I can't believe how fucking stupid I am sometimes. I do alot of big things right, but a lot of little things wrong. And this time the little things completely fucked me over, completely. Because I mislabeled a "big thing" as a "little thing" in my mind. People who don't know you have no loyalty to you, no qualms about getting rid of you as soon as you do something wrong. Is it a power trip? Probably. Was the guy wrong? No.
I was starting to do everything right again, and then fucked up, in a couple of ways. First, I drank last night. I drank too much. I haven't been drinking more than 1 drink at a time for the last month, because of the hangovers, because of the weight I was gaining, because of the money it was wasting, because of the depression it would leave me in the next day.
So, I drank too much last night, and I was hungover today. Instead of immediately taking care of the hangover, I watched TV for 2 hours. Then I went to work out, which is the only sure way to get rid of a hangover - by sweating it out. But I went to work out at 3:15, and work was at 5. I only worked out for 15 minutes on the bike, but trying to milk every ounce of sweat I could for those 15 minutes. I came back up and did some quick yoga, but stopped because of time, and because the head pains from bending down and coming back up were insane. I had to cook dinner and shower, and it was already 3:45 or so. I had to leave by 4:30 to be early. I took a shower.
3:56 : I made a dinner that was too complicated for the time I had. I steamed broccoli in the microwave, cooked spaghetti, made a quick cream sauce. All while trying to dry my hair and make myself up for work.
4:20 - I ate dinner, cleaned up a bit.
4:35 - Shit, I have to go. I started running in circles instead of running out the door. Shit, where are my pens, I need a notebook, wine key, small notepad. Okay.
4:45 - about to be out the door. Oh no, I have to poop. Should I just go? No, I don't want to shit at work, or be farting because I was too scared to use the bathroom.
4:50 - finally out the door. Okay, I can make it in 10 minutes, I have the last 2 times. I can call them if I am going to be late by more than a minute or two. Stopped to buy cigarettes. Why??? I'm nervous, I need a smoke, I have to stop smoking other people's cigarettes. Which I need to pay them back for.
4:58 - I should call them and tell them I am going to be late. Shit, I don't have their number! Look in my phone - here is a number that might be the work number.
5:02 - I am only 2 blocks away, I'll be there soon, what's the point of calling now?
I guess there was a point. The owner was there. Something felt wrong. I come in, I couldn't find my pens, so I didn't have any. I apologized for being late, say it won't happen again and it was really irresponsible. Deb told me to put my bag downstairs after I apologized to her. The owner was really pissed that I didn't have pens on me. He asked me if I had my wine key, I said I did. That seemed okay. I knew I shouldn't have left my pens at the restaurant - why did I do that? At first, he seemed like he was just mad. Then, after going back and forth about pens, wine keys, and things, he looked me in the eye once more, and it was like something changed in that look. It was as if his brain said, wait, why am I letting this girl get away with this? And then the blow: you know what, this isn't going to work. Thank you for your time. I was so shocked that I just said, "Really?" "Really. Write down your hours so I can compensate you for your time."
I didn't want to just give up, maybe it was a test. He said, "it's a training shift, you come in ten minutes late (yes, I was 5, or 7 minutes late - by the time I had come up from putting my bag in the basement it was probably 10 minutes past 5) . I have to be clear, I am training for September, this is a precedent I have to set. You were supposed to be ten minutes early." "I know I am late, it won't happen again, Mell did not tell me to be 10 minutes early." "Was she not clear about what time you were supposed to be here?" "She told me to be here at 5." "Right, and you were ten minutes late.""I know, I take full responsibility for the fact that I was late, and I am especially sorry I didn't call." He said some shit about me not having pens, I said I'd had them the other night and left them there, he said I didn't have them the first night (Mell didn't tell me to bring any, even though I thought I should - she said that I could use hers because I was just trailing her). It sucks, because something like pens, I could literally walk next door and buy a few from the bodega. And, if I was all moved in like I'm supposed to be, I would have an abundance of fucking free pens at my disposal, because Lord knows I have tons.
So, my lateness and my assumptions finally bit me in the ass, in a way that really hurt. No matter how poorly I did in school, I always took pride in the fact that I had lots of real life work experience, and I am always good at my job. I always work hard when I get paid for it. I was nervous about this new job, trying to do everything right, and I should not have let my guard down on the 3rd day, when I was still fucking training. I had a feeling that this was the kind of place that would look for any good reason not to hire you, and I did really well at first, but I stopped listening to that feeling. I took it for granted because Mell liked me and told me both nights that I was doing a really good job, the regulars liked me, she had put me on the schedule, so I thought I was good to go. Even if she hadn't, I probably would have been late some other time, when I actually worked there. Why am I always late?
I just stood there, shocked. Asked Deb to borrow a fucking pen because I was unprepared. Wrote down my hours, went to the basement to get my bag, signed a receipt for the $120 that was owed me for training. I was so embarrassed that my legs barely worked anymore. I did not ask him again if I should really not come back, ever, because it seemed pretty clear. I thought maybe it would give me a reason to call them again, and see if he had changed his mind.
