To Stress or Not to Stress?

Life really does get in the way of blogging, at least when you are as deliciously lazy as I am. When blogworthy things are happening, I am far too busy to actually blog them. That would make entirely too much sense. 

I find myself currently in the midst of an existential crisis, most notably existential because I am not sure if it is even occurring, or if I am just being an insufferable ninny. Probably the latter. 

Everything is going swimmingly. I’m beyond happy at work, succeeding for the first time in a little while. My confidence is definitely back. I’m reminded that doing well in (reasonably) less than favorable circumstances is my specialty and that I can have full control of a kitchen without being unpleasant about it. 

It is an amazing confidence boost to find that people actually like working with me. Not all of them, mind you. I’m not that nice. 

I couldn’t be happier relationship wise. Current connections are strengthening and new ones are being built, and I continued to be surprised at almost every turn. I might turn out to be a fully formed person someday!

Maybe this existential crisis just needed to be written out of my system. I miss the rhythmic pounding of keys and of iambic meter, carefully measured and artfully disrupted. The sentences that aren’t really. The turns of phrase that are trite, but still leave a warm feeling in that center of my brain that is all too pleased with itself. 

Maybe it’s time to pause from the reading, put down the books, and start working on my own.

Nah. 

Too lazy.

Messy

As everyone else in my life, besides me, expected, I caved. 

I didn’t end up quitting my job.

Partially because I am a pushover; it’s part of my genetic makeup. People convince me of things all the time. On a minutely basis, even.

And partially because I have nothing to lose by waiting a few months. I have the opportunity to keep my secure job and start over in another location. I really ought to at least try. 

* * * *

Spent some time on the phone with my brother-in-law, who I am closer to than any of my brothers, and he could sense the abject sadness that I just can’t shake. I told him all about work and home and the moving, and he could tell that those were issues, but that it wasn’t what was really bothering me. Older brothers are awesome like that.

So, we talked about what was really bothering me, and while it didn’t help in the fixing it sense, it helped in the everything is going to be okay sense. 

I try not to have a lot of bitterness about the past and the circumstances of my childhood, but the one thing that just pisses me off is the stunted emotional growth that has resulted. I’ve been able to get past everything else by sheer will. This is a little harder to overcome. 

I shouldn’t be feeling this right now. I’m 26 years old. Time to be a big girl about life. 

And I try, and sometimes, I even put on a good show, but everybody is right. I am such a mess.

That’s a Stabbin!

Despite my two week notice, I still had to go to a training class for two days this week. And the nerd in me rejoiced. I love the theorhetics of my job. If my job happened all on paper, and it mattered more what I knew than how I executed it in the face of reality, I would be golden.

But yesterday marked the return to the face of reality. Despite my jaded cynicism, I’m still an limited optimist. See, I drink the koolaid; I think that our Operations Systems are there for a reason, and the best run stores are those that run according to Systems. 

So, I went to work yesterday, and gave it the old college try. There was TTMing and Coaching going on, and I decided it was time to hold people accountable. So what if it was my last two weeks; there was going to be decorum on my last shifts, and it was going to be driven by me.

It started with the iPod. “Jane Doe, you are on order taker, you can’t have your iPod in.”

“I’ve had in on all day.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have. Put it away.”

And after some huffing and puffing, it was put away. 

Except that Jane Doe was now pissed, and proceeded to SLAM the window everytime it closed and opened. 

“Jane, you really can’t be slamming the window. Please stop.”

And then I moved on. “Joan Doe, you’re leaving at seven, so I need you to make sure all the salads are moved over and everything is stocked and cleaned.”

Imagine, Joan Doe didn’t give me a problem. She simply said, “Okay, I’m working on it.” I said thank you and moved on…

…to Jane Doe, who was leaving at 8.

“Jane, I really need you to be working on those dishes. They’re piling up back there.”

“No, I don’t want to do them.”

“Well, if they’re not done by eight, you don’t get to leave, so I suggest you do them now. Seriously, please just go do your dishes.”

I won’t recount anymore of the discussion, because it was both tedious and completely out of control. This girl had a meltdown. The swearing and the screaming on her part led to a phone call on my part to my supervisor, in which I completely lost it and threw my keys across the office and slammed the door in a fit of rage, and a declaration that I wasn’t going to make it the final week and a half.  It was not pretty.

