The grand opening of our Beer Garden was finally hosted tonight and after much hullabaloo about who is hosting what or when it was finally settled that Heather would MC. I will state a slight bitterness in my attitude because number one Robbie asked me to MC, but had to rescind the invitation after his boss told him they'd prefer Heather. He apologized a lot to me, and explained (probably thinking in reasonable tones) that its because she's taller. How about they just make me put on a paper sack while they're at it while I stand in some pig poo? Eventually Robbie asked me to 'help' and I did go to the event, but my presence was mostly unnecessary. The little I did seemed awkward to me, and I felt like a more useless Vanna White. Politics are everywhere, and in the wise words of our executive chef, "You nevah leave high school" (he's Australian, so I tried for the accent...) So true. Honestly? I was crushed. I like Heather a lot and we are very good friends so I don't resent her having the opportunity. She's just as capable as I am to MC any event, plus it was nerve wracking to think of doing it anyway...but its really the principle of the thing. I wasn't what they wanted, by "they" I mean the higher ups. There's this outline for beauty and apparently I don't measure up...literally. The lame excuse of her height being a deciding factor, is pardon me, nothing but bullshit.
There's a part of work and life that just plain sucks. The part where people make decisions based on personal preference, where everything is calculated to make the highest person happy and kissing butt is what its about.
That's the part of life that I don't even want to acknowledge. The unfair part that leaves me indignant, helpless and angry about my inability to change anything about the situation. Standing at the garden event awkwardly off to the side smiling like I'm having a fantastic time made me realize how forced things can be. I have to pretend because my manager is standing there watching the whole night unfold, and its important the event is a success. I wonder how anyone else would've felt. I tried to look at it from a different perspective and think maybe they talked to her more and thought she'd be the best for keeping up the energy, or they thought she'd be really interested in it. Who knows? Excuse me while I nurse my wounded pride for a moment though.
People asked me how old I am, and I now say almost 23. They usually laugh and comment on how young I am. At that point I usually laugh too, and tell them I'm an old soul, practically a grandmother. At times, I think I'm too old for my age and too world weary already. But times like today make me feel 7 again, when life passes by so quickly and it seems like everything happens above my head. Will I get to the point where it all makes sense, and I'll be at peace with that knowledge?
How come the older I get the younger I seem? For you folks who have it together, pardon my life mongering and whining. And yes...I'm aware that it doesn't necessarily get any easier. Sometimes life seems so ponderous and...mean. I fly so high on my euphoric bliss that any small change in the wind makes me falter and tumble for the ground.
Blogs are for emotioning all over the internet void right? If not, woops! My emotional vomiting, I can promise, won't end here. I do promise to label it though, so you can skip any posts you wish.
So here's to humility, times where people don't shower me with compliments, and remembering being as deep as a kiddie pool has limits. That means accepting compliments is different than subsiding on them. Life adjustment; check.
Ok lighthearted story time.
Every morning I work a breakfast shift (wearing a slightly noticeable and memorable uniform) I take the elevator down to the basement but only the first two descend the whole way while the third only hits to the first floor. GUESS WHICH ONE ALWAYS SHOWS UP? Yep. That one. The one that only reaches the first floor. Plus there's always a resident with like 70 bags that look like they weigh 500 pounds each, who waits for me to get on. We make eye contact, and I can't pretend like I didn't call the elevator up. So then I get flustered, blurt out some nonsense, shake my head and wave him on while simultaneously trying to explain that its the wrong elevator in the .3 seconds the doors are closing. This happens pretty much every morning. With the same dude.
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