"Oh will you ever know
That the bitterness and anger left me long ago
Only sadness remains
And it will pass..."
Sia- You Have Been Loved
Forgiveness is the hardest thing in the world. People are not easily forgiven in my world because it almost feels like when they are forgiven, they win. They've hurt me and yet I forgive them and they need not feel any remorse. They can carry on like nothing ever happened. Yet, I still keep their harsh words, their neglectful actions bound tight within me. Why should I be the only one to suffer for what they did? Keeping forgiveness dangling over their heads feels like my only way of properly punishing them. It's not that I want them to hurt like they've hurt me. It's not that it feels good. It just feels right.
It doesn't help matters that I can't let things go. If I could, then maybe I could forgive easily. It just doesn't seem fair to hold onto the hurt while the one who inflicted the damage can frolick around absolved of their actions. That's pretty selfish of me. Should someone be tied to their transgressions for eternity? Of course not. Everyone makes mistakes and no one is perfect. I, myself, have offended many people but that doesn't mean I should feel guilty for the rest of my life. So, why should these people who have offended me? They shouldn't. I just need to get over myself so I can get over them.
Forgiveness isn't impossible. As far as I can tell, I've forgiven my former roommate, the one who made my life hell for close to a year. It's definitely taken a long time and some days I'm still sore from what happened but I think, overall, I'm okay. Forgiveness is just going to take a lot of time, patience and maturity. As a Christian, I have to forgive those who have hurt me. As a fallible human being, I don't think they deserve it. But this is where I have to wander outside of myself and do the right thing. I have to let go of my personal protests and forgive as God does. Harboring hurt isn't good for the soul.
I think a lot of times the anger dissipates quicker than I've realized. What I mistake for anger is actually a sadness, a confusion as to what just happened. The confusion turns into frustration which leads to anger. I'm not angry at the person so much as I am at the situation. How could they have said that, done that? The angry slowly drips away but the sadness remains. I suspect that's what takes the longest to get over. I suspect that's what keeps me from so easily forgiving. But, I will. I always do. It's just the right thing to do.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Thursday, February 4, 2010
OK, I Feel Better Now
A work of (almost) fiction.
“You killed me, you stupid bitch.”
That’s all he could write. Page after page scrawled with the same scorned sentiment. As much as he tried to express himself, as much as he had articulated all the hurt and pain and sheer misunderstanding of the entire affair in his mind, his heart was guiding his hand to reveal something else. He had entire monologues mingling inside his skull, thoughts and feelings about her that he was so intent to express but every time he looked down, those same words were slung across the page, as if his hand and heart were disconnected, as if he had broken the link between his brain and fingers. He had written three pages of the same sentence without realizing it. He sighed and put down his pen. His hand was cramping.
Had she in fact killed him? Was this some kind of subconscious revelation that was now coming to the surface or was his denial finally boiling over? No, she hadn’t actually killed him. Her negligence, however, played a big part in his demise. He was drowning, suffocating, dying with each weakened breath and she saw fit to stand out of the way. When she left, she had known he was in trouble. She was his only lifeline in the end and when she wasn’t there to pull him out of the quicksand, he drowned in the dirt. The world got to him and came down on him and crushed every bone. Every mutilated muscle called out to her and she never came. His last thoughts were of her cruel absence.
God, why had she abandoned him and for that matter, how could she have done this so carelessly, so easily? Was he wrong about her the entire time? Was their relationship translucent and flimsy? What happened to the poetry critiques and five-hour phone conversations? They had conquered so much together. They had defeated time and distance and defeated the odds. They were two damaged kids and no one thought they’d make it out of their teen years. Yes, they were damaged but when they were together, they weren’t cut up or broken. It’s not that they made each other whole or completed the other half of one another. No, when they were together, they felt like they were allowed to be who they really were, allowed to bring out all of themselves. They didn’t need to hide away bits of pieces of their personalities. It was very clear that they were both nuts but they accepted each other, crazy and all. And it worked. And there were good times. At least, that’s what he thought to himself. Were all of these good times one-sided? Was he mistaken? Was everything he ever thought and felt about her and their times together utterly false?
