i will not be the girl in the sensible shoes/pushing burgers and beer nuts and missing the clues
So this new job? Three guesses on what it's not. That's right: not what I signed up for.
Now, I know those of you in food service (and who are older and wiser than me) are about to thwap me and go "but Drea, that's normal. 'Job description' is a misleading phrase and hey, we all do things to pitch in that we normally wouldn't do. Suck it up and deal".
Unfortunately, I don't think I'm capable of settling any more.
The job I was hired to do was labeled "server captain", and included a quick transition to management when I learned the floor duties. It was supposed to be customer service-oriented, dealing with the execs' needs and scheduling reservations. I was supposed to be more of a liason, making sure the execs got what they wanted for lunches and meetings. Apparently, it was what the assistant manager, Dana, and the manager, Christine, do.
What I am actually doing, and what all my fellow servers tell me I will do as long as I'm employed with that company, is haul banquet setups, fetch cases of water, and wash dishes. All the stuff that, at Bala, everyone either pitches in to do in addition to the jobs they get paid for, or the illegal Mexican kitchen boys do. It's boring and beyond-monotonous and really hard on me physically. I've only been there three days, and I've already come home crying, barely able to stand or bend at the waist for two of them.
Lest you all thwack me again for being a wuss - I've been a server and/or involved in food service for eight years. I've waited tables, slung pizza, washed dishes, fetched and carried and I did it when I was younger because I didn't have what I have now: experience and a college degree.
And I feel so fucking crappy for settling for this kind of job (despite its benefits and decent pay) when I could be out doing what I love. Because I'm not writing. I'm not interacting with people, making their lives a little easier. I don't even feel that this job will be useful for some day down the road, as I did with other jobs (*cough* Don G's and Salerno's *cough*). I honestly suspect that if I stick around, I'll be progressively more and more miserable, stuck in a rut, and never do anything to move toward my dream job of writing for a living.
And Jesus, have I been miserable recently. I feel uglier than ever - body love has never been really easy for me, but most of the time, I'm okay with myself - and I haven't slept a full night in weeks. All I want to do is curl up in bed and never get up. And that's not me. I've never been one for prolonged spats of depression, even when I was a moody teenager. I was always sensible about myself, telling myself people have it worse, and look at all these good things I have. Now, I can't think of a single thing about my life right now that I enjoy.
So do I stick it out for the guaranteed money and benefits? Be miserable and stuck in my parents' house (as much as I love them) for another four-to-six months? Or do I take a huge leap and just - go somewhere? Run away to Boston to live with my black-sheep cousin fireflyinajar? Run away to California to sleep on the beach and try my damnedest to get a P.A. job? Or further - backpacking through Europe or teaching English in Japan?
Honestly, if I had any money saved whatsoever, I'd run off somewhere and never look back. But starting over in a brand new city/state/country terrifies the hell out of me. I get panicky at the thought of not having a safety net of job&house.
So what are my options?
Now, I know those of you in food service (and who are older and wiser than me) are about to thwap me and go "but Drea, that's normal. 'Job description' is a misleading phrase and hey, we all do things to pitch in that we normally wouldn't do. Suck it up and deal".
Unfortunately, I don't think I'm capable of settling any more.
The job I was hired to do was labeled "server captain", and included a quick transition to management when I learned the floor duties. It was supposed to be customer service-oriented, dealing with the execs' needs and scheduling reservations. I was supposed to be more of a liason, making sure the execs got what they wanted for lunches and meetings. Apparently, it was what the assistant manager, Dana, and the manager, Christine, do.
What I am actually doing, and what all my fellow servers tell me I will do as long as I'm employed with that company, is haul banquet setups, fetch cases of water, and wash dishes. All the stuff that, at Bala, everyone either pitches in to do in addition to the jobs they get paid for, or the illegal Mexican kitchen boys do. It's boring and beyond-monotonous and really hard on me physically. I've only been there three days, and I've already come home crying, barely able to stand or bend at the waist for two of them.
Lest you all thwack me again for being a wuss - I've been a server and/or involved in food service for eight years. I've waited tables, slung pizza, washed dishes, fetched and carried and I did it when I was younger because I didn't have what I have now: experience and a college degree.
And I feel so fucking crappy for settling for this kind of job (despite its benefits and decent pay) when I could be out doing what I love. Because I'm not writing. I'm not interacting with people, making their lives a little easier. I don't even feel that this job will be useful for some day down the road, as I did with other jobs (*cough* Don G's and Salerno's *cough*). I honestly suspect that if I stick around, I'll be progressively more and more miserable, stuck in a rut, and never do anything to move toward my dream job of writing for a living.
And Jesus, have I been miserable recently. I feel uglier than ever - body love has never been really easy for me, but most of the time, I'm okay with myself - and I haven't slept a full night in weeks. All I want to do is curl up in bed and never get up. And that's not me. I've never been one for prolonged spats of depression, even when I was a moody teenager. I was always sensible about myself, telling myself people have it worse, and look at all these good things I have. Now, I can't think of a single thing about my life right now that I enjoy.
So do I stick it out for the guaranteed money and benefits? Be miserable and stuck in my parents' house (as much as I love them) for another four-to-six months? Or do I take a huge leap and just - go somewhere? Run away to Boston to live with my black-sheep cousin fireflyinajar? Run away to California to sleep on the beach and try my damnedest to get a P.A. job? Or further - backpacking through Europe or teaching English in Japan?
Honestly, if I had any money saved whatsoever, I'd run off somewhere and never look back. But starting over in a brand new city/state/country terrifies the hell out of me. I get panicky at the thought of not having a safety net of job&house.
So what are my options?