about but she didn't, probably cause I snapped at her early on) and I asked her about growing up in her neighborhood, which I don't know much about since Philly is so huge and I lived somewhere totally different. It just... wasn't... happening.
And it was fairly mutual.
It could have gone much differently but... it didn't. I guess everyone has a "type." She's not mine. I'm clearly not hers. We didn't click at all. Sustaining conversation was not easy. I always felt like she was misunderstanding things I said. And... I didn't find her that interesting. I don't want to sound like a snob, but... she's just not a person I felt any interest in. Maybe she was holding back. Maybe there are very interesting things about her that she neglected to mention. I mean, I didn't tell her I've lived in Africa - I usually don't tell people that, but it's an interesting fact, isn't it? She probably thought I wasn't very interesting either.
She could have been one of those wild and crazy girls. She could have suggested we leave Erica and Hanna in Philly and go to AC and gamble all night and watch the sun come up over the ocean. She could have been one of those really kinky girls and made dildo comments and suggested we go into that sexy shop there on South Street or whatever, and we could have played around with the boas and the toys and whatever, and then... whatever.
These things did not happen, nor did they even come close to happening, and the date was a big hype for nothing. It wasn't even really a date. It definitely didn't feel like a date - whatever, as if I've been on a lot of dates or something.
I guess cause usually if you go out with someone, you do for a reason. Something about them interests you. So you want to see more of them, get to know more about them, and you go out one night. I guess blind dates are just kind of out of order. I mean, even internet dating sites try to match you up with someone you'd be compatible with, or might be, anyway.
So Kirsten went home around eleven, and Erica, Hanna, and I sat around on the waterfront, and I said I was really sorry her friend didn't like me and I tried to be as awesome as I could, and she said Kirsten was in a weird mood tonight or something and whatever, don't worry, I'm not getting left in Philly, we'll all go back to Jersey together and Hanna will skip her Friday class, blah blah blah...
It makes me feel a little better that it wasn't really Erica that set this up in the first place, it was Hanna, and I guess it sounded like a good idea at the time. It's not like Erica met Kirsten and said, hey, you and Lara would be perfect together, or anything. She told Hanna she really wanted me to meet her, and Hanna suggested we make it a double date because she knew another single girl.
Whatever. It didn't work out. Blegh. I should have worn a different shirt. A black one, maybe. With rhinestones. Kinda like this one I have that isn't even close to clean.
There's More
So Friday I went to work for lunch and dinner, which is my usual thing these days, and then because I come in so early I get to leave early, and Bevan works the same shifts as me on the weekends (and yes, Friday counts as the weekend!) and since we were both getting done early I got another invitation to go to the strip club.
Which I finally, after some deliberation, made myself turn down.
I like going out with Bevan anywhere, and I like going out and being "one of the guys" even though I'm definitely not a guy, but I feel like every time I went I was just working up the courage to get a lap dance, and then I got one and I've kind of been trying to shake that off ever since.
I paid a naked girl to make out with me. It cost forty dollars.
And I left with a serious case of SF.
And I seem to lose at... people, judging by my "date" with Kirsten, and I don't want to be in a relationship, or try to start one, or go on another date, ever, ever again, for a million years, and, to put it very, very bluntly, I don't seem to be very good at getting myself off.
So no, I'm not going to put myself in that situation again.
It seems like it shouldn't bother me as much as it did. It's her job, she did it and she did it well, I payed her, I enjoyed it, end of story. It's not like we're in Nevada and she's a prostitute or something. But a lot of things bother me that shouldn't.
Kind of like I say, in theory, that sex is good, I like sex, I like to have sex, and casual sex is great and fun and healthy and good. And then I follow through on that and end up all messed up in the head after.
And so I said I wasn't going, and, since it was Bevan, I said why, too. I said all that happened last time was I ended up seriously sexually frustrated, and I don't need a second round of that, thanks. And he was like, but, I thought you went on a date? And I was like, blegh.
And then, the restaurant was so busy, and we weren't really staffed well enough, because everyone's hours are getting cut because the season is ending, or it was supposed to be, anyway, and Bevan didn't get done until almost twelve, and he said he'd stop for a drink with me if I wanted and then meet his friends at the club, and I was like, okay! And I spilled all the woes of my date, and said I didn't even look cute, and he was like, "you would look cuter if you didn't have animal-cookie-icing hair" and I was like 0.o I don't like your hair either so nya!
