Lemme start this post out by apologizing in advance. I have a feeling that this is going to descend into a little venting at some point, and though I am not a negative person by nature, this blog has taken on the nature of a second journal for me (see my self-diagnoses of need for approval in the previous post), and as such, you all, whoever you are out there, are going to have to bear with me.
This has been, I can say fairly confidently, the most difficult week of my life. Granted, I have not lead a very difficult life, and previous entries into this category are somewhat pedestrian: first week of Middle School, pledging a fraternity, bad breakup with a girlfriend, etc. But this one knocks them out of the fuckin' PARK.
8am to midnite (at the earliest). Every day. 10 to 20 minutes for lunch, 10 to 20 minutes for dinner. And by this I mean, when we were given 10 minutes for dinner last nite and I was 1 minute late, I was punished with extra cleaning. We are supposed to get a 1 to 2 hour siesta, but my team is lead by Sany (ah, Sany...hold that thought), and Sany doesn't give a shit about us, so sometimes our siesta is only 45 minutes. Yesterday we had a wedding that ran late, so my 'siesta' consisted of walking back to my apartment, using the bathroom, and returning to the restaurant. And we finished at 1:30. am. YEAH.
And best of all, we are lead by the worse-than-Monday Sany. I mentioned her a little bit in my last post, but really she deserves oh so much more! Sany, I discovered, only looks like she's in her fifties. She's actually like 34, I think. She has a mousy overbite and a perma-scowl. She lives in the basement of the restaurant, no joke. I mean, there are like 8 other people who live in the basement, but they are doing so temporarily while they stage. 3 months, 6 months, etc. Sany lives there, like, thats her home. And from what I heard, she pretty much locks herself in her room on the weekends. So you do the math: looks like a mouse/rat, 16 hour days, no life outside work... on a scale of 1 to 10, how miserable would you be?
And boy, does misery ever love company! I have been doing a behavioral experiment of sorts, and I have discovered that the more miserable I (and my team) appear to be, the happier Sany acts. On the other hand, when we are jovial, when we laugh, when we converse with one another, Sany's temper is even shorter than usual, she barks orders that much more sharply, is that much less satisfied by our work. So herein lies the rub, right? Do I try to be/look miserable so that she cuts me some slack and therefore makes me a little less miserable? Or do I try to stay positive and keep myself motivated and upbeat, despite the fact that it will, in the end, bring on more potential misery? Conundrum!
I have a feeling that the latter will prevail; I have asked and observed around the restaurant and found that Sany is shitty to everybody except those above her, whose asses she kisses like they were made of chapstick. So if she's always gonna be awful, what's the point in trying to make her a little tiny bit less awful? Like I always say: if you're gonna get wet, you might as well go swimming. BRING IT ON, SANY.
That all being said (see, I knew I needed to vent), I am looking forward to the weekend! It's back to SanSe, and with a couple of recomendations for restaurants with some of the best tapas in Spain. I cannot WAIT to have a bedroom to myself, a full size bed to sleep in like a starfish, and a beautiful city to wake up to. My feet have been hurting so much that at nite they prevent me from falling asleep, so I also plan on picking up some gelpads, thank GOD. Good food, a city to explore, and no work for 2 days... hells yeah. And 3 weeks till I see Julia in Barcelona. That is what gets me through each and every day, fer sher.
I miss SF, Dtown, and all you guys. Nothin' but love from this corner of the planet, and if you get the itch to come visit, don't hesitate! If not, see you stateside...
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