Will the few of you involved; accept my apology?
I have been so stressed lately.
If you had read the trials and tribulations from my last job on my posts (7-9/06), you would think that I had the perserverance to 'carry on.' I did; a lot, at first. I knew I could not deal with being in the kitchen again (cooking as a line cook, et al).
I use to be the greatest waiter. Do you know how many people from Akron and Fargo have a picture of me in their scrapbooks from their visits to NYC or St.Thomas? I excelled.
So, I set out to go back to waitering for a bit (to pay the rent; so to speak).
See, this is the thing.
When not living in Manhattan, and I go there, I feel four inches smaller and 35 pounds heavier. I sent out about 75 resumes (all reflecting my waitering jobs) and no one called. I went on these 'cattle calls.' Wherein the employer says they are meeting people from 3:30-5:00 pm. (Bring Resume!).
With the above feelings all nourishing my insecure psyche, I braved through 3 days of this bullshit, because, every cattle call wants to see you from 3:30-5:00 pm. And I wanted a positive, an interest, ya know; and then I would look around and see these hipsters (and I do not fault them at all) and they would be talking to the manager for like, 7 minutes, and I would get, like 4.
Yes, I percieved that.
At one interview this really good looking guy was ahead of me. He reeked of weed. We both entered and sat next to each other at the bar to fill out the same fricking standard "Staples" job application form while waiting for the next available douchebag manager to call us. He was #62, I was #63 (my football number i thought, cool). I start filling it out voraciously (familiar) as he taps me on the shoulder to ask for a pen.
Are you serious? Your coming to a job interview without a pen? Like, didn't you circle the ad?
#62 gets called and I'm watching as this non-feminine type of manager who did not set off my Gaydar is interviewing him.
Oh, chuckle, chuckle, chuckle as they talked. Mr. psuedo manager has his pen and he's pointing out the whole place. Mgr. is writing down something. (Maybe 'Joe Bong-hit' can not work Thursdays because thats when his drum circle gets together?).
They shake hands, and I'm next. It's like, (excuse the poor taste in analogies) Mister Manager just came. He wants no part of me, and my DESIRE to make this restaurant work.
He asks me some basic question and pretends to peruse my resume, and after 2 minutes, I'm done.
I wanted to SCREAM (!) out loud; you fucking STAR FUCKER, who are you working for? That dipshit who hit the genetic lottery did not even bring a frigging pen! And he tops your list? Good Luck.
3 days this went on, and 3 days this is how I felt. On Thursday and Friday of last week, I had appointments with agencies. Normal agencies, some Temp. some Perm. who provide a support system.
I don't have a GED. I have a frigging AAS. I was told by 4 agencies they can not use me.
Insert Mickey breaking down on the S.I. Ferry.
Each night, I was coming home with the 9-5'ers on the ferry. It's packed (about 5,000 people) each 15 minutes from 4:30 to about 6:30.
And each night I would see clusters of people, whom I KNOW, I am more talented and smarter than. Was I being so presumptious? I would hear their conversations and hear their bad grammer (spelling does not count in speaking) and I was near tears. Here I am reading the brilliant Camille Paglia's "Vamps and Tramps" and trying to educate myself more, and these people around me are playing 'circle the word' or talking like they are doing the voice overs from 'Cops.'
All making a living.
As I am being offered less than baby sitting wages to sweat my dick off for 12 hours a day.
I have so much anger inside of me, and that is not me.
I've squandered my personality.
This is my deal.
I'm going back to college to get a BA. (Shit, Sallie Mae more than invited me to take out another loan)
I want to teach.
I'm going to teach in Culinary School, and my focus is going to be on 'Nutricion.'
I'm not going to forecast.
I started taking my 'Lexipro' again and I feel like, just giving up is not the answer. (Also because, once again I have an apartment with an electric stove and no garage. (Figure that out).
I sincerely apologize to B,L,D, and X.
I could not read your Emails last Sunday and today. I am so embarrassed to have tangled you into my web of despair, I was at my lowest in a long time.
I will open them after I stop cringing from the fact that I was telling complete strangers (well, not really) that i was going to off myself.
I'm off the pity pot, as they say in Rehab.
I hope you guys will be my friends again.
This was written with ALL my heart and sincerity and bad spelling.