But even uglier was the scene that ensued when I tried to get Jane Doe gracefully out the door, so as not to impact the operations of my restaurant any further. While I was switching drawers, she told whomever she was speaking to on the phone, that she was going to “stab that bitch.”

Three guesses as to who the bitch in question was.

All over dishes. 

God Almighty, I need a nice, serene job. Stat.

Happiness in Two Bowls

It took me a little while, but my happiness isn’t found behind a counter; it’s usually right there on the counter, and it often comes in a bowl.

For the longest while, I tied my self worth to my net worth, and my empowerment to my spending power. 

I am such the silly girl. 

A few days ago, I put in my two weeks’ notice. In a week and a half, I will be jobless.

But I will be happy.

Taking Control

Justin has posited that it is actually my mood that is causing all of this rain. It hasn’t been sunny for days. I kind of like the rain, though. Curling up in a chair with a book, while the rain rhythmically falls, Nickel Creek in the background, and a cup of cocoa nearby sounds like quite the soul soother.

My soul is in need of a little soothing.

Work has been just crushing my soul. Wareham is just a spirit killer. It’s not surprising that it has gotten to me; it’s just surprising that it has been this quick.

Here’s the thing about me and work. I have all this fantastic operational knowledge–not perfect, mind you, but good. I know exactly how a shift is supposed to run, and all the little technical details that are supposed to improve efficiency and productivity, and ultimately lead to a well-run shift.

Most of the problems in the restaurant are of the top-down variety. If the head guy sucks at his job and allows things to go all willy-nilly, there really is precious little we subordiates can do, especially with the people whose bad behaviors are reinforced by said head guy. 

I don’t get bad results because I am a bad manager. Sometimes I make poor decisions which lead to poor results, and that is undoubtedly my responsibility. I get bad results because I work in a bad store and I am not good enough or strong enough to fix it. 

And it’s not my job to fix it, at least not on my own. I am a very capable member of the team. I have a lot to contribute. I can be part of a go get ‘em, let’s fix things team, but only if that is the prevailing attitude of the whole team. 

To steal a turn of phrase, I’ve been whispering a prayer in the fury of the storm. And the prayer can have a positive effect, when I have enough faith that it can, but lately my lamp is completely devoid of oil, and I feel more like I am throwing desperate pleas to a compassionless master. 

It’s time to turn off the poisonous tapes. I don’t suck at life, or my job. I do have a job that sucks the life out of me, though, and it is time to change that. 

I deserve better.

That’s It

The decision is final. I’m just not very good at my job. I can’t continue to have days like this and be okay with it.

I just can’t. So much for development.

I am sooooo angry, I can’t even write about how I had to physically get in the middle of a fight, in the middle of my busy f’n lunch time, and how the police came and how I had so few people to run the floor with that I actually had to lock the dining room.

Anger.

And screw my homework, too. I don’t care about the stupid degree, that even if I get, I’ll never use.

Anger.

Anger.

Anger.

The Pickup Window

I rocked the 2.5 hour sleepy time, sandwiched between lots and lots of work. Not only was I exhausted, but I was also pleasant, positive, productive, as well as punch drunk.

I like me that way. And apparently, so does everybody else. I got hit on by three separate cars full of guys. Attractive guys, nonetheless.

The last carful was the most entertaining. Three guys from Mass Maritime. They asked me when I was getting out of work. 

“Late, very late,” I answered with a wry grin.

“You should come hang out with us,” the one with the cute smile urged.

“I don’t make it a habit to associate with guys I meet in the drive thru. Never ends well.” I continue to grin as his buddies all laugh.

“Ohh, c’mon.”

“Look me up on Facebook,” I tease. “Or better yet, Craiglist, under missed connections.”

That does it. The laughter goes up a notch and I smile the smile I only smile when I feel completely at ease and in total control of a situation. 

“Enjoy your food, guys,” I say, my hand pushing the window closed, and they drive away. 

Missed connection, indeed.

Frosted with Good Intentions

Although in my everyday existence, I am not the most observant of people, my job requires a certain attention to detail. I’ve developed over time the ability to spot when something just isn’t right.

I had just put the front frosty machine on wash; the coming storm promised a slow night, and I had a sick crew person I was sending home as early as possible, so things needed to be done early.

I turned around and L had the bucket of frosty from the front in her hand, and was about to dump it in the drive thru machine. Frozen frosty machines are not fun. Frosty customers who are told we have no shakes, no twisted frostys, and no frostys are not pleasant.

