get it all out and you still find more

Forget anything remotely positive I said about my job. I'm quitting. I worked 20 hours in two days in heels. I am done. Fuck closing the place at 4am and then getting up for work the next day at 9am. No fucking way.

I don't even make much money. I upsell everything, my tables adore me and I walk out every night with less than 10%. The owners get 2%, the bartender gets 2%, the busboys get 3% and the hostess gets 1%. So, if each table I have gives me 15% tips, I only see 7% of that.

If I am scheduled from 11am to 4pm, and it takes me an extra half an hour to clean up for the next waitress coming in, I don't get paid for that half an hour. This weekend, I am scheduled from 11am to close, three days in a row. When did 16 hour shifts become legal? When did unpaid work become legal? And in what cruel world is it okay for the owners to receive a rather large cut of our tips?

To pour salt in my open wounds (and empty pockets), I am expected to work those long hours in heels and short skirts. I was so resistant to it because I knew that it wouldn't really affect my tips much and it would just make me feel like a carbon copy image of the other Barbies I work with. No my chagrin, the second I arrived for my shift in a little black skirt, the owners were soooo nice to me. Slurpy sweet, in fact. The yelling didn't stop, but instead of ignoring me in between rants, they would drool. I played off of it, to avoid looking like a prude, and it took a lot of effort to not run to the bathroom to vomit.

This job is devaluing me as a person, day by day. I realized that my feelings of inadequacy at work stemmed from the fact that I'm not good at just being a pretty face. I'm really bad at being some dumb animal that takes orders when barked to and hangs its head in shame when yelled at. I was taught that being kind, considerate, hard-working and trustworthy will get me places. In this job, none of that matters.

People have been telling me I'm gorgeous since I was a little girl. At 15, I was a model. Guys and girls of all types find me attractive. Yes, I might use that to my advantage in many situations. But I do not like situations where your clothing and your pretty face is the most valued thing. Needless to say, I despised the modelling thing.

How did I ever manage to work in the service industry? Where did my tough skin go? All this shit used to just roll right off my back. Now, it is all really unsettling. Pretty things on pretty people don't fascinate me as much as they used to. As I grow up, I tell myself to stay connected with what really matters in life. And I did a hell of alot of growing up this past year, and with that, I think I got closer to what really matters to me. All I want in life are happy, healthy, meaningful relationships with the people in my life. Anyone who does not meet those requirements are cut out from my life. I don't want to waste my youth any more than I already have on people who do not deserve me.

And I do realize that I will be forced to be around people I don't like, throughout my life. Jobs, schools, depanneur owners... whatever. In those situations, you just have to deal with them. But it's not just the cunts I work with or the cocksmokers I work for. It's the whole atmosphere of the place and what is expected of me.

At age 15, as a hostess in a pub, I concluded that serving is only one step away from stripping or prostitution. Servers sell their smiles, their personality, their cleavage, and whatever else that makes them desireable to look at and to talk to. They are there to be whoever their customer wants them to be. Sometimes a couple just wants someone to bring them their drinks and leave them the hell alone. It is the server's job to be quiet and invisible and prompt. Other tables want you to be their stand-up comedian. It's all too similar to sex-trade.

The difference between me at 20 and me at 15 is that I no longer think that being skinny, beautiful and popular is the key to happiness. Maybe I'm being a little extreme or dramatic here, but waitressing is really detrimental to any personal growth I have made over the past 5 years. When I walk to work, I feel the need to tell myself to lose everything that makes me who I am. Just become a cute little perfect girl in a short skirt who giggles when her male customers tell her how cute, little and perfect she is.

I need a new job. Somewhere where I don't get treated like a donkey. Where I can wear comfy shoes and pants if I want to. A place where my boss will let me have a glass of water when it is hotter than hell.

Is it too much to ask for a job that doesn't make me cry after every shift? I'm sick and tired of sitting on my bed at 4:30 in the morning, peeling off the bandaids covering my poor wounded feet and crying. In those moments I feel so inadequate, so worthless, so ugly, so useless. After deciding years ago that I was going to be self-assured and never let anyone tell me I am a lesser person, why am I working at a job that is the sum of everything I vowed to stay away from? And were all the bars and restaurants I worked at like this one? Was it just me who changed or is this bar just exceptionally awful?

I thought that high school was the toughest time of your life. I thought that once I was in university, everything would be fabulous. Freedom at my fingertips and creativity all around. In reality, it's harder than I ever possibly imagined. I can't help but feel like everything I ever prepared myself for, is not happening. Everything that I ever chose for myself no longer matters. Everything that has happened this year goes against everything that I was taught. And I was not prepared for a single thing that did happen.

I am more stressed out than I ever have been in my whole life. I have overcome a multitude of challenges in the last year and now, this job, of all things, is making me rethink everything. My hands are shaking all the time, I have nightmares and I'm unbelievably lazy. I love my life, I love my friends and my family but I am so anxious. I want to jump on a plane and get the fuck out of here, if that would help me. I want to drink myself stupid, if that would make me feel better. I want to do tons of drugs and dance for hours on end, if that would change how I deal with the next day.

When I was 14, all I wanted to be was a really cool and happy twenty year old. Now, at twenty, all I want to be is 30. I want to be married and financially stable. I want 2.5 children and a fucking SUV. I want to be a great actress who is respected by fellow artists. I want to skip whatever stage I am in right now and get straight to the easy, settled-down part of my life. But does that even exist? Probably not. Which is, by far, the most depressing thing I can think of right now.

Sure, things will get better... they always do. At least I still have my uncurable optimism. On days like today, I wish I was a pessismist. Because those little ideas that are full of hope are starting to piss me off.