It’s now 5:21. I’ve spent the last 40 minutes writing a post about gay bullying. I’m not being very coherent and what I’m trying to say it’s all mumbled around stupid other shit.
I’m going to bed. I’ll finish the post over the weekend.
PS. Work was awesome tonight. I was EXHAUSTED. But I had a good night.
I’m ahead of schedule tonight.
By 11 minutes. It’s baby steps. Baby steps.
So this was my night.
My FUCKING night.
Jancy came today. She cleans our apartment every other week. I like that she cleans. I don’t like that she screws up the beginning of my day. I’m stuck in our bedroom till it’s time to go to work.
I HAVE to talk to my mom. We last talked on Sunday so we HAVE to talk today. Which is fine. But first Jancy. Then my mom. Things aren’t starting so good.
When I got up I called Adam. I got his voice mail. I called again after my mom. I got his voice mail. I didn’t actually talk to him until I was on my way to the train. It’s not like this is some tragedy. It’s just we have our routine. He kisses me good bye. I call when I get up. I call again when I’m walking to the train. I call again when I’m downtown. I call on my break. I kiss him when I get home. I go to bed. He gets up. It might seem like I call a lot but you have to realize that it’s Friday a.m. and I haven’t seen him awake in five days. It sucks. I didn’t get to talk to him much today.
I get to work. I order dinner. Instead of eating my small dinner salad, and filling it out with things I can eat for free I ordered a real meal. I got said meal and headed to the room where we have pre-shift. There was a meeting going on. I was sent to Chinatown. This is a hallway between two dining rooms. I’ll explain why it’s called Chinatown some other time. Then I was sent to the other dining room. By now my dinner is getting cold. I finally sit down to eat. My chicken is cold. And was cooked about 20 minutes longer than it should have been. I’ve tasted card board that was less chewy than the mashed potatoes. The broccoli was limp.
Pre-shift starts. They do roll call. Then we get announcements. I finally hear the “fag” announcement. It’s about as white washed as you can get. Mostly don’t say things that are offensive. The problem is they DON’T think it’s offensive that’s why they say it.
Then the Assistant GM talks. He tells us about the holiday crap. And about our secret shopper report. Then he talks about our survey scores. The restaurant has a 5.99 score out of a possible 7. We need to have a 6.0 to make corporate happy. He asked if anyone knew what there survey average was. I raised my hand and said mine is a 6.68. No one else even knew what their score was, let alone be as high as mine. As a result the AGM bought my dinner. Maybe it’s not going to be such a crappy night after all. By the way my score is actually a 6.52. I’m still far ahead of just about everyone else.
So the shift starts. There are 40 servers on tonight. 40. For a Thursday night. In October. With no large parties. Just GP. General Public. FUCK.
At 5:30 there were 98 empty tables in the restaurant. Our host system will tell you how many empty tables there are. It will also tell you lots of other useless information but that’s another story. 98. Except that it doesn’t count the three cocktail sections because we aren’t sat via the host. That’s another 10 tables. And for some reason section 30 isn’t open yet. That’s another four tables. So at 5:30 there are 112 empty tables in our restaurant.
It starts slow.
VERY SLOW.
For some reason I get lucky. My entire section fills up quickly with people who are just drinking. This is great because no one else has any tables.
This is the end of the good part of my evening.
At 6:04 four middle aged men seat themselves at table 71. English is clearly not their first language. They order 4 Stellas. Then four Heinekens. Then four more. And then four more. Eventually they eat dinner. At 10:25 I go on break. They are still there. There check is 300.85. I don’t even know what to tell Connie who is breaking me. I tell her just to pray that they tip. I go call Adam. Our phone reception is bad. We get annoyed with each other because the calls keep dropping. I text him and tell him that I love him. And I sit there. And wait and wait and wait. I get up to go back on the floor at 10:45. I have ten minutes left. The men are gone. I say a little prayer. I look for Connie. I finally see her across the restaurant and I call for her and ask her if I’m going to be upset. She tries to play it off. I ask if they tipped me. She tries to play it off. She says there was extra and a lot of change. I say huh. She says there was extra although she didn’t remember how much and about five dollars in change. She keeps pushing the change issue hoping that it will make it better. It does not. I take the money out and count it. It’s 312.00 and about five dollars in change. They left me a fucking 16 dollar tip on a 300 dollar tab after sitting at my table for five fucking hours. FUCK THEM. FUCK THEM. FUCK THEM. FUCK THEM…
This was just the big story. The rest of the tables sort of sucked too. IF I’d tipped out as much as I should have I would have walked with exactly 10% of my sales. Which was exactly half of what I made last night. EXACTLY! I cut some corners and managed to squeak out a few more dollars.
