My super organised bloggy friend Deb of Home Life Simplified does a link up each week called Listmania. She supplies a prompt for people to blog about.
A few weeks ago, it was Jobs. I started writing the post, but due to the yukky fog of Depression and chaos that has been sitting on my head lately, I never finished and missed the link up. 'Boo! You suck!" says my mean brain.
But I looked at it today and thought it was funny, so here it is- weeks late, but here nonetheless. Better late than never (a mantra not shared by my previous employers)
I haven't had that many Jobs in my life. I was dragged into the wage earning game at 17 when my mum made me go and apply at the local Sizzler. Both my sisters worked there. There were very well thought of in the Sizzler universe, and I easily acquired a job in the 'Coldside' area (the front counterwhere you order your overpriced 'Salad' Bar) on thier fabulousness alone.
Surprisingly, I did not love my job at Sizzler.
I did not love being compared to my fabulous sisters, and being teased mercilessly by their older, intimidatingly familiar friends.
I did not enjoy Neal, the manager, who cautioned me that my purple hair was putting the customers off. Neal did not enjoy it when I appeared for my next shift wearing a tassly orange hippy scarf tied over my purple hair.
I did not love being made to wear a garbage bag with three holes cut in it to make the signature 'Cheese Bread'. Kinda like Bradley Cooper in Silver Linings Playbook. He was trying to get a sweat up. I, apparently, was too messy and had to wear the bag as punishment. Awkward 17 year old girls should TOTALLY be publicly shamed in front of older intimidating chef boys. It's awesome for thier self esteem. Fantastic Management skills there, Creepy Neal.
I did not enjoy the day I dropped two six packs of beer on Neals creepy manager feet. Six Packs expoded. Neal smelt like stale beer and disappointment for the rest of the shift.
I kind of enjoyed quitting the following week, I believe mere moments before Neal fired me.
My next job was when I was at University. I was studying art, livivng away from home for the first time, living in the city. That shit gets expensive! Even when your lovely parents are paying your rent!! (Dear Mum and Dad, I know I have said it before, but you are awesome and lovely and I was a jerky unappreciative 18 yo. Yours, Sincerely, 38 yo Me)
Beyond my better judgment, I ONCE AGAIN was talked into going for a job at a place where one of my sisters worked. My sisters have the hospitality Gene. I totally do not. I dont wanna touch your food. The End.
I got a job in the innner city cafe where my sister Debbie worked. The owner was a little bit in love with her, so he hired me, hoping, I guess to be gettin' himself another one! Poor him.
So, I worked there for a while. I was crap. I sucked. I didn't instinctively know how to be a waitress. It seemed a lot more complicated than it should have been. Like, did you know that if you turn on the little tap that fills up the water on an old school coffee machine, then go and have a ciggie break for like, half an hour, that boiling hot water will spurt out of every seam and crack of that coffee machine, spraying inoocent customers with scalding hot water? No, you didn't? Me neither.
I used to call in sick a lot, not turn up, I dropped stuff, I was generally crap. One day I went in to get my shifts for the week, and the owners wife (who may or may not have had it in for me, as her husband may or may not have been a little bit in love with my sister) told me I was fired. She said I was 'irresponsible and unreliable! ME! What the hell? Oh, yeah, that right. She was totally right. I thanked her and skipped out of the cafe feeling like the weight of the world had been lifted.
Then I went and totally proved her wrong by getting a rubbish tattoo on my boob.
I should totally use this post as my resume.