I hated my job tonight.
The short version is that someone else fucked up but I get the blame for the screw up.
I thought I did everything right tonight. Even with the pop up issues. Even with the running back to the warehouse for more equipment, rushing to finish everything on time. I thought I got it right.
And then I learned I didn’t because of one small lapse.
The worst was the condescension in the voice of the persons pointing out my error. I kept myself from crying. I didn’t want to give the air of loathing surrounding me the joy of seeing my pain. I gathered up my equipment and got out of there as quick as I could.
I keep playing the decision over and over in mind. If I had just… If only I’d… Why didn’t he just…
You can drive yourself mad with What Ifs.
Now I’m just left with fatigue and frustration. At my job. At the gentleman who didn’t do his. At the women who treated me like an ill-informed fresh-off-the-boat oh-aren’t-you-so-cute-but-you’re-wrong-and-I’m-gonna-take-the-time-to-point-out-your-wrong-wrongness idiot.
I hated tonight. When I signed out, even with the large amount of hours for which I’ll get paid, I was mad. Mad because I know I’ll have to keep doing this for the foreseeable future. It will be at the very least two years of community college and a few years of medical school where I’ll need this job to get by.
I appreciate that I have this job, knowing there are so many others who don’t. But sometimes this job feels like an abusive relationship I just can’t get out of. I know it pays my bills. I know it keeps a roof over my head and food on my table. I am grateful for that, really. But when do you say, “Enough is enough?”
Will it have to be like my serving days? Nightmares about customers. Getting yelled at and cursed out to my face. Finding a corner to cry in, only to come back to work to finish my shift. I don’t want that.
I nearly cried tonight. Because of my job.
So I will probably get a complaint lodged against me because of the incident. That will make two in my last two gigs.
I got a phone call from my boss during Frolicon stating I had been doing a good job, but could I not talk about my personal life. Apparently someone had complained about me talking about my extracurricular activities. That is a whole other can of worms I do not want to open right now before I pass out to a hopefully blissful sleep. But I have to say, the mere fact that I tolerate shitty misogynistic comments by guys all the time yet I am reprimanded for talking about my life. Hypocrisy much?
Its nights like tonight that remind me this is not the sum total of my life. I don’t live to work; I work to live.
This is not what I will be doing ten years from now. This is not my future. This job does not define me.
Comments are disabled on this post