Life Lesson #45: She Works Hard for the Money. So You Better Treat Me Right.

So as you probably know by now, I work two jobs.

My day job is for a textile manufacturer that produces bedding and bath products. Towels, sheets, comforters, pillows, curtains – all that sort of stuff. Specifically, I play the part of Assistant to the CEO.

My night job is for a restaurant-turned-bar once 11 pm rolls around. Beer, well drinks, shots, top shelf – all that sort of stuff. During this show, I play the role of Bartender.

On the surface, these two roles are worlds apart. When I’m part of what people like to refer to as the Professional World, I try and look the part. Never jeans, usually heels, and a generally respectable shirt. At this particular moment, completely alone and not having said a word for the past two hours as my boss is out for the morning, the phone has yet to ring and I am in what seems like an isolated igloo, I realize my day job is one of much (if not just shy of complete) down time. I do little beyond make appointments, answer the phones and create reports. I try to keep myself from passing out with boredom by writing, reading any article I can find on the internet, and emailing furiously with any of my friends who will give me the time of day.

With my space heater blasting on my legs and my eyelids half closed, I count the minutes ‘til five pm comes.

On Friday nights, my appearance and duties take a dramatic turn. I’m usually surrounded by people, and as the night progresses, to an almost claustrophobic amount. The music is loud, people are yelling, and it always seems as if the temperature is at a steady 101 degrees Fahrenheit. I make drinks, try to keep the bar clean, and chat it up with everyone around me. I know that if I don’t show some cleavage and try to make my often exhausted-looking face somewhat respectable, my tips will be compromised.

But as different as these two jobs seem to be – and I thought always were – something happened this morning at my 8:30 to 5 that, well, is making me think that these two might be a little more similar than I give them credit for.

First, let me tell you a little bit about my Arch-Nemesis.

When I first started working here, I was genuinely nice to A.N. and tried to bother him as little as I could. When I started realizing he didn’t have any answers for the few things I asked him, I thought maybe I wasn’t being clear enough. When he patted me on the shoulder and gave me that oh-aren’t-you-the-cutest-even-though-you-are-retarded look, I started getting a little ticked. But I kept it to myself. When he started raving to me about the diet drink he takes and how I should think about trying it, I bit my tongue. Hard. Even when he didn’t get a signature I needed because he threw out the document, blaming it on me not being clear enough (because putting it in his inbox in a folder titled SIGNATURES with a post-it on top: PLEASE GET SIGNATURE AND SEND BACK TO MY DESK BY THE END OF TODAY was obviously confusing), I stayed mum.

Well, I just can’t take it anymore.

A.N. is, without a shadow of a doubt, one of the most annoying, egocentric, horribly dressed individuals I’ve had to work with. Some things he does that drive me to the breaking point:

He smacks his lips when he eats. And he will do so when on the phone with people.
He tries to make his voice sound all professional on his voicemail. He comes off sounding like a stupid game show host. Almost like Guy Smiley.
Oh, and he requests that when you leave a message, you “speak clearly and be sure to repeat your number at least once so it can be written down”. Um, okay. Because I’ve never left someone a message before. Asshole.
Instead of walking directly to the men’s room, he always takes the long way by my desk to see what I’m doing. “Keeping busy?” F off.
He calls me Kid. I’m twenty-five years old. He’s thirty-one.
He calls me to ask if I just called him. Which I never do. This would be somewhat tolerable if we didn’t have caller id on our phones. We do.
He wears those heinous mustard or purple colored suits with matching shoes. And will usually top it off with an obnoxiously loud tie.
He’ll take that stupid tie and put it over his shoulder when he’s sitting at his desk. I have no idea why.
He tells me I look tired about three times a week. Which, p.s. to any of you that do tell someone that: it’s rude. Do I tell you your hair looks bad or you look like you gained a few pounds? No. So don’t tell me I look tired.
No matter how many times I show him how to transfer a call, set up a meeting in Outlook, or scan something into the copy machine, he will inevitably ask me a few days later. Because he doesn’t listen to a damn word anyone says.

I could probably go on but I think you get my drift. Basically, he sucks. And because he acts like he’s better than everyone else and pretends to know so much more since he started two weeks before I did, it makes me want to strangle him by his butt ugly tie and throw paint on his puce hued suit.

The ironic thing, though, is that he acts all smart and sophisticated because he is scared shitless. Of being found out. Of being fired. Of his boss (He is the assistant to the CFO). Of my boss. And in turn, of me.

See, with my role comes a certain amount of respect, even a little fear, from the rest of the company. Not because of what I do or who I am or anything like that. They could put a monkey in my chair and he’d get the same amount of esteem (and probably more visitors because who doesn’t love a monkey dressed up like a person). The truth of the matter is I’m the gatekeeper for the CEO of a billion dollar company. And while I think he is a generally nice and funny guy, he freaks a lot of people out. And sometimes yells. Loud.
So I am his screen. You have to email me in order to get to him. You don’t get to talk to my boss unless I decide he wants to take your call. And you certainly don’t get to see my boss unless I say it’s okay.