As much as it hurt when she left, stopped writing, stopped calling, the one thing that got to him more than anything, the one thing that cut to the core was the question of why. Why had she left? She was known to skip town every once in a while to clear her head. He was used to that. It was a simple part of her craziness that he had accepted. But, she was never gone for too long. It always seemed by the time he had another breakdown, she’d be there to help him through it. Not this time. No, when he needed her the most, she was gone without so much as a note of explanation. She left him alone with strangers. She left him to fend for himself all the while knowing he wasn’t equipped to handle this world. How could she do that to him? After all they had been through, after all those years of friendship, she threw it away and for what?
She e-mailed him a half-hearted apology one day. He replied that he’d forgive her eventually. They never talked again. At the time, he was so angry, so confused, so upset that he didn’t even want to respond but he knew that he wouldn’t stay mad at her forever. How could he? So, instead of ignoring her, he sent a short response of eventual forgiveness infused with enough acid to let her know things were not okay, although they would be in the future. Yet, over the next few months he realized how easily he could stay mad, how the very thought of her sent his brain into a frenzy. Forgiveness was beyond comprehension. If it were ever possible, he realized that this rift was too gaping, too wide to repair. He could forgive but he would never forget. He never did. Any time anyone hurt him, he recorded it and put it in the recesses of his mind. This didn’t mean he held grudges or was slow to forgive. No, he had fixed problems with his relationships before but he just never fully let go. With her, however, nothing would ever be the same. They could never be friends again, even if he wanted to. The worst part was she didn’t seem to want to.
He regularly read her blog and realized one of her friends had left her as she had left him. At first, he was quick to find satisfaction in this turn of events. He quickly squashed those feelings, though, because he realized he didn’t want her to hurt as much as she had hurt him. She never did actually do anything to him, after all. She was never mean and she never participated in killing him. She just wasn’t there. She just checked out of their relationship, threw it all away for no discernible reason. No, he didn’t savor the fact that she was hurting. If anything, it made his hurt grow because she was more upset over the loss of her other friend than she was at the loss of him. And this other friend was the one who left her. Entry after entry detailed her utter breakdown over the loss of this guy and yet she never wrote about missing him, never once mentioned an ache or a teardrop over his loss, over leaving him and then feeling guilty because he was dead because of her. No, it seemed like she had forgotten about him completely. He stopped reading her blog.
And yet she was still on his mind. It seemed he was playing the role of grieving friend, grieving over her like she was grieving over this other guy. It was completely backwards and made no sense to him. She should have been grieving over him. After all, it was her fault. She left him. She never explained herself before she took off. She left him wondering. She left him worried. And yet, she was done and it seemed like she wasn’t going to hurt over him like she was going to hurt over this guy that left her. This only inflated his emptiness. She was, after all, his best friend. It might not have seemed like it but after she left, he had a lot of time to think about her and he realized how in sync they were, how suitable they were for friendship. He really cherished what they had but that realization didn’t do him any good. She was gone and it felt like she wanted to keep it that way. The way she could so easily give up on him, how she never called or wrote or e-mailed or reached out in any way. One puny e-mail and that was the extent of her effort. After all the years, laughter, crying, imagination, creativity. After everything, there was nothing.