“Hey, hold on a sec. I just put that machine on wash. That is solid frosty.”
“I just wanted to get it done.”
“Why don’t I just put that in the walk-in until it melts a bit.”

I got about five steps, and then bam!, we no longer had a frozen frosty problem.

It wouldn’t have been so bad, if it had just stayed put, the the impact when the bucket hit the ground launched it everywhere.

And when I say everywhere, I mean everywhere:

Coke Float anyone?

Note to self: Get someone to shine that chili stove tonight. And scrub those barrels. I think more picture taking might lead to a cleaner store!

Trying to Do Better

I’ve always been an advocate of loving one’s job. Even with the current downturn in the economy, most people could find a new job, if they were hard-pressed to. My philosophy is if you don’t love what you do, you should change what you do, until you love what you do again; it’s the only way to truly maximize one’s utility.

And yet, I find myself truly unhappy at work, and unwillingly to change jobs. The thing is, I love my job. I have loved, loved, loved it in the past, and I feel like I can love, love, love it again. Just because I find myself in a challenging, unpleasant stituatin, doesn’t give me license to throw in the towel.

And mentally, I have been throwing in the towel. I survive shifts instead of run them. I let things slide that I know I never should. And part of me cares that I am doing (or not doing, as it were) these things, but before now, it hasn’t been a big enough part.

When did I give myself permission to behave this way? I must have been drinking that night.

I need to prove, if only to myself, that I am better than this, and I am not going to let some adverse circumstances stand in the way of remaining a principled person. I have standards, and they need to be upheld.

****

Outside of work, life is great, besides the tired bits. We’re gearing up for a move, and I really need to start in on the packing and organizing and just throwing stuff away. I have waaaaaay too much stuff. I think I would feel better if I just took a can of gasoline and a match and just burned it all.

It’d be much easier than packing!

School starts in one week. It really snuck up on me. I only have time for two classes this semester, but that’s two more closer to the goal.

College Algebra will be easy, but most likely time consuming. Freaking problem sets. I shouldn’t have to take the damn remedial math class anyway. I have mad econometric/intermediate micro skills, which require a basic understanding of calculus. I should have been allowed to take pre-calc, but that turned out to be a losing battle.

Psychology will also be pretty easy, and a lot of fun, but probably time consuming as well, as it is an online course, and those are always pretty work heavy, to make up for the lack of class time.

I’m really mentally unprepared for academic pursuits, though. I’m still in my work myself silly, stay up late, and never sleep mode.

And let’s be honest, I’ll probably stay in that mode even while classes are in session.

Because that’s how I roll.

Losing Battle

I announced perhaps too soon that I was adjusting well in the new store. Things are not going as smoothly as I had thought, or even hoped.

There is some kind of disconnect between the expectations of the managers above me, and what I think those expectations are. In any case, they are not being met, and I am worried about what this is going to do to my career.

The stigma of being a manager who is not very good is a tough stigma to shake, and I don’t want to be stuck with it so early in my tenure as an assistant manager.

As a shift supervisor, I was thought to be very capable and was handed extra responsibility that I gladly took on successfully. I was good at my job. There was room for improvement, and there was a lot of frustration, but at the end of the day, I went home feeling good about what I do.

I care about my job. It matters to me that the food that is served in my restraunt is, most importantly, safe, and that it is high quality. No one wants to go to a burger place and get bad food. I know that it pisses me off, even with the professional courtesy factored in.

I do not run the fastest drive thru times; I know it is going to take time for that to start happening. I think the most important thing is to focus on safety, quality, and making sure the guest leaves happy. I tend to think that if all those things are taken care of, the service times will take care of themselves.

But of course, they don’t. I have a lot of factors working against me. Improperly trained people who don’t really know what is expected of them, and how they can help. Lazy people who just don’t give a damn also hold us back. And my personal favorite is the people who are properly trained, aren’t lazy, but bless their hearts, they just don’t get it.

It’s my job to manage these problems. It’s why I have a paycheck, and a pretty damn good one. That I can handle. I work on getting better at it everyday.

What I can’t handle is that other managers in my store are less than honest about their service times. Oh, the tricks that they pull are tried and true. “Everybody” does them.

Except I just can’t bring myself to do it. I can’t cheat. I don’t have it in me. I can deal with being thought incompetent, but I can’t be thought of as dishonest.

So, I am playing a fixed game, and the only solution is to be better, even with the deck stacked against me.

But I am not sure that I can be.