Tonight was a fucking bust!
A
FUCKING
BUST
AND I HAVE TO DO IT ALL AGAIN TOMORROW NIGHT!
FUCK!
FUCK!
FUCK!
Oh. And I almost forgot. I had four people plant themselves at my counter tonight with drinks they’d purchased from the bar. At 9:30. By 10:00 those drinks were gone. They proceeded to sit at the counter with nothing in front of them till almost midnight. Not purchasing anything. Just sitting there taking up space. I was told by management that I could not ask them to move.
FUCKEMALL!!!
I’ve got to start getting to bed earlier. It’s 5:00 and it will take at least twenty or so minutes to write something that’s somewhat comprehendible. (Don’t try and spell comprehendible at 5:00 in the morning. I finally had to look it up.)
It took me almost an hour to get to sleep last night. I was pissed. And annoyed.
I should probably come home, leave my computer off, and not think about the insanity that exists in the world. I end up reading Joe.My.God where I get a lot of my gay news. And then Facebook. And I share all the links that piss me off. And then I read email. And try to blog. And it’s 5:00 and I’m nowhere near ready to go to bed. And when I do get to bed in the next hour I’ll be too wired to sleep.
I asked Daniel about how he had handled the “fag” situation. He told me that he’d given a speech in each pre-shift through the weekend. I didn’t say anything but I wanted to tell him that I hadn’t heard about it all. He also said that he’d pulled each of the managers aside one by one and told them what the results of the use of the word would be in the restaurant. We’ll have to see what happens. I’m sure it won’t happen soon, but it will be only a matter of time.
I got my new schedule for next week tonight. Seems that we are back to square one. Do I go in tomorrow and start my complaining again or do I bite the bullet and just live with things the way they are?
There is a host at work named Gabby. She also works as a breaker, providing staff to break the servers. I want to punch her. In the nose. She knows I hate her which I find amusing. She mutters things under her breath at me like, “you could at least say excuse me.” Or “why didn’t you say “corner”.” Tonight she said that she couldn’t wait to be a real server. Hmmm. I’m not the only one that hates her and the only reason we’d all like her to be a “real” server is so she wouldn’t have to give us breaks any more.
I added another person to my “list” tonight at work. Terry. He complained all night. Didn’t get tipped all night. Was rude all night. Made bad jokes all night. My list has been growing longer and longer lately.
Jancy comes tomorrow. I’m glad that when I come home tomorrow our house will be clean. I hate that she interrupts my morning afternoon routine. She also likes to talk and I really want to be left alone until I wake up.
My three favorite people were working at McDonald’s tonight when I got my Diet Coke. It’s a very NYC thing to know the people at your deli, grocery, laundry place. The one girl now makes my soda as soon as she sees me. The other girl has been on vacation. The other one doesn’t talk much but is very nice. They have a night time manager that is there most nights who is bat shit crazy. She’s like some crazy lady who yells at everyone. WHAT DO YOU WANT? I DON’T HAVE ALL NIGHT. GET ME MY DAMN BATHROOM KEYS. YOU GOTTA BUY SOMETHING TO USE THE BATHROOM! PICK UP THE PACE GIRL. She’s angry at the world. I like it when she’s NOT there. I need to learn all of their names.
I have to work two more shifts this week. Five shifts in a row is a bitch. I know, I know. But it is. Two more. I’d give up one of my shifts but Adam chewed me a new asshole last weekend for giving up. I’ve learned my lesson.
Okay. I’m rambling.
Autumn at work told me I was being silly to have Daniel speak to the staff about the use of the word “faggot.”
Autumn was Adam until about 18 months ago. She can actually pass as a woman.