He had tried to write to her, to somehow create some closure for himself, to explain how he felt in the wake of her absence and his eventual demise. But, he couldn’t. All he could write was that same sentence over and over again and he realized something. That sentence basically wrapped up the end of their relationship. The end of their relationship ended him. Without her, there was no one to help him get through. She killed him. She killed him and he wondered if she would ever know, if she would ever be able to grasp the pain and the anger and the confusion. Sure, she might have been feeling that way toward the other guy, the one who left her, but she wouldn’t feel that way toward him. She was getting hers but he felt no satisfaction because she didn’t know how badly he was getting his. Maybe this was how karma was going to cut her. It seemed pointless, really, considering the fact that she might not even realize why she fell into such an unfortunate circumstance. That she was being punished. No, he didn’t want to think of things that way. But he did want her to know how badly he was still hurting. He wasn’t going to tell her, though. For some reason, it was easier to sit back and bleed. To talk to her now would be too difficult, too much of a strain on his already fragile mind. It would be too complicated and too much of a nuisance. No, a letter was more suitable. After collecting himself, he finished his letter. He didn’t send it to her, though. Maybe there was no point to any of this. She obviously didn’t care how he felt because if she did, she would have checked in, made more of an effort to mend the relationship. No, it didn’t even matter anymore. But, he still wanted her to know. He posted it in his blog instead of sending it to her. That way, it was out there. He didn’t know if she even read his words anymore but if she did, maybe she’d finally catch a glimpse of understanding. If she didn’t, at least he got it off his chest.
She not only killed him. She was the reason he didn't believe in relationships. She was the reason he was hesitant to call anyone a friend. He had built up walls because of her, walls that were too high and too thick for anyone else to ever pass through. It was all so cliché but pain penetrates through clichés, dramatics and predictable patterns of behavior. Doesn't everyone build a wall when hurt? And aren't we all at our most similar when we are in pain? Perhaps she was writing a letter, too.
Love is a construction within the heart. It does not form a sweeping monument overnight. Instead, it builds over time, laugh by laugh, brick by brick. And despite the months or years it can take to form, it can shatter in seconds. There's nothing left but wreckage, jagged memories and sharp hesitations that cut long after it all comes crashing down. And even when the debris has been cleared away, there's still the spot where this beautiful construction was located, the place where hope and happiness dwelled. There is a vacancy. And as much as he hoped writing the letter would clear that debris, he knew the pain would still linger. There was still a vacancy. And he was too tired to rebuild.
That stupid bitch.
“You killed me, you stupid bitch.”
That’s all he could write. Page after page scrawled with the same scorned sentiment. As much as he tried to express himself, as much as he had articulated all the hurt and pain and sheer misunderstanding of the entire affair in his mind, his heart was guiding his hand to reveal something else. He had entire monologues mingling inside his skull, thoughts and feelings about her that he was so intent to express but every time he looked down, those same words were slung across the page, as if his hand and heart were disconnected, as if he had broken the link between his brain and fingers. He had written three pages of the same sentence without realizing it. He sighed and put down his pen. His hand was cramping.
Had she in fact killed him? Was this some kind of subconscious revelation that was now coming to the surface or was his denial finally boiling over? No, she hadn’t actually killed him. Her negligence, however, played a big part in his demise. He was drowning, suffocating, dying with each weakened breath and she saw fit to stand out of the way. When she left, she had known he was in trouble. She was his only lifeline in the end and when she wasn’t there to pull him out of the quicksand, he drowned in the dirt. The world got to him and came down on him and crushed every bone. Every mutilated muscle called out to her and she never came. His last thoughts were of her cruel absence.
God, why had she abandoned him and for that matter, how could she have done this so carelessly, so easily? Was he wrong about her the entire time? Was their relationship translucent and flimsy? What happened to the poetry critiques and five-hour phone conversations? They had conquered so much together. They had defeated time and distance and defeated the odds. They were two damaged kids and no one thought they’d make it out of their teen years. Yes, they were damaged but when they were together, they weren’t cut up or broken. It’s not that they made each other whole or completed the other half of one another. No, when they were together, they felt like they were allowed to be who they really were, allowed to bring out all of themselves. They didn’t need to hide away bits of pieces of their personalities. It was very clear that they were both nuts but they accepted each other, crazy and all. And it worked. And there were good times. At least, that’s what he thought to himself. Were all of these good times one-sided? Was he mistaken? Was everything he ever thought and felt about her and their times together utterly false?