Maybe the owner recognized me from that night a year or more ago, when Adam and I were drinking at his bar, and he was really drunk and kept sending us free drinks because he said he loved us together. Maybe that is what that change in his eyes was, and he realized that I had given him a completely legitimate reason to send me away. Most likely not - he probably doesn't even remember. Anyone else reading this will probably tell me that I am just making excuses to avoid taking responsibility for the consequences. And, you know what, I know I am. This is the way my mind works. People continuously make excuses for themselves, usually on the same things over and over again. For a lot of people, the excuses are about relationships, guys, friendships, family, etc. Just for me, the excuses I make are for being late all the time.
It is especially ironic because Lindsey and I have been talking about how we are both late all the time. I told her that she needs more clocks around the house - that as long as I really truly want to be on time, as long as I see the time everywhere, then I can't lose track of my goal of getting out of the house at the time I set - and you have to be unflinching on that time. I didn't take my own advice today. I kept pushing and pushing the limit. Here, at Eda's, clocks are everywhere, on the oven, on the cable box, on the thermostat.
Also ironic: at 3:50, Amanda sent me a text that said
"Heard you got a job and things are going really well. Awesome :) ".
I walked home in a fog of panic. I need this job so badly. I ran into someone I hadn't seen for a while, and told him I was on my way home from work - "Oh, where do you work?""Oh, the Public House." LIES to keep myself from having a panic attack on the street. I can't believe I fucked up. That's what happens when I feel relatively secure - I take things less seriously, start questioning the importance of little things, like 5 minutes. But 5 minutes upon 5 upon 5 is 15 minutes lost. This job would have had me set for the rent this month. I actually liked working there, which I didn't think I would after my first night of training.
All the way home I comforted myself that maybe Mell would try to make a case for me to Kevin, that I was doing a really good job, that she hadn't warned me that they had a no-tolerance lateness policy. I know I fucked up, but I wish that he had just reamed me out and told me he would fire me immediately if it ever happened again. I guess just firing me immediately with no second chance would drive the point home more effectively. He spoke to me like this
was my second chance, that this was my second fuck up - no one had given me a hard time for not having pens the first night, which I think is the only other thing I did wrong. If I'd had
Goddamned PENS, would he still have fired me just for being late? I have to tell myself yes, because if the pens were really the straw that broke the camel's back...I just...Oh my God. Such a small thing. So easily remedied! On Monday all three of us shared pens, kept at the register. I thought it was more give and take. I bring pens, they get taken, someone else will get me back later. Stupid. No one's got your back except for you.
Pathetic as it might seem, I am praying that Kevin changes his mind. I don't know why he would though. The only way he would is if he just wanted to scare me, but realizes that training someone else will be another week without a new server, which I know they need. Hopefully the next person will suck terribly. But they will probably be on time. So they will probably get to keep the job.
I focus so much on what I do when I'm at work that I forget that what happens before work is just as important. Don't be hungover and lazy so that you are late. Leave on time, no matter how badly you have to crap. But still, didn't I at least deserve a warning? It just seems so stupid for him to do. And, it seemed rash - from the change in the way he handled it at first. He really just, suddenly changed his mind. He was like, you know what, this shit is uncomfortable, fuck this girl, what do I owe her? He didn't bother to think about the fact that I was doing what most people would consider a great job, if he even knew - maybe Mell lied to me about talking to Kevin at such length about how I was doing well. I was greeting and picking up tables completely
on my own the
FIRST NIGHT. What about the time that your employees spent training me? It is a waste of their time, and they are going to have to do it again now. I made their jobs so much easier, without even getting tipped out.
Mell had even warned me about Kevin's pet peeves, but I'm pretty sure lateness wasn't one of those, because that would have lodged in my brain like a shard of glass. I know I have this problem. I even heard Mell talking about how she is always late. Maybe lateness is an addiction - I had a professor my first year of Pratt who told me so. She said she always used to be late, and that there is an actual rush you get from seeing how much you can get away with. Maybe that's true, but for me, it's just thinking that it's not a huge deal, better late than never, better to be a good worker and a few minutes late than a mediocre employee but always on time. I didn't fuck up during my shifts. I felt too close, too chummy towards Mell, and felt I could bend the unspoken rules. Goddammit. I was starting to get attached to that place - I gave it everything I had.
This is the first time I've ever been fired, EVER. My pride is bleeding. I feel i have nothing left for searching for another job. Maybe this is that run of bad luck that Adam was warning me about.
Please, Mell, or any of the regulars, ask where I am. All the friends I've told about this job, show up there and ask the bald guy where Rachel is. Mell, please feel obliged to tell him that you want to work with me, and that I correct myself quickly. Tell him to have me back, in such a way that he will listen to you and won't get offended by it. On Monday, it was super busy the instant I got there, she told me to move faster, and I fucking did. I was still busting my ass while she and Georgia were chatting it up with each other by the computer.
After writing this, though, I feel there is no hope. He seemed like he had made up his mind, and he is not the kind of person to go back on that. No one wants their pride hurt, and that would probably hurt his pride. Like I said, I have never been fired - I have been yelled at, but I would get a second chance. So I think I am being far too optimistic - I am being completely unrealistic.
So I am going to down my beer, and enjoy the relief that Klonopin gives me from panic. And I am going to start the job hunt again tomorrow. Jesus, am I ever screwed.
