Is it really that bad?

Job Searching Blues-Or Really Bad Poetry
Every time I get that call
My heart stops, my stomach falls
I think this time will change it all
Too bad I don't have the fucking balls....

At one time in the last three years I started telling people I was a professional job hunter. I thought it was a more interesting tag than "waitress" and I was tired of answering the common conversational question "What do you do for a living?" I also like to tell people that President Bush fucked me over by fucking the economy which is always a gamble comment, because when talking to strangers you never know if they worship the guy or hate him. I was at my old job once and this girl I worked with was walking around saying that he was the BEST PRESIDENT WE'VE EVER HAD! Then one time I was at a birthday dinner for someone and this girl (stranger #1) was going on and on about the soldiers fighting for our freedom and how Bush was so noble for sending them to Iraq. Yes,our freedom, she said. I wasn't aware our freedom was in danger, I thought it was just our ability to control the oil that comes from that country. But then again, oil control and freedom ARE synonymous  I dated a guy once who was a staunch Republican and amid countless conversations about none other than, yes, Bush, I finally asked him where he got his information from that made him believe the things he did. he said Fox news. Any where else? I asked. No. Hmm..... I'm not a political connoisseur(or the best speller without a dictionary) but I know I can't be that sure of my opinions when they  are based on information from only ONE SENSATIONALIST news channel and absolutely nowhere else. I'm sorry, I don't hate Fox news. I actually think they've gotten better since I moved to Chicago in 1996. but maybe I've simply become more acclimated to it's follies. Hard to say. If there is one form of journalism I turn my nose up at, it is those durn news channels, though. (School I went to for college ) was really good at showing you how to be a snob. And us newspaper and mag kids didn't think the broadcast kids were real journalists. The funny thing is, right now I'm not a journalist at all so I'll shut the fuck up  I swear too much. 

Deliberations of a Disgruntled Waitress

I'm not really disgruntled. And the politically correct term is actually 'server'. But somehow the title holds a certain attraction for me. Yeah, I'm not really disgruntled; just discolored, dismayed, dissatisfied and disillusioned with the romance that was once waiting tables.


Yes, romance. Part of me realized, when I first walked into that restaurant, that there was something about the hustle and bustle, the food grease, the crying babies and drunkards; there was something about it, and me, that belonged together. I was the artist, I was struggling. I was laid-off and still optimistic. I was the bright-eyed, recent college graduate who was joining ranks with Priscilla, who "found that her education and a dollar would buy her a bottle of Perrier." Sheer, TomRobbins-style romance. Kismet.

But three years, two restaurants and several permanently soiled garments later, with practically NO ART to speak of, I think I am......wait, no, not quite.....just about....yeah, finished. Done. (Did I mention my loan debt has also INCREASED, due to interest rates, and not decreased, as well?)

The funny thing is, many of my 20-something cohorts, the ones with the 9 to 5, approach me with varying tones of admiration and respect concerning my job. "Wow, I would love to just have money in my pocket," or "...you don't have to work until 11 a.m.? Geez!"  I want to remind them of my less than $200 a week salary, lack of health insurance (and I've been in the hospital twice in the last two years) and the varying types of abuse I suffer at the hands of customers and managers, but if I do, they don't seem to hear it.

If they do, looks of pity  will flit across their faces. And some version of  the"You do what you gotta do" speech is shared, occasionally accompanied by a conciliatory back pat.

I acknowledge that there is a lot of "if this, than that" feeling associated with my experiences.

If I made a lot of money, lots could be forgiven. Instead, I am broke and find myself surrounded by bad tippers and materialist co-workers who either have no ambition or are bitter, angry wannabe successfuls, like me. I could get into the subtle racisms, work politics and particular clientele that my current place of employment has, but not today. Too frustrating.

Bottom line is, the more I hate it, the more, ideally, it is supposed to motivate me to get that other job. Vraiment? We shall see.

If Men Could...

A little sum'in sum'in, some food for thought, giggles and laughs--what my grrl Gloria had to say about if men could menstruate.