As much as it hurt when she left, stopped writing, stopped calling, the one thing that got to him more than anything, the one thing that cut to the core was the question of why. Why had she left? She was known to skip town every once in a while to clear her head. He was used to that. It was a simple part of her craziness that he had accepted. But, she was never gone for too long. It always seemed by the time he had another breakdown, she’d be there to help him through it. Not this time. No, when he needed her the most, she was gone without so much as a note of explanation. She left him alone with strangers. She left him to fend for himself all the while knowing he wasn’t equipped to handle this world. How could she do that to him? After all they had been through, after all those years of friendship, she threw it away and for what?
She e-mailed him a half-hearted apology one day. He replied that he’d forgive her eventually. They never talked again. At the time, he was so angry, so confused, so upset that he didn’t even want to respond but he knew that he wouldn’t stay mad at her forever. How could he? So, instead of ignoring her, he sent a short response of eventual forgiveness infused with enough acid to let her know things were not okay, although they would be in the future. Yet, over the next few months he realized how easily he could stay mad, how the very thought of her sent his brain into a frenzy. Forgiveness was beyond comprehension. If it were ever possible, he realized that this rift was too gaping, too wide to repair. He could forgive but he would never forget. He never did. Any time anyone hurt him, he recorded it and put it in the recesses of his mind. This didn’t mean he held grudges or was slow to forgive. No, he had fixed problems with his relationships before but he just never fully let go. With her, however, nothing would ever be the same. They could never be friends again, even if he wanted to. The worst part was she didn’t seem to want to.
He regularly read her blog and realized one of her friends had left her as she had left him. At first, he was quick to find satisfaction in this turn of events. He quickly squashed those feelings, though, because he realized he didn’t want her to hurt as much as she had hurt him. She never did actually do anything to him, after all. She was never mean and she never participated in killing him. She just wasn’t there. She just checked out of their relationship, threw it all away for no discernible reason. No, he didn’t savor the fact that she was hurting. If anything, it made his hurt grow because she was more upset over the loss of her other friend than she was at the loss of him. And this other friend was the one who left her. Entry after entry detailed her utter breakdown over the loss of this guy and yet she never wrote about missing him, never once mentioned an ache or a teardrop over his loss, over leaving him and then feeling guilty because he was dead because of her. No, it seemed like she had forgotten about him completely. He stopped reading her blog.
And yet she was still on his mind. It seemed he was playing the role of grieving friend, grieving over her like she was grieving over this other guy. It was completely backwards and made no sense to him. She should have been grieving over him. After all, it was her fault. She left him. She never explained herself before she took off. She left him wondering. She left him worried. And yet, she was done and it seemed like she wasn’t going to hurt over him like she was going to hurt over this guy that left her. This only inflated his emptiness. She was, after all, his best friend. It might not have seemed like it but after she left, he had a lot of time to think about her and he realized how in sync they were, how suitable they were for friendship. He really cherished what they had but that realization didn’t do him any good. She was gone and it felt like she wanted to keep it that way. The way she could so easily give up on him, how she never called or wrote or e-mailed or reached out in any way. One puny e-mail and that was the extent of her effort. After all the years, laughter, crying, imagination, creativity. After everything, there was nothing.
He had tried to write to her, to somehow create some closure for himself, to explain how he felt in the wake of her absence and his eventual demise. But, he couldn’t. All he could write was that same sentence over and over again and he realized something. That sentence basically wrapped up the end of their relationship. The end of their relationship ended him. Without her, there was no one to help him get through. She killed him. She killed him and he wondered if she would ever know, if she would ever be able to grasp the pain and the anger and the confusion. Sure, she might have been feeling that way toward the other guy, the one who left her, but she wouldn’t feel that way toward him. She was getting hers but he felt no satisfaction because she didn’t know how badly he was getting his. Maybe this was how karma was going to cut her. It seemed pointless, really, considering the fact that she might not even realize why she fell into such an unfortunate circumstance. That she was being punished. No, he didn’t want to think of things that way. But he did want her to know how badly he was still hurting. He wasn’t going to tell her, though. For some reason, it was easier to sit back and bleed. To talk to her now would be too difficult, too much of a strain on his already fragile mind. It would be too complicated and too much of a nuisance. No, a letter was more suitable. After collecting himself, he finished his letter. He didn’t send it to her, though. Maybe there was no point to any of this. She obviously didn’t care how he felt because if she did, she would have checked in, made more of an effort to mend the relationship. No, it didn’t even matter anymore. But, he still wanted her to know. He posted it in his blog instead of sending it to her. That way, it was out there. He didn’t know if she even read his words anymore but if she did, maybe she’d finally catch a glimpse of understanding. If she didn’t, at least he got it off his chest.
