vent/ celebrate
Isn't there a saying: 'laughter is its own reward'...maybe it's 'happiness' or 'kindness is its own reward?' Of course, there is always the possibility that I'm delusional and that such a phase never existed. Or, if it does/did exist it isn't prevalent enough to be considered a "saying." On this, rather ambiguous note I will venture to make the following statement: based on the events of the past few days (in conjunction with all the experiences prior to the past few days), for me happiness is its own reward. Not that I'm happy 100% of the time (roughly, depending on the circumstances, I'm happy about 60% of the time...for all intents and purposes I'm including synonyms of happiness in my definition of happiness. e.g. serenity, contentment, giddiness, etc. I realize happiness is a broad and often abstract term.)
My point is this: I use far too many colons, AND even though I caught very little shut eye last night (due to another epic adventure of a story) I still had the best day at WORK yet. Gasp. Don't get me wrong, I still hate my job. Hostessing is pointless. People generally end up sitting where they want to sit anyways, so who am I to interfere? I get crap from the servers who don't respect me, the cooks who don't respect me, and the customers who don't respect me and expect me to listen to their bullshit complaints, like "Why can't I buy tea bags individually?" and "My muffin imploded when I took it out of the wrapper, can I have a refund?" (I shit you not.) The hard knock truth is I'm paid to do nothing, and that's why the rest of the restaurant staff resents my position. Even if I accomplish absolutely nothing (as I am instructed to) every day, I am still performing an essential role in the restaurant scene. I've figured it out, it's like driving a bus...or rather, it's the opposite of driving a bus. When it is your job to drive you take out your frustrations out on the vehicles around you. You can hoot and hollar, kick and scream, and more or less vent your anger without any outside involvement. You can't do this in a restaurant. You have to smile and sell yourself and your worthless product (that's another rant--fine dining: why the world could exist without it and I wouldn't blink for the lack of anything), this is where hostesses come in. We're the whipping boys of the food industry, and we are powerless. We can't spit in any one's food. We can't screw the customer over by adding an 18% gratuity charge. We can't help with busy work, all we can do is stand there and wait for someone to enter the restaurant and give us meaning- and it's a fleeting meaning at that. For example, I entered the kitchen today with a bucket of bleach water and a rag to clean the coffee machines to which one of the cooks said something to the extent of "Bridget? Working?...and I left my camera at home today." While this comment was cute and clever and the epitome of all things witty (cough cough), and whilst I should not have taken offense to something so blatantly immature, I did take it into consideration in analyzing how mis-perceived hostesses are. The servers and the cooks mistake my lack of action for prissiness or laziness when this isn't the case. The case is that it is my job to do NOTHING (and my manager gets on my case when I do otherwise). Enough venting, eh? Right-o.
Oh...happiness. There's a cathartic connection here. Even as I hate my job with and of its intricate drama, I still don't mind working. And even as I waste time and energy complaining about how I'm misunderstood (see above), I'm still chuckling about the events from the previous days work. Ying for yang. And that is how laughter is its own reward, if that's even the phrase. I was almost stuck in Alaska with a shitty job, instead I'm having the (*cliche warning*) time of my life.
Oh, fyi, a regular sized bag of Lays Classic potato chips is $7.79 at the local gas station, which is the only place for hundreds of miles that sells such a product. Another example of why nobody from Alaska ever wins the Price is Right.
My point is this: I use far too many colons, AND even though I caught very little shut eye last night (due to another epic adventure of a story) I still had the best day at WORK yet. Gasp. Don't get me wrong, I still hate my job. Hostessing is pointless. People generally end up sitting where they want to sit anyways, so who am I to interfere? I get crap from the servers who don't respect me, the cooks who don't respect me, and the customers who don't respect me and expect me to listen to their bullshit complaints, like "Why can't I buy tea bags individually?" and "My muffin imploded when I took it out of the wrapper, can I have a refund?" (I shit you not.) The hard knock truth is I'm paid to do nothing, and that's why the rest of the restaurant staff resents my position. Even if I accomplish absolutely nothing (as I am instructed to) every day, I am still performing an essential role in the restaurant scene. I've figured it out, it's like driving a bus...or rather, it's the opposite of driving a bus. When it is your job to drive you take out your frustrations out on the vehicles around you. You can hoot and hollar, kick and scream, and more or less vent your anger without any outside involvement. You can't do this in a restaurant. You have to smile and sell yourself and your worthless product (that's another rant--fine dining: why the world could exist without it and I wouldn't blink for the lack of anything), this is where hostesses come in. We're the whipping boys of the food industry, and we are powerless. We can't spit in any one's food. We can't screw the customer over by adding an 18% gratuity charge. We can't help with busy work, all we can do is stand there and wait for someone to enter the restaurant and give us meaning- and it's a fleeting meaning at that. For example, I entered the kitchen today with a bucket of bleach water and a rag to clean the coffee machines to which one of the cooks said something to the extent of "Bridget? Working?...and I left my camera at home today." While this comment was cute and clever and the epitome of all things witty (cough cough), and whilst I should not have taken offense to something so blatantly immature, I did take it into consideration in analyzing how mis-perceived hostesses are. The servers and the cooks mistake my lack of action for prissiness or laziness when this isn't the case. The case is that it is my job to do NOTHING (and my manager gets on my case when I do otherwise). Enough venting, eh? Right-o.
Oh...happiness. There's a cathartic connection here. Even as I hate my job with and of its intricate drama, I still don't mind working. And even as I waste time and energy complaining about how I'm misunderstood (see above), I'm still chuckling about the events from the previous days work. Ying for yang. And that is how laughter is its own reward, if that's even the phrase. I was almost stuck in Alaska with a shitty job, instead I'm having the (*cliche warning*) time of my life.
Oh, fyi, a regular sized bag of Lays Classic potato chips is $7.79 at the local gas station, which is the only place for hundreds of miles that sells such a product. Another example of why nobody from Alaska ever wins the Price is Right.