So. I’m not typically the type of person who holds back his thoughts.
Lately, I’ve been kinda biting my tongue on a few things, simply because it’s not appropriate.
Basically, because it’s work oriented and a large number of people that read this blog, know me from where I work.
Maybe they think fondly of me, perhaps they think I’m funny. Some are probably not the biggest fan, some probably hate me witha passion, while others merely think I exist so that they can have two limes in their vodka and cranberry.
When so many people have access to your thoughts, it makes it easy ammunition. It’s a handy dandy way to grab something that I’ve written, take it out of context, print it out (it’s happened to me!) and bring it to someone I work with or work for.
The wrong statement can bite a bitch in the ass, even if it wasn’t meant to sound how it sounded. And, often times people aren’t very pleased when they find something negative or disparaging in someone elses’ blog.
I’ll start by saying that’s not at all my intent. For the most part, I love my job. It’s usually good money, it’s good hours, and where else can I enjoy a nice alcoholic beverage while getting paid?
I enjoy meeting new people. I don’t enjoy meeting all people, and sure….Sometimes you meet some real dickfaced mother fuckers at the bar. Someone always thinks they’re better than you, or they are someone special. Someone always acts like because they gave you a dollar or two, you’re their bitch. They talk down to you, they demand things from you. They expect things from you.
And, there are some fucking amazing people too. Some that you grow fond of or close to. People that become more than your customers, but your friends. People you genuinely care about, or can’t imagine not knowing.
In that regard, I love my job.
On the other hand…
I’ve worked in a bar for ten years. And for what seems like a long time now, I’ve been on the same routine. I see the same people, I hear the same karaoke songs. I see the same drag performances. I make the same shots. I work the same nights.
Everything becomes so repetitive.
There’s always some sort of drama. Always.
There’s always some sort of conspiracy, or back stabbing. Always some sort of something.
And, you just get fed up.
Lately, I’ve been calling off on Fridays, just to give myself something different. The same routine, has worn me out. I’ve become exhausted with it all.
It makes you feel like your life falls short of what it’s supposed to be. It makes you feel like you’re doing something wrong.
Lately, I’ve just found myself feeling angry.
Angry at whatever. Whomever. Sometimes warranted, sometimes unwarranted. There’s not really a difference. It’s anger. Boredom. Exhaustion.
Being the type of guy that never shies down from confrontation, or isn’t afraid to express his opinion….often fails epically in the work place.
Always.
It makes you seem like a prickface, or a tyrant. A control freak, or something.
You can’t really explain the whole process of just being fed up with all the bullshit you face on day to day basis.
The way you’re treated by your co workers. The way your boss talks down to you, or yells at you for something as ridiculous as not wearing a dress shirt.
Which brings me to this blog.
You see, I’ve worked in the bar long enough to know that noone really cares what you’re wearing.
I feel like the only time you should be wearing dress clothing is if you’re in fancy establishment. Serving fine wine and champagne.
Not somewhere that the sink leaks all over the floor, drencing your feet, the faucet hasta be turned off from below every weekend, the floors are caving in, the lights are falling down, your security guard was a hustler, a crackhead, a straight/bi/straight crackwhore who has sex for money, and the latest now used to sell jello shots and only got his job cuz the crackhead before him quit, and they needed someone to stock the coolers at the end of the night.
I work hard. I make money for the owner. and, I pretty much give 100% most of the time.
And, the only thing that gets acknowledged is that you wore a t shirt with John Lennon on it, instead of a dress shirt with a tie.
And to that I ask this…
Why? Why should I have to wear a dress shirt?
I’m next door to some of the freakiest shit in town. The place often smells like a sewer.. (And..I can say that..because…i love that sewer) My floors are caving in, my register still uses cardboard pieces to sort my money (that I cut myself!) because it never gets fixed.
Rarely does something I ask for get done. At least not in any sort of timely fashion. It’s like everything is thrown together half ass, and yet I have to dress like you’re in some sort of higher status establishment.
Let’s be real here.
I love my bar. I love my boss. I love the people I work with. And I love the customers that come in. (well….most of them).
But, it’s not some fancy schmancy place.
It’s tiny. It’s all second hand things (tables, chairs etc) and..while we manage to do pretty well for ourselves with what we’re given and the space we have….it’s not like we’re drawing in only the towns’ finest.