It may have taken me a little while to understand that my lame job actually does give me some power, but trust me, I got it now.

Rewind to earlier today. As usual, Arch-Nemesis strolls by my desk at about 8:40.

“Hey kid, how’s it going?” he asked as he sauntered by.

“Fine, thanks,” I mumbled in return.

“Looking a little tired today, hu?” he said.

“Hm, really? Didn’t notice.”

“Well, Tom [his boss’s name] was looking to meet with him later to go over some budget stuff. Can you fit us in?” he asked as he hunched over me, probably trying to get a look at my boss’s calendar.

“There is some time,” I responded vaguely.

“Well, I think Tom wants me in their as well to take notes, but I’m going to lunch at 1. Let’s schedule it for after 2,” he said.

Now I know completely well that any time after noon today will work for my boss. And I know he could care less when I schedule a meeting with his CFO. But Arch-Nemesis doesn’t know that. And I’d rather be stuck listening to his voicemail on repeat than give him the benefit of telling me what time to make an appointment.

“Listen, I’ll schedule when it works for us, not you, okay? When you get back to your desk, send an email request and I’ll see what I can do.”

I know. Totally bitchy. Unbelievably passive aggressive. But you need to understand. I am a very nice person if I like you, if you treat me like an equal, and if you’re honest with yourself. But once you start treating me like I’m less than you, or giving me unnecessary attitude, or act condescending, I will lose all respect and tolerance for you.

Which is the same exact thing I do when I’m at the bar.

There are all sorts of people out on a Friday night. First daters having a drink to loosen up before dinner. To get through dinner. To get the other in bed at night. Couples that have been together forever that sit there, not speaking. That hit on other people to piss each other off. To turn each other on. Small groups of friends. Large groups of coworkers. Old college buddies. People who’ve just met. My friends. The friends of the other bartender. Both our friends. People we know but could do without. Quiet. Loud. Funny. Drunk. Sad. Sober. Silly.

No matter what, when one of these people approaches me, I start by giving them the same warm greeting. I don’t care if they have a hundred dollar bill in their hand or smell like they just pissed themselves. Who am I to judge?

But once someone starts acting like a dick, everything changes. Because again, being behind the bar, I get to be the one in charge. I can serve you. Or not. I can serve you promptly. Or not. I can charge you the actual price. Or not. I can buy you back some drinks. Or not.

You can go complain to the manager that you’re not being served fast enough or getting attitude, but nine times out of ten, they’re going to side with their employees. Because they know you probably did something to piss us off.

Life Lesson #45: I know that in some situations in life, being a hard-ass is called for. No one wants to be the chump who gets walked all over. On the other hand, there are ways to go about life to get what you want. And more often than not, it’s by being courteous and respectful. And what I think is maybe the most important aspect of all this ranting and raving is that it’s not necessarily the CEOs and owners and managers of the world who are going to get you what you want. It’s the people trying to make a living, just like you and me.

I’m going to tell that to A.N. in a moment. I can hear his footsteps creeping up for what has got to be the fourth time today.

Life Lesson #44: Chinese Proverb: “Pleasure for one hour, a bottle of wine. Pleasure for one year a marriage; but pleasure for a lifetime, a garden.”

I’m sure everyone is ready to give up on me over here. And I apologize. Things have been a little nutty. Not nearly crazy enough for me to say Oh my god I’ve been so busy I haven’t had a second to write. That would be total bull. Or Every time I think I have a moment to sit and type something, seven other things pop up for me to do. That would be even more crap.

While I have been relatively busy in regards to job movement, finding a new apartment, and the acquisition of a new fur ball on my parents behalf (don’t worry, I’ll get to everything in a second), there has been an undercurrent of laziness that has crept in in ’07. To be perfectly honest, I think I’ve allowed the accomplishment of a few large things to justify the wayward fall of the smaller stuff. Like writing. Going to the gym. Watching what I eat. And drink. You know - the stuff that defines me as a person and not a drunken slob. Because I think the somewhat big stuff allows for a little slack.

Or maybe a better way to put it: I am experiencing my very own Yin-Yang Struggle.

According to my personal bible, Wikipedia, there are six main concepts that define this Chinese philosophy. I'd always thought it was a simple good-evil, wrong-right sort of thing. Apparently, I was mistaken. It’s a little more grey than that. And it seems, without one side, there can’t be the other.

Summary of Yin and Yang Concepts

1. Yin and Yang do not exclude each other. Everything has its opposite: although this is never absolute, only relative.

Well, let’s see. This kind of confused me a bit, until Wiki was so kind as to provide the “what goes up must come down” analogy. That got me thinking about my job. Which has gotten so miserable and boring, I was forced to do something to make it better.

It took all the courage in the world to talk to my boss. First, because as you all know, I hate confrontation. To the point that it makes me violently nauseas and causes self-inflicted migraines. Second, because my direct boss is the CEO of a billion dollar company. Third, because I was about to tell this man that I do nothing, all day, and feel as if I might actually be getting dumber by the minute. Fourth, he could very easily just fire me.