She’s not the only trans person that works with me. The other one looks like a drag queen. With real tits.
My point is. They are called worse than faggot when no one is around. Especially in Spanish.
I’ve decided however that I AM being too sensitive. And I’m about to get a WHOLE LOT MORE sensitive.
I’d like to say it’s no big deal. They don’t mean any harm. They are just having fun. And perhaps they are. Their type of fun stopped being fun about a million years ago. There have been at least seven gay teens suicides in the past five weeks. Two of the latest on the day we were supposed to wear purple in recognition of the teens that had died. The truth is I’m a big boy. I’ve been around a long time. I can protect myself. If push came to shove, I’d stand up and push back. I will have no problem holding my own. One of the first times I had the word fag used against me was while I was waiting tables in Atlanta. I’d picked up a tray of food and was starting out of the kitchen when one of the cooks replaced the first part of my last name with “fag.” I turned around and said, “excuse me?” He said, “you heard me.” The next sound in the kitchen was the sound of plates crashing against the expo line because I’d launched my tray at him. Plates and all. I can take care of myself.
But these people aren’t just using the word at work. If they are using the word at work then you know they are using it else where. And I’d bet they are using it around people who aren’t willing or able to defend themselves. And with their use of the word, comes the negative connotation that anyone who is a “fag” is less than. Not equal too. And that’s the plus side. Even worse is when the word is used to instill fear, and loathing. And every day these kids hear this word is another day they hear they are less than. And if they hear it enough, well we know the potential outcome.
And just when you thought the insidious hatred toward gay youth couldn’t get any worse, the following Facebook page was made public today.
And the best part of this Facebook page? Clint McCance is a school board member of the Arkansas Midland School Board. The person who writes that he’ll only wear purple if all gay kids “commit suicide.” They have a special “purple fag day.” That they often “give each other AIDS and die.” Yeah. He’s the example being set in his community. He’s making decisions that affect the lives of children every day.
I get angry just typing this shit. It’s people like Clint that use the word “fag.” It’s people like Clint who teach children to hate. It’s people like Clint that cause 15 year olds to shoot themselves in the head. It’s people like Clint who teach 12 year olds to hang themselves in their closet. And I’m told I’m too “sensitive?” Fuck that. I’m getting more and more sensitive every day. And I have a feeling that it’s going to get a lot worse before it gets better. I’m too tired to write to the school board tonight. But in case some of you have 10 minutes or so tomorrow you can write the superintendent here:
Superintendent:
Dean Stanley
Phone: (501)345-8844
E-mail: dstanley@midlandschools.org
Or you can call Clint’s business here:
Clint’s Carpet Cleaning , 7569 Batesville Blvd, Pleasant Plains, AR (501) 268-7360.
Or you can call the asshole at home if you want.
Clint Mccance
(501) 345-1612
7569 Batesville Blvd,Pleasant Plains, AR 72568-9716
Seems the school district website has cleansed the names of all their members from their website. Also none of the school board meetings after April are now available for view.
So you know what. I’ll send my letter tomorrow. And I’ll continue to post my political stuff on Facebook. This was my update when I posted the article:
But you know what else I can do. I can DEMAND that those around me who use the word learn that it’s not okay. It’s not funny. It’s not “boys being boys.” It’s insulting. And ultimately dangerous.
It must stop!
I will see to it that it does!
It’s been a long night.
I developed a migraine toward the end of the night. By the time I got on the train I was feeling miserable.
I’ve been home a while now, eaten dinner, had a couple of Diet Cokes, a slice of Meemaw’s Red Cake and I’m feeling much better. Let’s hope this doesn’t tend to be a trend over the next several days. Typically I get them in spurts, and then they go away.
Work sort of sucked ass tonight. We were busy, I was trucking along and then it was like someone put the breaks on. At 10:15 the restaurant emptied and we were empty the rest of the night. I only sold 150 dollars over the last two hours I was there. I also made the mistake of counting my riches while I was on break. I recounted my pile of money three times because I was sure that I’d miscounted. Unfortunately I had not. Money wise my night sucked ass.
I also didn’t get my break until 11:00. It’s kind of late in the game to be told to go sit down and relax for 30 minutes when you rather be doing your side work trying to get out as soon as possible.
