So I really thought being busy was going to help me not be lonely... But I think I was wrong. It's just that after the high I got from the move, I was eager to find a way to keep postponing the empty feeling of being alone, so the very first thing I did was fill up my schedule. And then overfill it. Unfortunately, I am not a fast-paced person. I don't like making snap decisions, and when I'm required to do things quickly I get anxious and make mistakes. And for whatever reason- temporary insanity brought on by major life changes, maybe- I didn't remember this when I applied to be a waitress. I saw the sign in the window of a place I'd only eaten at once, thought, "I don't have anything to do evenings and weekends," and jumped right into it. I don't do that. I stress out from making choices just like that. And from that minute on, I got a knot in my stomach that made eating, sleeping, and doing anything besides be a tight bundle of nerves, almost impossible. But I deluded myself into thinking that they were the good kind of nerves... until yesterday.
Yesterday I was supposed to work my second training shift at the restaurant. Sunday I spent the day pretty much a wreck. Monday, I could barely eat or sleep. And by yesterday morning, I was kind of numb from being so wound up for so long. But when I got there and my training manager started quizzing me on the menu I hadn't even had time to GLANCE at, much less study, I started to unravel. "Describe the maranara?" It's red? "What's special about the marsala?" Not a clue. "Well do you at least remember the wines and beers we carry?" No. Not one. Totally blank. I couldn't even answer with basics, because my head was filled with a kind of blank buzzing and the only coherent thought I could grasp was, "I can't do this. I gotta get out of here. This was the worst idea of my life." And that's pretty much what I said. First one tear, then a second, then a steady trickle escaped down my face, to my frustration and horror, as I haltingly explained that I was, "so, SO sorry for wasting your time, but if I try to keep making myself do this I'm going to embarrass myself and embarrass you and piss off customers and it'll be bad for everybody. If I stay I'm going to have a meltdown." While in my head I was angrily thinking, "Too late!" I don't think I've ever been so angry with myself, or embarrassed in a work environment. I'm a capable, intelligent, personable employee. Not an incompetent mess.
But as I stumbled out to my car and tried to compose myself, another feeling broke through the misery and shame: Freedom. For the first time since I started shopping for my uniform, I felt relieved. Almost giddy. I even started laughing. I have no doubt that if I really wanted to, in the right time, at the right restaurant, and in the right frame of mind, I could be a good waitress. But this was the worst possible idea I could have had for this week, and I was indescribably glad to be rid of it.
I think part of the problem that led to this was my interview: I sold myself as superwoman. "I may not have serving experience, but whatever you need, I'll learn quick!" They believed me, and wanted me to go from no serving experience and one visit as a customer to knowing the menu and the wines and being able to take lead server in a week. And of course, there's the tiny detail that between my personal life- husband leaving, death in the family, moving all by myself over 500 miles- and my professional ambitions of juggling two other jobs on top of waiting tables, I was stretched way way WAY too thin. But whatever the reasons this seemed so appealing and then fell apart so quickly, the only thing I am completely sure of is that I made the right choice... in the end. So I'm not going to be a waitress. I'm going to work in a office, help my dad on the side, and that will be quite enough for me.
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