She not only killed him. She was the reason he didn't believe in relationships. She was the reason he was hesitant to call anyone a friend. He had built up walls because of her, walls that were too high and too thick for anyone else to ever pass through. It was all so cliché but pain penetrates through clichés, dramatics and predictable patterns of behavior. Doesn't everyone build a wall when hurt? And aren't we all at our most similar when we are in pain? Perhaps she was writing a letter, too.
Love is a construction within the heart. It does not form a sweeping monument overnight. Instead, it builds over time, laugh by laugh, brick by brick. And despite the months or years it can take to form, it can shatter in seconds. There's nothing left but wreckage, jagged memories and sharp hesitations that cut long after it all comes crashing down. And even when the debris has been cleared away, there's still the spot where this beautiful construction was located, the place where hope and happiness dwelled. There is a vacancy. And as much as he hoped writing the letter would clear that debris, he knew the pain would still linger. There was still a vacancy. And he was too tired to rebuild.
That stupid bitch.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Kill Capacity
what does it take to make a man snap,
to lather his hands in the blood of anyone?
life rises up and crushes everything
and leaves behind a bitterness
a hate that resembles blocked arteries
that closes off all capacity for compassion
hidden within and coming out in coils
it vibrates these bones wracked with rage
oh, how life can turn a person into a pariah
a beast that snaps at a helping hand
as the capacity to kill courses through me
i’m shaken at my ability to sink so deeply
into the sick thoughts that soothe me
i'll wrap my teeth around my throat
and tear out my own temperance
there’s no going back
once you’ve drawn a little blood
to lather his hands in the blood of anyone?
life rises up and crushes everything
and leaves behind a bitterness
a hate that resembles blocked arteries
that closes off all capacity for compassion
hidden within and coming out in coils
it vibrates these bones wracked with rage
oh, how life can turn a person into a pariah
a beast that snaps at a helping hand
as the capacity to kill courses through me
i’m shaken at my ability to sink so deeply
into the sick thoughts that soothe me
i'll wrap my teeth around my throat
and tear out my own temperance
there’s no going back
once you’ve drawn a little blood
Monday, February 1, 2010
Martyrs (2008) Review
They Did Not Finish to be Alive
A little girl named Lucie escapes from an abandoned slaughterhouse where she was kept and tortured for a number of years. She is sent to an orphanage where she meets another girl named Anna. They become close friends as Anna helps nurse Lucie back to help. Fifteen years later, Lucie has found the ones who tortured her. Entrails really hit the fan when she goes to their house to exact her revenge.
All I can say after finishing this film is whoa! I feel I’d be doing a disservice to those who have not seen the film if I elaborate on the plot beyond what I’ve already said. All I will say is the film is basically split into three parts and each part is tougher to watch than the last. This French film falls into the same vein as other French “torture porn” films such as Inside, Frontiers and Haute Tension. There will also be comparisons to the Hostel movies but I reject that comparison outright! Hostel wishes it could be half as hardcore as this film.