Then we went to my house and looked at videos of scene kids in wal-mart on youtube for what turned into two hours, and I of course offered my couch because driving home at four just cuts down on sleep time at that point - so no strip club for either of us, and then we both woke up and went right back to the restaurant and did it all again, a lunch and a dinner shift both and then and then and then -
So, part of me does understand that casual sex is just, apparently, not for me. It gets me all out of sorts. Every time. The part of me that understands that has written about that fact several times now.
And yet... part of me does not.
Part of me is very, very lonely. Part of me likes to be touched. Part of me likes to be held. Part of me likes to feel attractive, part of me likes the excitement and the rush, and ALL of me likes sex. No part of me doesn't like that.
Part of me likes waking up, in the morning, naked under the sheets with sun streaming in the window, with someone next to me.
Someone.
With Krissy that never really happened. There were certain ways that she and I just never connected. There's an element of a relationship, I think, where you do things just because you know the other person likes it that way. We missed that. We were always missing that. She never stayed in bed. She'd get up and go home, or, when I was living with her, she'd just get up, start doing whatever, eating, straightening up, leaving for work, I don't know. Some things are just unavoidable, but...
It's nice to wake up like that.
"You must promise me," I said, "that we cannot be weird after this. I like you too much to avoid you because we slept together and now we need an 'awkwardness time out' or whatever."
And then we grabbed breakfast from Wawa because, as always, I was out of food in the house, and went to work for lunch, and then today I bought a washing machine and a dryer for my downstairs but... my kitchen cabinets are still in my living room and... I feel like shit, I thought I was getting a cold but now I feel like I have a little bit of a fever cause my skin is super sensitive and I'm hot and I know it isn't hot in here and the back of my throat is dry - yay. I love being sick, and, of course, my shoulder hurts. Of course, just one shoulder hurts right now, but I'm pretty sure that really they both hurt and for some reason my brain is only listening to one...
So now I can accuse Bevan of making me sick.
Or, I have made him sick.
Either way. Sick sucks.
And thats... what's been up.
Yep.
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no subject
Date: 2008-09-23 05:48 am (UTC)I fucking hate the hospitality industry. I work in it, but I completely loath it.
When I worked in management I had to be the strong confident one, but confrontational guests still left me shaky. My voice gets shaky in those situations, so I can't even pretend to be in control cuz my voice just betrays me. I got called all the names under the sun. "Stupid bitch" was common. I considered getting a name badge with that on it. I got pretty good at not actually telling ppl how stupid they were, and instead plastering on that fake smile and being completely fake as I oh so sincerely told them how important their opinions were to me. Blah blah blah.
I successfully ran a hostel for 2 years, and in the annual ratings it went up from 64% (the last manager's score) to 75% while in my care. It may yet go higher as the survey that happened while I was still there in Jan of this year will determine it's score/rating for the 2009 season.
I was awesome. Yet ppl still hated me, still called me names, told me how stupid I was, etc. I even had a beer bottle thrown me at once by a NON-GUEST who was on the property trying to use the computers and who got angry when I told him he was trespassing. And it sucks because you can't retaliate with words (or beer bottles. Though I did have the police haul his ass away and he was made to write an apology letter by the cops, which WAS pretty funny).
People fucking suck, and you REALLY see that in hospo. I fucking hate it, yet I'm still working in it. Go figure.
no subject
Date: 2008-09-23 05:31 pm (UTC)2) it never really occurred to me that a hostel was part of the hospitality industry - but I've stayed in pretty many and they are pretty hospitable... it's just that they're so cheap, it's a little like staying at a Y or something - nice place, clean, secure, community ammenities available like tv and internet... but definitely not a hotel!
3) so, I remember you saying that you look much younger than you are so... I wonder if you feel like it takes away from your credibility as a manager at all, or if you just project some type of "I'm in charge here" aura and no one questions you. I have had people address me as "little girl" many times, and refuse to take what I'm telling them seriously, only to have someone else, who is always younger but taller and older looking (and usually a guy, too) tell them the same thing and they believe it. I figure it must be partly how I look and partly how I act. I can't really grow, I'm too old to do that :P I can't dress differently because I wear a uniform. But I could probably change how I act, if I could figure out what to change... my manager has also had her authority questioned (Sherrie, the one I so disliked the night I just wrote about, and she is in her early thirties and looks about her age and has been a manager for YEARS and definitely IS in a position of authority) and it's usually by tourists... foreigners... wanting to talk to "the man in charge" and then when she appears continuing to ask for "who's in charge." I guess a hostel gets more international travelers than a shore town on the east coast of the US, and we get pretty many in season - did you ever deal with this in your hostel?
