i don’t know what’s wrong with me. i get so frustrated at work it’s paralyzing, like i can’t look at people in their eyes after they’ve been disrespectful and are calling me angela. i have a fucking name necklace on you stupid idiot, you probably can’t read though and that’s worse than your behavior. or not worse= equal worse :) i can’t help but think I CANNOT DO THIS ANY LONGER, and storm into the kitchen to cry a little before that same previously mentioned table, hunts me down to assault me some more. how are all my coworkers remaining calm? how do they suck it up and say “it’s worth the money”, “what else are we going to do”? well, i say the same things from time to time. i also get lost in my head about things. certain fantasy worlds take over and i’m holding on to those while serving mixed cocktails. the late nights really bum me out. i’ve heard writing in the morning is the freshest, most creative time. well, i believe it. training myself to wake up early when having to go to work till the bitter hours of the night make it hard to motivate myself. my body is fucking tired. my eyes are glossed and red and covered in vitamin e oil and i look like a witched dressed up as a fairy. i got tipped $1.43 on a $40 bill (that bill was split amongst 12 others, whose bill tallied to about the same after being promo’d for desserts and drinks by the new manager who worked at some cheesy place they’d come to for years), i got tipped $12 on $140 check with lavish glasses of wine and lobster beignets. fuck them. i wanna pull hair out. some big lady told me she liked my punk bracelet and i wanted to explain to her that it wasn’t a punk bracelet if it was colorful and woven like mexican friendship bracelets but with cool brass spikes netted in…. stupid idiots. let’s talk business for a second.. what will i do without this job when the acting is not pulling in the big bucks. i go through waves of gratification, gratitude was the word i was actually looking for but my subconscious took over, and yet, at the holidays i’m left again feeling like i want to break glass and cry and blast music and ignore people talking to me. i don’t want to be your friend just because i was “charming” while serving you. i’m trying to make money people, don’t linger and talk about getting a drink after i get off work- I DON’T KNOW YOU. god, crotchy rocket over here has to wake up in 5 hours for pilates because i’m “training myself” to wake up earlier… and another late night tomorrow awaits me in the god forsaken vodbox. how does this get better- no, no- WHEN does this get better?
*okay, but also… i drove juan home tonight. it was the first time in several months because sometimes i don’t go straight home after work, or i sleep over at nathan’s, or i want to get the fuck out of there as soon as possible without waiting in my car and then acting out the part of carpool mom at 2 30. but today i did it because juan was just as tired, oh much more, than i and after having a bad night, there’s nothing like putting things in perspective, which is exactly what happens when i drive some of the buss boys or line cooks home to their small apartments shared with their families and OTHER families and hear their story. in one unit, shared living room, bunk beds sometimes, couch living. working 17 hour days at two jobs, 6 or 7 times a week. it really puts a spin on MY bad day. alonso is apparently in the hospital. who the fuck is alonso? he’s someone i work with. he hyperventilated and had to pay a lot of money to go because “we don’t have insurance”, juan said. alonso lost his unborn baby at 5 months into the pregnancy. he had been so excited about it that he brought disgusting photos of the baby in the womb, looking like an alien, while he’d make lattes for a table or refill water. he was such a proud to-be father. and the baby’s gone and alonso is in the hospital with no insurance and missing three days of work. i gave juan my bon iver cd that was playing in the car when i dropped him because a long time ago i told him i’d burn him a mix that was playing that he liked and i never did. he secretly left me 6 dollars in my car that i plan on shoving back into his pocket tomorrow at work. he got out tonight and said “thank you sweetheart” and i cried for just a little thinking of how mad i get at these guys when they give me an attitude or aren’t picking up dishes fast enough. i also cried because he said “you are sad today” and i dramatically answered, “i’m always sad”. it’s a stupid thing to say and it’s a lie.