And, that’s fine. We love the people that come in, because we’re all a group. We’re in it together. Us that work there, and those that come there. It’s a circle. You come, we try to make sure you have a good time. We’re glad you came, and hopefully you are too.
But I’m really fucking sick and tired of the bullshit.
I’m sick and tired of being uncomfortable while I run all over the place making drinks, and walking out of the bar with crappy tips.
Keeping a sound work environment that runs the smoothest is about symmetry.
And, we’re close. At Blush especially. We all get along. We all have each others back. It almost reminds me of Caesars back in the day. We’re all there for each other. And that’s a good team to have.
But, there’s something to be said about giving the people that work for you the benefit of the doubt.
We all have our complaints. We all have things that don’t make us happy. But we work there. We deal with it.
I was told that the owner of my bar wanted to take 20 dollars out of my paycheck, because I didn’t wear my dress shirt on Saturday.
And, it’s insulting. It angers me. It enrages me.
That, that is all you have to say.
I think its bullshit that I have to wear the shirt in the first place. So does everyone else that has to wear one.
Why not let us be comfortable, and happy at work. If we’re happy, odds are we’re gonna do a much better job. And, if that happens, then you’re happy.
But, when you’re nitpicked at constantly, noone is happy.
And, I’m finding that to be very true in this case.
It’s almost to the point where you want to battle it out. Like some old shootout in the Old West. High noon or some shit.
I dunno if I’m just burnt out, or tired of being made to feel like I’m underappreciated.
I’ve gotten so tired of the bullshit, that I’m not able to enjoy the good times of it all anymore.
I’m not comfortable. I’m tired of being yelled at for something stupid. I’m tired of the things I need or want to be done, being ignored, yet the fact that I’m not wearing a fucking dress shirt is made out to be such a fucking big deal, that a small part of just wishes I’d get fired so I don’t have to deal with it.
Most of the entire staff has told me that if I didn’t work there, they wouldn’t either. Several have said I’m the only reason they’re still there. Some of said I’m the only reason they started in the first place.
It makes you feel good. To know that.
And, I’m not saying I’m getting fired or anything. That’s not the case. At least not yet. I mean, I’m sure this blog isn’t gonna make anyone happy.
But..then ..I guess it’s fair.
If you want to make me wear some ridiculous costume, because you’re in a fantasy world where you think people are coming to some classy joint, and make me feel completely unrespected, and underappreciated.
Then I can say, I think it’s fucking bullshit.
I have to dress up in a place that every week I have to spray an entire bottled of febreeze in because the cleaning guy doesn’t clean it til Friday morning. I have to dress up in a place where things get pushed aside, forgotten about, or ignored all together.
I have to dress up in a place, that other people can walk around selling jello shots in their underwear. Or people can drop their pants and show off their jockstraps. Or, old men can come in wearing their grandmothers dress and some scary wig they bought three Halloweens ago, with half their “coochie” hangin out. A place where people steal things off the wall, just to rip small pieces of metal off of them, so they can sell them to the scrap metal places.
Where the bar still isn’t stained, or the floor is cracking more and more.
Yet, the biggest complaint is that I’m not wearing a mother fucking dress shirt.
It pisses me off.
I didn’t ask to work there. I wanted to work at Ripcord. I was basically told that noone else that works for him could do it. I had no say.
That’s not to say that I don’t enjoy it. that I don’t love it. Because I do.
But, its amazing the way something as silly as letting us wear t-shirts could completely stange the atmosphere of the whole place.
Unfortunately…the only people that realize this are those of us stuck wearing something we fucking hate.
So, my solution that I propose…is make someone else fucking do it.
Because I am not happy. Not when the only thing that can be said to me is that I’m in trouble for not wearing a dress shirt.
What ever happened to “good job”. or “thanks for working hard” or “it sure was nice to see you having fun behind the bar…why was that nick?”
I’d say…I had more fun last Saturday then I can remember at that bar.
Because I wasn’t being forced to wear something stupid that makes me unhappy, and makes me look like I was picked up from some place where everyone is dressed up, and dropped off in the middle of a lesbian fish fry, with a bunch of old half naked men with four teeth smiling atcha while they ash in a shit glass that you have to scrub clean with your own fucking finger.
Yeah.
I’m a little upset.lol
