Elasticity

I can keep the weight off, I can color my hair (although, haven't had to yet), I can keep up-to-date with trends and accept all kinds of new ideas. I can keep learning and get smarter, better, wiser, stronger and more flexible, but....I can't seem to keep my lifelong partner, Elasticity, from running out on me. He sneaks out and then lies about it--like I'm not going to catch on.

Where is he going? No one said he could leave....none of us get to just leave....we have to stick it out to the end....I suspect he's running off with someone younger who is easier to live with--fat in the cheeks, plenty of sub-cu and all of that.

You know what E? Go ahead, I can hack it, I'll be fine, I have other friends. But, odds are she's going to get tubby you know--you won't be happy when you have to carry all THAT around someday....

Proud

Someone recently told me they are proud of me.

I don't really know how to handle that, don't know what to do with that information....don't know if I deserve it, if I earned it, if it's okay to just let that lie....

Regardless, I felt it. It was a tiny affirmation, a bit of help. Someone, who I thought wasn't noticing, took notice of my fight for a second and said "good job," when I didn't think I had any approval. It was unexpected. I don't know what to think about it.

Proud of what? My working so much? Working so hard? My struggle to find some truth? My efforts to figure out life and continue even when the answers I find aren't answers at all and I get nowhere? The fact that I keep banging my head up against a wall to be understood, kind of get that it ain't ever going to happen, but keep banging anyway?

Proud of me. I've got people who love me, think I'm or fun or a great friend, but proud?

Since I've never, ever, lived up to my supposed potential in any area of my life, I've never even been proud of myself. I've always known I could and should do more, but, for whatever reasons, have not done it. Now, after a long wait, I've taken a couple steps, finally, on my own, to be more me, and someone is proud of me. I'm not sure I've done enough. A couple of people have been proud of small steps I have taken along the way, and have said, "keep going," but I'm not sure anyone has just been proud of me. Not sure anyone has really seen what the hell it has been like for me to get here, yet I'm not even close to where I need to go. Naw, I don't deserve it. It's not time to say those things, I'm not sure I can even reach any of my goals or become a better person--probably won't, actually....

I recently read that the only thing worse than having people say, "You'll never amount to anything," is having them say, "You can, and should, be able to do it all and it should be easy for you." That's what I heard starting in kindergarten. It quit being easy at Fifth grade, and I figured it was my fault I never did it all. I was supposed to do great things....

But, now, someone is proud of me? It sure was interesting to hear.
I'm not quite sure what to do with that information....

Just Regulars

It was rainy all day. I went for Vietnamese soup instead of for my run, and decided to take the car to work--10 blocks away. All the spaces in the back were taken, so I parked on the street in a 2-hour spot--I'd have to remember to move it.

Inside, it was slow as we transitioned from coffee bar/retail wine store to wine bar. We dimmed the lights, changed our online radio to something cooler (Estelle), and turned it up a smidge. We sold a few cups of coffee, got prepared for the evening we all guessed would be slow, and had some time to chat.

The owner decided we should do a little tasting, said we need to bond a little. He said it was a full moon, that it felt like a weird night, that everyone was in a weird mood. I said I wasn't, and he said the moon had the opposite effect on me, that I would be normal tonight, for a change. It was the rain, I think, not the moon that set the tone. We tasted a white blend from France--"light and buttery up front, but with a spicy, dry finish." Are they just making this crap up? Maybe, but when I taste, I'm starting to be able to call it--but with the whites, I'm never sure.

I'm getting better with the reds though, I'm crazy about Petit Verdot, and Malbec blends now--big and juicy. And last night I did sell a red I love to one of my Saturday regulars. He came in just after a 12-hour flight from Tokyo visiting his fiance. We talked a lot about Japan, how baffling things are there, and how cool. He was our only customer for an hour or so, tasted the white with us, then I sold him the last bottle of the Vietti Italian Barbera, guaranteeing he would love it. I've got to quit doing that....After the taste and a cup of coffee he was fading from the jet lag--bet we'll see him on Saturday for his usual coffee fix.

