It is what it is

I'm a pasta chef now. I don't think I've mentioned that on this blog before. I make fresh fettuccine and extrude it out of a pasta machine, I cook pasta, I serve customers, and I do it all in front of a giant oven. It's kind of terrible. It stresses me out and it's physically exhausting. I have blisters on my palms and on most all my fingers right where my top knuckle is, so when I wake up in the morning I can't bend my fingers all the way. All of me hurts.

A manager at work stopped by the pasta bar for his lunch a week or so ago. He's a bit older and is really very kind and he calls me kiddo. He asked me if I liked my new position, and I was honest for once and said that I didn't, because it was stressful and I wasn't very good at it yet. He told me he's been in this business for most of his life, and sometimes when he's working down in the bakery he still feels like he's mixing the cookie dough with his feet, which was a little reassuring. Last weekend I had a terrible time at work and was completely overwhelmed. Friday I cried standing there behind my pasta counter as I separated fettuccine ribbons. Saturday was a game day and incredibly busy. Every time I turned around we were out of plates or out of bread or some customer changed their mind about their rotini and penne combination, and I was coming completely unglued. So when I went home I couldn't do anything but lay on the floor for awhile clutching an otter pop to soothe the pain of my blistering hands as I counted down the weeks I had left until I could quit this job.

Then Optimistic. came over and rubbed my back and sat with me as I cried, and took my taquitos out of the oven for me, and sat with me some more as I tried to eat them, which was hard because when you cry the back of your throat doesn't let you swallow. And two days ago the same manager stopped by and told me that he'd watched me work on Saturday and said that as a casual observer he noted that I was much more confident behind the counter and that I was doing a good job. I didn't tell him I'd been close to losing my sanity on Saturday, or that I'd gone home and cried that day, or that I think about quitting my job every five minutes I'm at work.

And a week ago Ender said something about my custodial job that I have on campus. It was slightly demeaning and it truly upset me. He tried to backtrack by saying that lots of people have to work as a custodian at some point, but that was really what clinched it. I enjoy being a custodian. I wouldn't be one if I didn't. And because I'm not a student this semester I don't get to work at the Wilk nearly as much as I'd like to. Instead I have a title and a raise and a fancy chef's hat and I hate my life. Yesterday I got off of work in time to get over to the Wilk to do some custodial work, and it's the first time I've been happy in awhile. I got to see my coworkers and tell stories and joke around a bit with my boss. I wish I didn't have to explain that to people, that I'm not looking to be anything more prestigious, like a doctor or an engineer; I just want to be happy.