4) people do suck. I have always thought so, but I also always had this doubt that perhaps I am just mean, perhaps I am just judgemental, overly critical, etc, and it's not as bad as it seems. IT CLEARLY IS. I watch people all the time. I watch all kinds of people come in and out of the restaurant and I watch them interact with every part of the staff. It's actually kind of answered a lot of questions I've been back and forth with in my head for ages now - I often feel like people treat me like shit, and I very, very often feel like people treat me like I am stupid, and I wonder if it's because I'm disabled or if it's because people are just rotten all around. I've found my answer: they're just rotten all around. One, they have no idea I'm disabled, cause I'm standing behind a podium and they're not looking at me anyway, and two, I watch them give everyone else the same treatment, like, oh, you work here, you're too stupid to do anything else, you're staff, you're not a person, you're just garbage, etc.
I know. I take everything way too personally. That's why I find this job so trying... and yet I, too, am still here...
no subject
Date: 2008-09-23 07:12 pm (UTC)You can threaten and intimidate me all you like, but it won't make me suddenly change my mind and decide it would be safe to let you stay. Idiots.
But yes, I did have to work my ass off to get any respect, but in a way I walked away after 2 years okay with that, because I gained many skills and walked away a stronger person.
I just hated the 'oh OF COURSE you're right and I'm wrong, how silly of me to think otherwise' attitude you had to adopt. I actually had one angry email written about me to my boss after a stupid girl from England blamed my hostel for giving her bedbugs. I was so over her attitude (as were all my staff who'd had to deal with her since she'd checked in) that I pretty much told her she was stupid and that she should leave lol. She decided to go find somewhere else, but would check out when she came back. I was all, 'whatever, bitch' and as she was walking out I took the 'no vacancy' sign down. She saw me and said, 'you should wait until i return incase i can't find another place.' I just raised my eyebrows and left the sign down. Hell no I wasn't waiting for her stupid ass to return and say she was leaving if I'd already turned ppl away saying we were full. I was selling her bed, because as far as I was concerned she had said she was leaving so she was leaving, whether she liked it or not. Thankfully she did leave AND we sold her bed to someone else. Ah, good times. But afterwards she was so pissed by the whole thing she wrote a scathing email to my boss. My boss printed it off and brought it in and we all had a good laugh over it because the girl was just so stupid.
So I can be mean too when I shouldn't be, but sometimes I just can't be assed plastering on a fake smile and taking the bullshit thrown my way. Some days I'm going to give it back.
Everyone gets treated like shit in hospo, because entry-level jobs don't require degrees. Because you can work your way up to a supervisory level without a degree. It was ridiculous because I once worked as a housekeeping supervisor and guests had no interest in me because I worked in the rooms division. But they'd make conversation because it's awkward if they just sit there watching you clean their room, and as soon as they found out I had a degree in anthropology they had respect for me. Like, how does that change who I was when I walked into your room? Apparently to them not having a degree makes you a loser who's going nowhere. They look at you like, 'oh she'll be cleaning rooms the rest of her life.' They can't fathom that a housekeeper could have a degree, let alone in 2 different things! Oh my.
I got the hostel job BECAUSE of my experience in hospo at a supervisory level and because of my degree, yet I still had to fight for respect (mostly from locals, as most of the foreign guests were 18-25 y/o backpackers who'd worked in hospo at some point in their travels) because I was female, young, and blonde.
You can just never win.
no subject
Date: 2008-09-23 02:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-23 02:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-23 05:35 pm (UTC)Karma is all BS, you know that, right? *friendly grin*
I am NOT glad I stood up to her - I wasn't supposed to do it in the first place, and I couldn't follow through with it either way - I HAD just stand there and take her scolding me like a bad five-year-old... to continue defending myself really would have cost me my job. Then, instead of being comforted, I also got a scolding from my manager, because in the end, yes, the woman was wrong, but I was also acting in the wrong.
And the next time the situation comes up, I'm not going to react like that, because I know how it could turn out and I don't want to go through that again- it's just not worth it.