At 6:30 the bartender started scrambling--she saw parking enforcement out the window. After assuring me I didn't need to move my car, that they'd never ticket us in the rain, she got a big fat ticket. Thankfully I didn't listen to her, remembered to move mine to a meter, and had six minutes left. Whew. Still I scrambled for quarters and dashed out in the rain to secure my spot until 7 pm--free parking time. This is why I usually don't drive....

Then a woman wrestled a stroller up the steps and inside. I recognized her from Saturday and Sunday, when she came in for coffee. She looked distressed and said loudly--"Does anyone in here have Alaska plates?" Of course that's me, and she said, almost tearfully that she had hit my car. She was shaking and upset--I said no big deal, we'll take care of it later, sit and relax--I don't get worked up about these things, and she was all right at least. I sneaked out to look at the car, and, no-kidding, she hit it EXACTLY where I scraped it a couple months ago. Not much further damage, although I haven't looked at it in the daylight yet. I said I'd give her a call, but probably, we'll just let it go, I already need to get it fixed....She settled down, met her friend for coffee and chatted for an hour or two. I got her info of course. Maybe I shouldn't have moved the car after all....

It did finally pick up a little, if only with regulars. In the back, a table of four women, moms, who are making that table their usual Thursday stop. Usually they head to dinner elsewhere, but tonight, they got a couple flatbreads and a cheese plate and stayed all night. They drank bottles and bottles of wine, then, when we practically had to kick them out, they asked for cigarettes, as if they could smoke them inside. I overheard their conversation about raising children, managing their images and elusive happiness. We clearly are a part of their coping time away from the men and kids, a place where they let loose a little....

As always on Thursday, the important food lady and her man sat at the bar. I haven't caught where she works yet, but I have learned that she is a chef and food connoisseur and we are apparently proud and happy to be one of her stops. Her man picks out their wines, typically they try three or four. They're happy to discuss the intricacies of the French bleu we serve in comparison to our domestic, and any other food or restaurant gossip going around. They're great but after all the recent discussions at work, I got a little nervous when I noticed her watching me, serving, opening and pouring wines....maybe I don't know what the hell I'm doing. The owner says soon we will get a big critic in, who could make or break us--we'll never get our first impression back. Anyway--they come in every Thursday and drop a lot of cash.

Our single guy came in, well, he's not really single, but might as well be, he never has his wife with him. He's a Wednesday regular, but decided to try Thursday after we spoke to him at the pinot tasting Tuesday night and talked up Thursday. (Lots of pinots Tuesday--seven actually, higher end. My favorite was from Monterey, or maybe I'm just loyal to whatever comes from closest to home). Anyway, he likes to chat with the bartender, get chummy with all of us, and tell stories. He recommended several restaurants to me, which I'm anxious to try. He hopes we don't get too popular, else he'll have to find somewhere else to go every week. Apparently it used to be the Irish pub down the street, every Wednesday, for years and years and years.

The bartender I work with each Thursday is an interesting person--down-to-earth, a little rough around the edges, in her late 40s. She has been through some hard things. She got some relief from her demons, she says, after she gave up drinking for 15 years (she's back now), left the Catholic church and "came out." She sculpted a very cool gargoyle named Balthazar and brought him in to watch over the bar. It doesn't matter that the owners keep hinting he doesn't belong, she's now got all the customers on his side, and I think he's staying. He is great, and represents how she affects the place--they both keep it from becoming too pretentious and perfect....Balthazar has such a pleasant look on his face, not a scary gargoyle at all. I can't help from petting his head when I'm dusting, he has a great feel. Anyway, she also finds a new name for people she likes--and you don't get to pick it. Our food girl is now named Roxy--not even close to her given name, but I have to say it suits her. Me? I'm Earthynia (Earth-In-EYE-uh). It's sticking--at least I'm answering to it.

I was fading at about 8 pm, and I would probably never stop or ask the kitchen to make me anything, but she decided to split a salad with me--amazing--I have to have food to keep working! It was the best spinach with fancy cheese and truffle toast. Truffle toast--incredible. We took turns quickly eating in the back hallway, there's no space for breaks and we don't really get to take them. Those laws about 30 minutes for six hours and breaks every two? They mean nothing. Six to eight hours on your feet, unless I'm managing, then I make sure everyone takes a break and has something to eat. Again, Norma Rae....

