Oh my

So I worked my very first shift at the new bar. It was very pleasant. No one was shouting (at least, not at me, or in anger - just some good-old-fashioned enthusiasm). The owner greeted me when I arrived, and then an hour later came behind the bar to remind me that this was a trial period. I tried not to panic.

I wonder if he told me that because - after watching me work for an hour - he was having some serious doubts about my abilities, and needed to remind me that THIS WAS NOT A PERMANENT SITUATION.

Duly noted.

The floor staff are lovely. So lovely and sweet and welcoming and only one person seemed really annoyed by my very presence, but you know, what are you going to do. Everyone can't like you all the time.

I was slow - much slower then my usual work pace. I was not at my best. I was clumsy and slow and confused and easily rattled. I didn't know where anything was, people were ordering things I wasn't familiar with, I wasn't sure what my responsibilities were, etc. etc. you know - the usual excuses for not blowing them away with my mad skillz. But excuses aside, I was a nervous wreck. I made a point of telling almost every customer that it was my first night, in case I screwed anything up. Plus, I didn't have a beer bottle opener, and that was a problem. I was trying to open beers with my wine key, until I actually broke the GLASS NECK of a Heineken. That was super.

So I had to keep tracking down the other bartender, and asking her if I could use her opener - which sort of defeated the point of having two bartenders, if one was unable to work without the other. This went on until about 3 hours into my shift, when the bartender who was training me (and constantly lending me her opener) pointed out the bottle opener mounted on the beer cooler. Aha. How convenient. I am an asshole. Clearly. That poor woman, what must she think of me?

The next time someone ordered a beer, I knew just what to do. I went right over to this handy-dandy opener on the outside of the beer cooler, and opened a beer.

Not only did the bottle cap come off - but the entire fucking opener came off the outside of the cooler.

I just don't know my own strength.

So I stood there, clutching an open beer with one hand, and trying to re-attach the opener with my other hand. I looked like an idiot. Several staff members were just standing their with their mouths hanging open, watching this SPECTACLE. I felt like a complete and total asshole. I really did. I know they were wondering what (or who) I did to get this gig. Because it was not on my own merits, that was for damn sure.

I think it was all just nerves. I hope it was all just nerves. Maybe it's just nerves. I was nervous.

And don't even get me started on the drinks. A "red-headed slut"? REALLY????? Did we need to go there?
Because I haven't had red hair in years, buddy.

Batting a Thousand

A thousand seems like a lot.
Today, for the first time, I had 1000 hits. No, not in one day, that would be AWESOME but, uh, no. 1023 hits in a 30 days period. What the hell does that mean? I have no idea. It seems like it's not that much, actually. Considering the size of the internet and all. I mean, some people set up a blog, write for 30 days, and suddenly they're on fucking a panel at BlogHer and winning awards and selling t-shirts and writing a magazine column, And then a few years into blogging (like I am now) they have a deal with a publisher, a book tour, and they're being interviewed on GMA.

Clearly, you don't have to worry about that happening HERE. I have no idea what I am doing.

BUT I'm having fun. And isn't that what REALLY MATTERS?

Yeah, I didn't think so. But, you know, let me have my dreams, wouldja?

Don't let that door hit you on the way out

It was a quiet, rainy night. Windy and dark and damp and the perfect evening to spend curled up on the sofa with a cup of tea.

At least, that's what I would imagine. I wouldn't know. I was at work.
God knows no one else was there, though. We had live music and a fun crew working, so it was OK that it was slow - gave us more time to work on small projects, do some side work, and get out of there nice and early in order to rush home and put on some sweatpants.

The kitchen closed at 8pm. The band wrapped it up, the customers went home, and we were cleaning up and getting ready to hit the road. On quiet nights, we try to get out early, to keep the payroll under control. We're thoughtful like that. So when a small group of people - who may or may not have already been intoxicated - wandered in, we were halfway through our sidework, with one foot out the door.

"Can we come in and have a drink?" one of the group asked from the door way, noting that there was someone (a band member) sitting at the bar.

"Hey there." I greeted them with a smile. "Sorry, we're just cleaning up to go."

"Oh.....really?"

"Yeah, we're almost out of here."

"Oh." There was a flurry of movement, a few more people had come in from the foyer, and they were looking at me suspiciously. I smiled, and went back to resetting the table.

On a quiet night, you would think we would be happy for the business. But three people who want to come in and have a beer will not cover the cost of the electricity and the 3 staff that would be required to stay open and wait for them to finish their drinks. So, yeah. No. Sorry.

They weren't going quiet into that goodnight.

"REALLY?" asked another of the threesome. "We can't just come in and have a drink?"

"We're done for the night." I was friendly but firm. No late night drinkers in an empty bar for me, thanks. Been there, done that.

They glared with eyes, all the while smiling these tight fake smiles. They were not pleased.

As they turned to go, one stayed behind."Thanks for your hospitality!" she said sarcastically.

"Good Night" I said with a smile.

And as the door swung shut behind them I muttered to myself, darkly.
"Fuck you very much!" someone called out from across the room.
"BuhBYE" chimed in another.
And for the rest of the evening, which really only lasted for another 15 minutes, we traded barbs. "Hey, thanks for your hospitality!" "I'll show you some hospitality." "Yeah, that's what your mom said last night."

Closing time. It's not for the faint of heart.

Making excuses

as·pi·ra·tion  [as-puh-rey-shuhn]

–noun
1.strong desire, longing, or aim; ambition: intellectual aspirations.
2.a goal or objective desired: The presidency is the traditional aspiration of young American boys.

as·pi·rate  [as-puh-reyt]
-verb
to inhale (fluid or a foreign body) into the bronchi and lungs, often after vomiting.

"So....what do you do?" I wish I had a better answer for that question. I should just say "I'm a waitress" and move on. And I do, sometimes. But not often.

We've been over this before, here. I do a lot of things. I cobble together a life with various part-time gigs, a healthy dose of parenting, and some quality time with my husband. It's a pretty nice situation we have out here in paradise. Is it what I imagined for myself? No. Am I satisfied? Well......

Listen. I love my family. We are healthy, and have health insurance. We have a home. I have a job. My husband has a job. We have two reliable cars. We live in a beautiful place - even if it has been raining for 2 weeks straight and blowing like a Nor'easter. So I have no right to complain. BUT. This is not how I imagined things. I thought I would have it more together by now. I thought I had plenty of time to
"Make Something of Myself" and to "Reach My Full Potential".

And I haven't done that. All the goings on lately have reminded me....I need to get on that. Time's a wastin'. I'm not getting any younger. I can't keep putting off my dreams and hopes and goals and aspirations. Or I'll choke on them. After vomiting. (According to the dictionary.)

Are you living the dream? Have you achieved all of your goals? No??? Are you worried about that? Or do I need to just come to terms with my life as it is, and stop waiting for something more? It's not like it's so bad, my life......I mean, really now. I have nothing to complain about, no reason not to enjoy it as it is.

Which is good. "It" is good. When the fuck am I going to be satisfied?