I’ve said it before but just in case some of you haven’t heard. If the lights are on. The music is off. The TV’s are off. And there are NO other patrons in the restaurant, it’s a sign that you MIGHT want to pay the check and leave. Oh. By. The. Way. Thanks for fucking making me wait an extra 30 minutes to leave for the nine dollars on 120 that you left me. Fuckwads.
Did I mention Meemaw’s Red Cake? (I need to ask Adam if that’s how you spell her name.) She was Adam’s grandmother. He was her favorite. In the two years that I’ve known Adam he’s never said a single bad thing about her. Nothing. She had an amazing home, with an entirely PINK kitchen. Pink refrigerator. (Still in his dad’s garage. And works!) A pink stove. A pink dishwasher. And my favorite. A pink PHONE.
She used to make Adam her famous RED CAKE. In a word. Awesome. It’s I think my favorite thing he bakes. We don’t get it very often but I could eat it every day. It’s easily replaced my love for red velvet cake as my favorite. It’s not even frosted. You take it out of the oven, let it cool, and then start eating. I just finished the last piece. I hope he doesn’t get mad.
If Adam will let me I’ll scan a photo and post it of his grandmother’s pink kitchen.
I’m sitting at my desk. Adam is cooking dinner. Chicken pot pie. Home made. I can’t wait. I could use some comfort food today. My allergies have been reeking havoc on me all day. I woke up sneezing. It hasn’t stopped all day. They also zap my energy. I feel like I’ve been walking around in a daze all day. Not a great way to spend your Sunday.
I go back to work tomorrow. It’s going to be a five day work week. This will also zap my energy. I need to make about 3,000 dollars this week. It’s a complete impossibility but it’s what I’d like to have happen. It would require one VERY hefty tip from some generous patron.
I’ve started thinking about what to get Adam for Christmas. I’d tell you what’s on the list but since he reads my blog I don’t want to give away the secret. I have one big gift. That’s about it. Any one have any good ideas.
Yesterday while Adam was making dinner I figured out the new floor plan that we’ll have to adopt to make room for the Xmas tree. It’s going to take an entire day just to move the furniture around. We are going to do that in three weeks. The tree goes up in four weeks. Is the year really that close to being over?
Tune in tomorrow when I’m sure to be as boring as ever.
I had a whole list of things I wanted to write about this week. The only one I remember now is the dream post.
Now it’s 4:30 and I’m speechless.
Let’s see:
I talked to Daniel the general manager about the use of the word “faggot” at work. He said he would take care of it. I’ll probably not be the most popular person at work this time tomorrow.
Adam and I are sequestering ourselves this week. When I get home from work tomorrow night neither of us are going to leave the apartment until we leave for work on Monday. It’s going to be TV time. Movie time. Good food time. And if we are lucky. Sex time!
Daniel asked me today if my computer was broken because he hadn’t gotten any surveys from me lately. Then he laughed.
I made 100 dollars tonight in the first 45 minutes I was there. Not a bad way to start the night.
Adam and I are also going to start making our Christmas cards this weekend. Last year we were a little late getting them out. I’d like to have them out by the second week of December this year. We make them by hand. We Adam has a cool design planned. Let me know if you want me to send you one.
We are putting our Christmas Tree up in a month. This is going to involve a LOT of moving things around. We hung a chandelier where the tree was last year. This year it’s going to be in front of the window. Where the sofa is. The sofa must move. The table must move. The lamps must move. The TV must move. I might actually spend some time this weekend and figure out if all my moving is going to work.
Our Christmas party is scheduled for December 12. It’s going to be a Christmas Jubilee. Or Bonanza. I can never remember which.
I need new work boots. Mine are two years old. The leather is cracked. The zipper is broken. And as of tonight the right one is covered in salsa.
My brother has a new boyfriend. I only know this because he writes about him on Facebook. So far there have been no pictures posted or name given. I doubt very seriously we’ll talk about this.
Speaking of talking. My mother hasn’t heard from brother in over a month. She probably won’t until he needs something. Like her car.
Michelle is doing another show in Maine in February. Adam and I will be going up for that. I hope.
We are having a dinner party next weekend. Adam is making dinner for one of his co-workers, her comedy partner and their specific partners. I think it will be fun.