A new, young, beautiful couple came in to look at the menu--I greeted them and they decided to stay. They've just moved in a few blocks away, and I can tell they'll become regulars. The owner came out and hung with them quite awhile, having them sample some new meats and cheeses we have. They've both lived out west and know San Luis Obispo, although by his accent he's a Londoner. We welcomed them to the neighborhood, they are now part of our community.

Earlier, my young, Christian co-worker had dinner and some wine with his artsy girlfriend. He comes in every day, that's why he started working on Saturdays with us. Since he's going to come in anyway, the owner convinced him, he might as well help us out and offset the price of his coffee/wine consumption. He works for a big mega-church I once attended for a short time. He said the policy is they aren't to drink where they're likely to be seen by church members. Please--he's working in a wine store! He laughs it off, but I would have had a big dilemma about that in my church-going days--probably why church still works for him. Ah--he's young yet. We are destined for some great conversations he and I. The two of them are adorable of course...living their easy Christian lives where everything makes sense....

So we ended up being pretty busy. At the end of the night, when we sip a little wine while we finish up, people sometimes get a little philosophical, and someone might tell a story. Last night it was the owner. He told me about some DC clubs and restaurants I need to try, where the soul food is good and big people like him are comfortable. As always, he thanked us for our work, asked us our impressions of the night, and wanted to hear our feedback.

He says regulars won't be enough, but that we're lucky to have some already.

The Road

I feel like I am at a dead end in every area of my life....except with writing I guess.
Plenty of blocks, and potholes, but no dead end.
Here, supposedly, I get to decide everything, and no one can stop me--except me. It doesn't feel like that, but I have nowhere else to go.

Maybe it's supposed to be that way.
Maybe that's the only way to get where I'm going.
Maybe it's by design.
Maybe I'll start making great time.

Or, maybe it's all just hard.
Maybe instead of flying down this road, I'm meant to trudge.

Seems that way.

Squashed!

Chalk one up for the restaurant professionals....I got rolled.

But, I was heard and I did get some concessions--and some for the people I manage. All part of the experience I suppose....

Now, time to reassess my goals and expectations there.

Power

God knows I don't want to become the standard loud, unattractively opinionated woman in her 40s talking about power, but...is that it?

Is that what this--my mid-life crisis with religion, relationships and work--is about? Power?

Power--my current definition? The ability, the strength, to really live life fully realizing it's full of pain. I need to feel empowered and to do that I need to express myself about it--maybe that's my base need--expression, and beyond that, I need to be heard. I can write or talk myself blue in the face, but it goes only so far unless someone hears it and kind of gets it.

And maybe that's the empowering part, the part that says I'm at least half-right. That's the part that soothes the rash, dulls the ache and tends the sucking chest wound of need I apparently have. So yes, I want someone to see it, hear it, get it. Why would I want anyone to know my need? Why would I write about it here? Isn't it kind of stupid to be so vulnerable? Shouldn't I put a band-aid on that wound--cover it up for God's sake?

It's not that I think anyone can fix it--that's for sure. It's just truth, me being honest about where I'm at. Maybe someone else will admit it, that they feel it too, the pain, the shit of it all, then I can settle down, feel it and know I'm not crazy looking at all these people who say life is phenomenal all the time. I need to take life in, process it, not just endure it but allow myself to be thrown--yes, thrown--by pain as well as by joy.

Why do we think we're powerful or "smart" when we know what to expect and then are prepared, having adjusted our expectations? Is that kind of control "power?" We assume it's better to be prepared, to not get thrown, than to go through a painful experience. We try not to let anything get to us, we brace ourselves and think ahead, preparing for every possible disappointment, settling for the lowest denomination of feeling so the pain won't affect us. And we do it alone. That's being "smart." Well what if that's an illusion? What if we're actually more empowered when we feel, reel and let ourselves get hurt by life? Of course we're battered, but we promise to get back up, as hard as that is, and to keep living. At least we'll know what it feels like, this life.

