on stress, class and fear
I have not had too many good days lately.
Don't get me wrong, Christmas with Kev's family is always lovely, and it was this year too, all things considered. It's just hard to really enjoy anything when I have so much on my mind. All of the cliches; "I feel like I have a weight on my chest," "I feel like I have a cloud over my head" etc; I suddenly understand why they're cliches. I can't think of a better way to describe how I feel either, literary world.
I feel stressed. I feel afraid. I feel like a disappointment to myself and everyone that matters to me.
For more than 10 years, I have worked in hospitality. I've been working in restaurants and bars, as a server, bartender and cocktail waitress. For about eight of those years, restaurants were fun. I met my closest friends, my greatest loves, and my best mentors. I overcame being incredibly shy. I learned 10 times more about human nature than I did about the preparation, service and history of food, beer, wine and spirits - and trust me, I've learned a lot about all of that. But for all eight of those years any time my employment status was asked the answer was always "student."
In 2008 I was supposed to graduate from college. I convinced myself it wouldn't be possible. I had just finished a study abroad program that would set me back. I wasn't that sure of my major. I needed at least one more semester. Then I couldn't get the classes I wanted. Then I wanted to pick up a minor. At least these were the excuses I used.
I was working five nights a week, and drinking heavily every night after work. I lived downtown, close to work and far from Towson's campus. It was just so far to drive to class, so early to get up and drive that hour with traffic, and I had a hangover anyway. I started missing classes, and a lot of them. There was at least two semesters where I dropped half or all of my classes because I couldn't keep up with them, and at least one where I just failed because I didn't bother to drop them. But I didn't care.
School was costing me about $10,000 a year, and I could easily pay it outright without changing my lifestyle. Work had become more important. I could make $500 a night on a Saturday and still have a good time. All of my friends, and the boyfriend I loved, were at the bar. They were my family. I knew college was important deep down, but it was so easy to justify setting it aside.
Somehow, I muddled through. It got to a point where I only needed one class to graduate. Even though I managed to fuck that up at least once, I did it. I'm sure it helped a lot that I had Kevin in my life again then. In 2010 I applied for graduation and was accepted. It's like I had suddenly remembered who I was.
I didn't go to the graduation ceremony. I was too ashamed.
For the past two years, I have continued to work in restaurants. I left behind the bars in Fells Point years ago and started working for Kimpton. I don't bartend anymore, and I work in fine dining where everyone is extremely professional. The staff doesn't date one another. We don't all get shitfaced every single night together. In fact, I rarely drink. I make a lot less money, but it's healthier for me. And I've been there almost four years.
Four years. It's painful to even type, because my occupation is no longer "student," but "server." This isn't a part-time job to help pay my way through school. This is what I do for a living. Restaurants aren't fun anymore. It's daily monotonous drudgery. It's the archetype of a dead-end job.
I can hear the same argument that I have given myself before, "There is nothing wrong with what I do. This is a 'real' job." And it is a real job. We even get tips through payroll, which means at my current company I get taxed the same as every "normal" working person. I make plenty of money, more than most people I know my age. These are the sort of arguments that I used to always give when family and friends refused to take my work seriously.* But over the past two years I have really begun to question why they don't take it seriously. Most of it has to do with class. This job is beneath them, and me. They're snobbish enough to admit it and voice their opinions, but deep down I agree. And I am miserable because of it.
It doesn't help that on top of my utter hatred for my work, it's also killing my relationship. Kevin works during the day. I work at night. We never see each other, even though we live together, and we're both lonely and upset all of the time. Every time we have a normal couple-y thing to go to, like a friends wedding, it's a huge fucking production because those things are always on Saturdays and I have a really hard time getting those nights off. When I do get those nights off, I spend half of the night being stressed about the $200 less I'll have that month from losing that shift unless I pick another up.
All of this has been weighing on me so long, that stress; that heavy weight and thick cloud have become such a part of me I almost just accept it.
Almost.
* For example, if my sister, who is an ER doctor, can't get off for Christmas, everyone understands. She is admired for her dedication to her work. If I can't get off for Christmas, my family asks why I don't just get a real job.
A second example: Despite the fact that I have worked full-time since the age of 17, my parents still ask, "so when are you going to start working?" literally every time we talk.