Adam bought Orange Bitters yesterday. Until this summer I never realized there was any kind of bitters other than just regular bitters. Seems there is a whole host of other kinds of bitters. I’m hoping orange and bourbon go well together. I’ll let you know.
I’m reading Stephen King’s Under the Dome. I’m about 60 pages in. It’s interesting. Very Steven King. It’s a little more tongue in cheek than usual. I’ll keep you posted on how it is. It’s over 1000 pages.
I’m freezing. I hope that Adam isn’t hot when I go to bed. If he’s not hot then we cuddle. If he’s hot he pushes me away (he says he’s not aware that he does this…hmm?) and I end up falling asleep on my side of the bed. Alone.
Harper kitty has woken me up twice this week. This is the cat that pretends I’m not here most days. She wants to be petted. Eventually settles beside me. And doesn’t move again until Adam gets home from work. I often don’t make the bed because I don’t want to disturb her. At least that’s what I tell Adam.
I was told I did a good job tonight. I was the head server. I ran a tight ship. I kept the place clean and organized and kept people hopping. I was asked tonight if I was the new “Connie?” She’s the biggest tight ass we have. I kind of like being that person. Especially since not once tonight did we run out of glasses, plates, napkins, ice, etc. All it takes is a little leadership and people will do their jobs.
I had a 2o minute conversation tonight about how to wait tables in our restaurant. I tried to explain to Jessica that tourists in NYC want an experience. They don’t want someone who is just going to get them a Coke. They want you to tap dance. They want you to have a gimmick. Mine is to kill them with kindness. Hers? She doesn’t talk to them any more than she has to. And she wonders why she doesn’t make as much money as me.
I’d like to not work tomorrow. Adam is making me go in. He’s a pain in my ass. (Keep it clean!)
I’ve started wearing hats every day. I have worn a hat at work every day for the past three weeks. I wear them when I’m not at work too. I have about 20. I only wear two of them. My work hat. My college hat. I think I may actually throw all of the others away when I clean out my closet to take things to storage.
Okay. It’s 5:00 a.m. It’s time for bed.
See you tomorrow.
I have recurring dreams.
A lot.
They tend to be little strange.
The dreams started in April of 2001 when I started going to my current psychiatrist. After a couple of sessions he prescribed Risperdal for me. Without a doubt this drug changed my life. I woke up feeling different the very next day. Now granted it’s probably helped that I’ve also had much therapy, grown up a little, and perhaps matured along the way but it really did make a difference. I stopped wanting to throw things across the room. I stopped yelling at people. I stopped the raging. I became a “normal” human being.
It wasn’t as easy as all that but in the course of six months my life changed dramatically.
The dreams started the very first night I took the drug. I kept a journal of them for a while and even without it I remember the first one. I dreamed that there was a dog with his head stuck in the opening of a two liter bottle. This was the start. I dreamed about explosions. About Sam’s mother. About lots of things. Very vivid.
A lot of my dreams now are “normal.” If dreams are ever normal.
Except for the recurring dreams.
The amusement park:
I very often dream that I’m in an amusement park. With rides and roller coasters. Almost always roller coasters. Typically many of the rides are out of order. Often the amusement park isn’t in operation at all. Sometimes however, I’m able to ride a ride. It almost always breaks before it starts. The dreams are never scary or dangerous. The people with me at the park change. It’s been my family. Old boyfriends. Adam.
The ghost:
This is probably my most favorite. And the one that is most often the same. I dream that there is a house. With an apartment. Usually the top floor. Where a woman died many years ago. She still inhabits the apartment. I have found myself in her home for various reasons. There was a tour of haunted homes. My friends and I broke in. Etc. Each time she reveals herself to me in a very SCARY fashion. Only I don’t find it frightening. I’ve had the dream so many times now that I am endeared to her. She only tries to be frightening to scare my friends that I bring along with me. Her apartment is gorgeous. Old and historical. I sometimes hope that I dream about her when I go to sleep.