So I'd rather not be so clever, or alone. I'd rather get rolled, taken advantage of and worse, disappointed, and other people will know it. Yes, I'll feel low, but there, knowing, learning, feeling the real truth, I know I'll have more real knowledge and, maybe power, than when I'm smartly steeling myself--not feeling, not learning anything except that I was right, yet again, to expect things to be so hard.

Street Smarts

I broke the code.

It's taken me all these weeks to figure it out, but I now know why I didn't get that job at the cool speakeasy. I didn't get the job because I am not a proud, self-important, restaurant professional. I went in there interested in the concept of the place and willing to learn anything and work hard, but I didn't use the right language, didn't have the right credentials, and didn't flaunt them. I am not, by trade, a restaurant person, and they figured it out right away. I didn't speak the language, so to them, I didn't even deserve the promised call-back after the interview.

Serving, apparently, isn't as easy as you think. Somehow, you need years of training, and you need to be able to work into conversation constantly that you've worked at a famous restaurant, preferably with a famous chef. I walked into this industry thinking hard work and a steep learning curve were enough to make it, but I was wrong--if that were true, then that would undermine the credentials of all the servers who are making it seem like it takes more. Do they have some secret skills I am not aware of?

Yes. Passing themselves off as the only ones able to do the job, getting hard working people to believe in and support their supposed vaulted position, and constantly name-dropping. Now I am all about people striving for excellence in their jobs--no matter what the job is--and taking pride in it. It is one of the first things that wowed me about a couple of these restaurant people--that they took it so seriously. One of them taught me a lot on my first day at my coffee shop/wine bar. After espousing all the famous chefs he'd worked for in all the major US cities (I was supposed to be recognizing all the names), he dove through the trash to find a spoon a customer had accidentally thrown away. This impressed me, because it showed, I thought, that we all jump in and do whatever needs to be done. Only partly true. They only do side work when they can't get someone else to do it. They're usually too important serving, then they give up only a tiny portion of their tips....

Fortunately the owner of the wine bar/coffee shop where I work is a creative, open-minded person with nothing for pretense and everything for helping his employees help him make the place the best it can be--he likes to hear all my insights and ideas after a long shift. So until now I've been really happy knowing I'm being appreciated and thinking I can learn about wine. I thought I might even move up, learn the business and grow a little.

Not so fast. The problem is, along with hiring me, and my ilk of people with degrees that for one reason or another want to do a shift or two at a cool place and learn a little something along with their normal jobs, he also hired some restaurant people. The clash has begun. Now I don't want to be Norma Rae, but I can't help representing my type with the owner against the strong culture of restaurant people in this city. I will probably go down, I am out of my element.

My point is that I think I can damn well pour and deliver a glass of wine or a plate of food as well as anyone. Yet, I'm either not supposed to do it and only let the restaurant people do it, or I'm going to do it when we're busy along with all the other side work they don't do, then only get a small percentage of what they get in tips. I had no idea. Of course they did, when they took their jobs as "bartender" or "server." I did not when I took my job of doing whatever the hell needed to be done--which is how all the jobs were described to me in the beginning.

So, I'm out to either change it or become less invested and lower my expectations. Maybe I won't work the wine bar, I'll just work coffee. I'll reduce my hours, quit working so hard, and quit giving my feedback to the owner--he probably doesn't need it anyway. Oh yeah, and I'll ask for a raise, which I'm pretty sure I'll get.

I'm meeting with him tomorrow. I've already approached him about some of these inequities--he got very concerned. He likes my attitude and work ethic, doesn't want me to lower my expectations, and he wants the place to be one where all of us can grow. I'm just not sure he can please us all, even though he's the type to listen and try to do the right thing. He's against the pretense, but I'm not sure he can change the culture of the service industry--too many divas.

Who would have thought the educated would be held down by service workers? Maybe there's justice there somewhere and I need to suck it up. The truth is, now I'm getting a real education. Now, finally, I'm learning street smarts.

I knew this job would be good for me.