It took me getting to this Yin point, where I wanted to staple my eyes closed and build a fort around my desk, to take a step in the Yang direction. Now there is light at the end of the tunnel. I'm meeting with some people in another department over the next few days in the hopes to be promoted to a much more exciting position.

And on a totally unrelated path, my parents got a new bulldog. He’s incredible. He’s all white with a brown spot on one eye and on part of his tiny little butt. He loves to sleep on our laps and eat plastic seltzer bottles. I am totally in love.

Oh, and his name? Pompeii.

But see, without the sad death of our old pooch Brutus, there wouldn’t be room for the new little guy in our lives. One had to leave in order for the other to enter.

2. Yin and Yang are interdependent. One cannot exist without the other.

Obviously! I mean, how can I practice self restraint during happy hour unless I go out in the first place? Spending too much on a pair of shoes makes me want to volunteer a little more over the next few weeks. Running around all day trying to make appointments with real estate brokers allows me to not have to go to the gym and actually run. Eating copious amounts of food between the hours to 7 pm and 4 am since I don’t really during the day.

I think you get my drift.

3. Yin and Yang can be further subdivided into Yin and Yang.

I’d like to apply this directly to the dump I'm living in for only a few more weeks (yea!). Clearly, I have very little love for the apartment overall. If you asked me right now, “Penny, do you like your apartment?”, I would immediately respond with “Hell no!”.

A few moments later, I’d still be thinking about just how much I can't stand the place. I really hate all the hot water problems over the past few months. And the lack of heat right now. And the stupid closet that isn’t deep enough for hangers. And the fact the hallway has smelled like mothballs the past few days. Or that the bed and the television never seems big enough. Although, I do enjoy wheeling my TV stand into my room and curling up in that too-small bed on a Sunday afternoon. Oh, and all the great places right by the apartment for Sunday brunch? They’re pretty awesome.

See where I’m going with this?

There are varying degrees of animosity towards my place. Some great big irritations, all the way down to the stuff that is such a little bothersome in comparison, I’ve actually managed to make it seem enjoyable.

So overall, I CANNOT wait to be out of there by the end of this month. There are things I will never, ever miss. But there are a few things I learned to live with. And some stuff that I have to admit, I will miss a little bit.

But trust me, I’ll get over them very quickly.

4. Yin and Yang consume and support each other. Yin and Yang are usually held in balance: as one increases, the other decreases. However, imbalances can occur.

This is pretty evident when I’m on the ball. The more Yang I’m feeling, the more stuff gets done. I’m productive from head to toe: cleaning my apartment, taking a spin class, reading a book, getting to bed at a decent hour. The more I’m on that path, the less likely I am to let the Yin in and say fuck it, today I’m throwing in the towel.

I guess you can say the last few weeks, though; I’ve been a bit more imbalanced than usual. The grand Yang and the sneaky Yin have been back and forth from day to day: I’ll find a new apartment by day while wasting hours watching television at night; I’ll sit at my desk all day with nothing to do, but still have no motivation to write; I’ll drag my ass to the gym and get Cold Stone on the way home.

5. Yin and Yang can transform into one another.

I don’t have to look much further than myself for this one. My bright, proactive Yang self tends to shine during the day. I try to keep busy, read the news, help my coworkers out, have a salad, drink lots of water, and wait for the crosswalk sign to turn before darting across the street.

But as the sun goes down, shady, lazy Yin starts to creep up. As it gets darker and colder out, I start thinking Screw the gym. I want a burrito for dinner. With a glass of wine. Maybe I’ll even go out for a little bit. Next thing you know, I’m cabbing it from bar to bar, flipping the bird to complete strangers as I demand another shot of Stoli-O.

I’m kind of like The Hulk (a Chinese philosophizing one). While I spend most of my days well-behaved and with generally intelligent thoughts, I can easily transform into a destructive monster with little more brains than a child.

6. Part of Yin is in Yang and part of Yang is in Yin.

This is oh-so-artistically demonstrated by the dot of opposite color within each sphere of the Yin Yang sign. I never knew this. But it definitely makes sense. My job is dark and dreary, but there are some bright spots: my boss is really nice to me, I met a few fun people here, and I get free beverages all day long. I’m generally a happy, upbeat person, but there are a few stormy clouds always floating around in my head. I have a comfy bed in the midst of a falling-apart apartment.

And as I wrote earlier: all of this big Yang stuff, like finding a new home and working at a promotion, has been spotted with bits on Yin - little dots of rebellion in the form of slacking.

Life Lesson #44: Nothing is ever all good, but never is it all bad. What it does seem to be is a giant balancing act. Trying to keep myself status quo, and more important, at harmony with everything around me. Sometimes all it takes is a moment of quiet, a regrouping of thoughts. Sometimes it takes bigger acts. The swallowing of pride and admitting defeat.

As for the Chinese proverb I found; who knows how true it is? I sure don't know a thing about marriage or how the hell to care for a garden. But whether I'm Ying-ing it or Yang-ing it, I'll make sure to remember that a bottle of wine just might help.