Homes:
I often dream about houses. Never my own. My parents. My friends. Sam’s parents on at least a dozen occasions. Each time there is something wrong with the house. The last time I dreamed about my parents house the whole thing was dilapidated except for one room. With Sam’s parents, I snuck into the home for some reason. There is an apartment that I dreamed about renting that I visit often. Many times trying to get other people to rent the same apartment. I always remember having been there, but I don’t always remember why I’ve been there. A couple of weeks ago, Chuck my old roommate got upset because I ripped up the carpet in our apartment and didn’t get it replaced before he got home. I didn’t care too much because I was already moved out. I know it’s crazy.
Theater:
I often dream about theater. Almost always I’m working on the show. It’s been with my friend Trish. Erik in Iowa. John in Kentucky. Almost always there is drama around the show. Usually something is wrong technically. This week I dreamed that my friend Pete was screaming at me because I wanted him to refocus some lights. He said it was my fault they weren’t focused right in the first place. I finally showed him that the pipe was turning. He was still mad.
School:
I’m very often at some educational institute. Sometimes the school I used to teach at. Sometimes on a college campus. Once or twice a fraternity house (keep it clean). Many times a dorm. There is almost always some reason I need to find the bathroom.
Bathrooms:
I often find myself in bathrooms where sex occurs. It very seldom involves me. I usually end up on the fringes watching. In fact I hardly ever have sex in my dreams. They tend to be the same bathrooms each time. One is in a bowling alley with a huge steam room in the back. One is on a university campus. These are not just typical bathrooms. They are huge. With tons of men every where. Often there is a danger of getting caught. It never happens.
The cliff:
There is a cliff that sits at the end of a long trail. (Several times the haunted house has been on the trail to the cliff). I find myself traveling there with friends. Family. It always seems like it takes forever to get there. There is often a beach on the return trip. Almost always the cliff can only be gotten to by taking a train to the end of the line and then walking.
The subway:
I’m very often on the subway. Or trying to get to the subway. It hardly ever is the train I want.
Traveling:
I’m on planes/trains/busses a lot.
Restaurants:
I’m very often in restaurants. Hardly ever working thank god. Just trying to find one open. Or that isn’t crowded. That has a happy hour. Many times they are fast food restaurant. And believe it or not TOO many times to count I’m looking for Diet Coke.
I could go on. You’d think with a list this long I’d be hard pressed to say they are recurring. But they are. And often the subjects over lap. The first time I met the ghost was traveling to find the cliff. We took a wrong turn and happened upon the house. I was intrigued so we found a way in. Once we were on the top floor my friend the ghost materialized. She does fun things like moving furniture, etc always trying to frighten me and the people I’m with. We have an understanding now and we are friends. In fact the last time I found myself in her house I spent some time trying to get her to appear. She finally did and was happy to see me. I eventually found myself on the cliff watching the people swim in the pool below. Near a water fall.
None of these dreams are frightening. Or stressful. I never fear going to sleep that I’m going to visit these places. As I mentioned sometimes as I’m drifting off I hope that I do go to these places. I almost always remember having been there. The apartment I’ve been to many times. There are three apartments in the house. The one I live in has 2.5 bedrooms. I say .5 because it’s a weird layout. You’d have to come with me to see it to understand.
I need to proof this and go to bed so I can see what interesting events lie in front of me tonight.
That’s gay.
Why are you Mets’ fans so gay?
You’re gay.
Faggot.
Maricon.
I heard all of these expressions today. All of them.
Three of them were Facebook status updates.
My favorite was the use of the word “maricon.”
Mannie, a server said something in Spanish tonight in the kitchen that ended with the word “maricon.” The person he was joking with said it back. Then Mannie said it again. At which point I told Mannie that it was uncool and that he didn’t get to use the word.
He told me I was being too sensitive.
Sensitive?
As in gay?
Or as in sensitive?
Or both.
The truth of the matter is that I am sensitive.
Probably more than most. I don’t like the word. I never have. Never will. I can’t for the life of me figure out when it’s okay in general conversation for someone to throw the word out. Ever.
Especially at work.
So I told Mannie to cut it out. He told me I was being too sensitive. I took a big breath and said fuck it. I walked into the manager’s office and said, “Okay so I’m about to have the same conversation I have every couple of months. It’s not okay for people in the kitchen to use the word faggot. Or maricon. Or either. If I went in to the kitchen and used the “N” word I’d be fired before I finished the word. I expect the same respect.”