Don't get me wrong, Christmas with Kev's family is always lovely, and it was this year too, all things considered. It's just hard to really enjoy anything when I have so much on my mind. All of the cliches; "I feel like I have a weight on my chest," "I feel like I have a cloud over my head" etc; I suddenly understand why they're cliches. I can't think of a better way to describe how I feel either, literary world.
I feel stressed. I feel afraid. I feel like a disappointment to myself and everyone that matters to me.
For more than 10 years, I have worked in hospitality. I've been working in restaurants and bars, as a server, bartender and cocktail waitress. For about eight of those years, restaurants were fun. I met my closest friends, my greatest loves, and my best mentors. I overcame being incredibly shy. I learned 10 times more about human nature than I did about the preparation, service and history of food, beer, wine and spirits - and trust me, I've learned a lot about all of that. But for all eight of those years any time my employment status was asked the answer was always "student."
In 2008 I was supposed to graduate from college. I convinced myself it wouldn't be possible. I had just finished a study abroad program that would set me back. I wasn't that sure of my major. I needed at least one more semester. Then I couldn't get the classes I wanted. Then I wanted to pick up a minor. At least these were the excuses I used.
I was working five nights a week, and drinking heavily every night after work. I lived downtown, close to work and far from Towson's campus. It was just so far to drive to class, so early to get up and drive that hour with traffic, and I had a hangover anyway. I started missing classes, and a lot of them. There was at least two semesters where I dropped half or all of my classes because I couldn't keep up with them, and at least one where I just failed because I didn't bother to drop them. But I didn't care.
School was costing me about $10,000 a year, and I could easily pay it outright without changing my lifestyle. Work had become more important. I could make $500 a night on a Saturday and still have a good time. All of my friends, and the boyfriend I loved, were at the bar. They were my family. I knew college was important deep down, but it was so easy to justify setting it aside.
Somehow, I muddled through. It got to a point where I only needed one class to graduate. Even though I managed to fuck that up at least once, I did it. I'm sure it helped a lot that I had Kevin in my life again then. In 2010 I applied for graduation and was accepted. It's like I had suddenly remembered who I was.
I didn't go to the graduation ceremony. I was too ashamed.
For the past two years, I have continued to work in restaurants. I left behind the bars in Fells Point years ago and started working for Kimpton. I don't bartend anymore, and I work in fine dining where everyone is extremely professional. The staff doesn't date one another. We don't all get shitfaced every single night together. In fact, I rarely drink. I make a lot less money, but it's healthier for me. And I've been there almost four years.
Four years. It's painful to even type, because my occupation is no longer "student," but "server." This isn't a part-time job to help pay my way through school. This is what I do for a living. Restaurants aren't fun anymore. It's daily monotonous drudgery. It's the archetype of a dead-end job.
I can hear the same argument that I have given myself before, "There is nothing wrong with what I do. This is a 'real' job." And it is a real job. We even get tips through payroll, which means at my current company I get taxed the same as every "normal" working person. I make plenty of money, more than most people I know my age. These are the sort of arguments that I used to always give when family and friends refused to take my work seriously.* But over the past two years I have really begun to question why they don't take it seriously. Most of it has to do with class. This job is beneath them, and me. They're snobbish enough to admit it and voice their opinions, but deep down I agree. And I am miserable because of it.
It doesn't help that on top of my utter hatred for my work, it's also killing my relationship. Kevin works during the day. I work at night. We never see each other, even though we live together, and we're both lonely and upset all of the time. Every time we have a normal couple-y thing to go to, like a friends wedding, it's a huge fucking production because those things are always on Saturdays and I have a really hard time getting those nights off. When I do get those nights off, I spend half of the night being stressed about the $200 less I'll have that month from losing that shift unless I pick another up.
All of this has been weighing on me so long, that stress; that heavy weight and thick cloud have become such a part of me I almost just accept it.
Almost.
* For example, if my sister, who is an ER doctor, can't get off for Christmas, everyone understands. She is admired for her dedication to her work. If I can't get off for Christmas, my family asks why I don't just get a real job.
A second example: Despite the fact that I have worked full-time since the age of 17, my parents still ask, "so when are you going to start working?" literally every time we talk.