Thursday, July 15, 2010


I am exhausted. If I was a little less tired, I'd think of a brand spanking new word for how tired I am, but since I'm too tired for mental acrobatics, I'll just stick with exhausted. I'd like to say that I'm so tired because of fun recreational activities, but, alas, those activities are lacking.

No, I find myself so tired because of a combination of overwork and stress. The stress is a byproduct of being overworked, or rather the additional stress, since I'm slightly stressed most of the time. Back in the day, I used to be a manager, not just a server. But I hated it, or rather the politics of it, because while I am excellent at most things, I will never be excellent at having a penis. That tends to happen when you're a girl. And sad to say, the restaurant business is still very old boy club--which requires a penis. So instead of continuing to fight a losing battle, because I was not going to obtain a penis then or at any time in the future, I went back to serving. My stress level went down, my happiness went up, and so did my paychecks, crazily enough. The only fly in the ointment is that whenever our stores find themselves short on management, I get to pick up the slack. And by get to, I mean I'm appointed, and I have to fight tooth and nail for my server hours, which is where the money really is. So then I'm stressed because I have to manage the night shift, who are basically walking dummies, and because I'm worrying about having money to pay the bills. I've been lucky for the last few months, not having to pick any shifts up. My luck has run out.

This weekend is my high school reunion. Since I had to work like a dog earlier this year, pulling doubles and whatnot, even while I was sick, I was guaranteed five days off, i.e. my vacation time. I get three weeks of vacation time, and I was taking one of them, damn it. But one of the managers, who's been with the company less than a year, decided a month ago to go out of town. And they find themselves short a manager by one night. Guess who gets to pick it up? Yeah, you're all smart. So in addition to the stress of the reunion (did I mention I'm on the planning committee, so I'm really frickin' busy?), I get to lose a day of vacation time, and pick up a day of stress. This makes the second week in a row I've gone six days straight. It doesn't sound like a lot if you have a desk job. But I'm on my feet for, oh, about eight or nine hours. And I do mean on my feet. Six days makes parts of your body hurt that you weren't aware existed.

I would love to say I have a fool proof method of dealing with stress. I don't. I tend to just let it build up, and then lock myself in my apartment for a day. No people. No phone. Just me. That's usually all I really need. But this week, there will be no peopleless day. I'm living off frozen dinners, because I have no time to cook, Diet Coke, because I have no time to sleep, and Edy's Pomegrante Fruit Bars, because they're awesome.

As my coworker Kristy would say--"Let us pray."

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