This was followed by an “I’ll talk them.”
So then Pedro (you know Pedro. The same manager who used the word maricon himself in the kitchen.) Went out and made a big deal about pulling people aside and asking them to not do it.
The entire time I’m thinking two things. First it looks like I tattled. And two. He’s missing the fucking point. Don’t tell them to not use the word because I said so. Tell them it won’t be tolerated in the restaurant because it’s inappropriate, derogatory, and has no place in the workplace. It’s not about a one off incident. It’s about the culture that has been allowed to create itself and be tolerated.
It’s this tolerance of the word that allows people to use it in everyday speak. Or in the following examples.
So it’s this acceptance of the word that allows high school students to call the opposing teams faggots. Or Yankees’ fans to sing about faggots at their games.
And you know what. I’m a big boy. I’ve been called worse. If the truth were told I was probably called worse at work tonight. And I will be again. But I’m also not 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20+. I’m not sitting in the stands listening to my classmates say these things. I’m not sitting in the stands being called a faggot.
And if I am? I can take up for myself. There are lots of people out there who can’t or don’t take up for themselves. And really shouldn’t have to. If your classmates began to chant “Powder Blue Niggers” what would be the result. Would the game be stopped? Would students be ejected from the game? Would students be expelled? Probably all three. But in today’s society it’s seems to not be a problem to use the word faggot. No one seems to care. No one seems to notice. Except perhaps the kid in the second row who feels a kick in the stomach every time he hears it.
And this pisses me off.
I’m still thinking about how to deal with this at work. There is part of me that thinks it won’t stop until I really LOSE my shit at work and make the mother of all scenes. Or get someone fired. I don’t want either of these things to happen. But I’m getting tired of it.
VERY!
VERY!
VERY!
TIRED OF IT!
Today was day one of five at work this week. I don’t get a lot of sympathy when I tell people how much I really work. In the big scheme of things it’s really not that bad. Typically I work four days a week. Around 32 hours. Of course after I give up a couple of shifts I end up with around 13 or 14 shifts for the month.
Rough huh.
That being said, five days is brutal. I challenge any of you out there to come follow me at work one night. Even the more physically fit of you would probably have trouble keeping up. I start at 5:00. I stop at 1:00. There IS now a forced break around 10:30. It does nothing more than make you realize how old you are when after thirty minutes you discover your joints are stiff from sitting down. I did much better when I worked straight through.
This week I’m scheduled five days. I asked for five days. I wanted needed to work five days. I need to get caught up. Because of the job in Iowa somethings had to be allowed to be late to make it possible for me to go. It’s not ideal at all, but what can you do. I went to Iowa, did the job but didn’t get paid till 12 days after I returned. That meant that I went almost five weeks with no income. Kind of hard to do for almost everyone I know. Adam picked up where he could but I was still in a hole when I returned. So I HAD to work as much as possible this week.
And since I’d won the contest allowing me to write my own schedule, I chose to work five days. I’m already regretting it. And I’ve asked to work five days next week as well. By the weekend of Halloween I’ll be dead. I’ll be the ghost haunting you during trick or treat.
Of course it’s not so bad working five days this week because my stations are so good. I’m in 12, 7, 12, 7, 12. They are the two best sections in the restaurant. So unless things go awry I should be in fine shape by the end of the week. Next week I’ve asked to work 12, 12, 12, 12, 12. It’s going to piss some people off but fuck em. They could have won the contest too.
Speaking of the contest. I saw my friend Daniel, the general manager today. We chatted and he commented that he hasn’t seen any surveys filled out by me in the last week or so. I jokingly say that it’s because they cancelled the contest for the month of October. He says, “Why did they do that?” I don’t know why they do these things. I told him as much. While I was standing there he called over the manager on duty and says, “We need to start that survey contest back up. Immediately.” Twenty minutes later in pre-shift it’s announced that starting November 1st it will resume. That means sometime in December I’ll be able to write my own schedule again. I said as much to James and Daniel and James wanted to know how I knew I’d win. Then he winked and walked a way.
Now if I can only keep up my energy and not go crazy be the end of the week.
A Maddog In The City 