What I enjoyed about this movie was how the violence was unflinching and realistic. It wasn't exploitive, either. The gore wasn't overly abundant but when it hit, it hit hard and hit with a purpose. The French have a knack for spreading the blood thick and messy and in a way that isn't entertaining but unnerving. One of the big differences I've noticed between American horror movies and French horror movies (and let me just admit that I haven't seen very many, to be fair) is that we tend to root for the killer more often than not. I don't think I've ever seen a slasher in which I hoped the dumb girl with the big rack wouldn't trip on that random patch of grass, twist her ankle and then crawl away from the demonic plumber as he breaks his plunger off into her torso. Alternately, I care about the French victims because there's some actual backstory on the characters and even when there isn't, they are put through so much that we can't help but to root for them after a while and hope that they can make it to the end. And I thank the French for that.
And the reasoning behind the madness! How beautifully twisted! I definitely wasn't expecting that and it brought a whole new dimension of thought, fear and discomfort. The film left me thinking and IMDBing it long after it was over and I love when a movie stays with me after the credits have rolled.
With that being said, it wasn't a perfect movie. While I thought the themes overall were great, some of them were handled in a clunky manner. Some of it was predictable. The last block also felt a tad long, although I completely understand why they did what they did. The ending, however, was fantastic and ambiguous but in the best way possible. Sometimes ambiguous endings can be really lame if not handled well but this film did a great job with the openness and the final image brought the film to a new level of depressing.
Check it out if you can. It's gory, gross, enlightening and frightening.
4.5 out of 5.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Call.Interview.Result
The Call
As I mentioned in Barback Me, Baby!, in the midst of my tenure as a barback, I received a call from a company that I had applied to earlier that summer.
“Hi, this is blah blah blah from blah blah blah. You had applied for a position here a few months ago and if you are still interested, we’d love to have you come in for an interview.”
“Sure,” I said flatly.
At that point, I was pretty jaded with everything and as much as I wanted that job when I first applied, I felt pretty blasé about it after the phone call. I realized that I shouldn’t turn down an opportunity, no matter how I felt about it and no matter how out of reach it seemed yet I didn’t allow myself to get too excited. I gathered that, at the very least, it would be more practice at interviewing. If I got the job, good, and if not, who cares? I had already given in to my misery so I wasn’t investing too much in hope. Not at the time, anyway.
When I told my mom, she got very excited. This company is like the best company in the area to work for. If you can get a job there, you’re pretty much set. They pay better than just about anyone else around, the benefits are fantastic and it’s good work. As much as I tried not to get worked up over it, the thought of a regular 8-5 office job coupled with Mom’s enthusiasm got my excitement up as well. I had to wait a whole week, though, before the scheduled interview. Every day I was at work, I kept thinking that this could be one of my last weeks here in this hellhole. The interview will go great, they’ll hire me, I’ll put in my two-week’s notice and then I’ll be up out of here! That’s when I had to stop myself. I tried not to get too excited, tried not to get my hopes up. It’s pretty funny because as cynical and negative as I am, there’s a deep down part of me that is incredibly hopeful. I think it’s because so many things have been screwed up in my life that I think things have to look up, that things have to turn around because I can’t possibly run into so much bad luck…can I?
The Interview
As soon as my dad heard about my job interview, he went to work. He knows people that know people that work there and tracked down a guy who has a lot of pull there and told them to put in a good word for me. Secondly, a lady that I used to work with at Paris Packaging now works there as well. I wrote her down as a reference. That made me feel a bit better. Then, the hesitation set in.
I had prayed for my current job and hate it. I was worried to pray for the other job because what if I hated it as well? Sure, God came through for me but it almost felt like I was wishing on a monkey’s claw. My wish came true but in a twisted, horrible way. How could God allow me to get such a terrible job? Maybe because I blindly asked for it without taking into account my happiness? I decided to be a bit more cautious this time around.
“God, just let me do well during this interview. I’m not asking for this job, I’m just asking to do well. That way, if I don’t get the job, I’ll know it wasn’t because of me.” I then prayed some more about God leading me where I’d be happy. If I was really going to hate this new job, I didn’t want it and I’d just stay put. There’s no sense going from one crap job to another. Of course, I couldn’t see how I’d hate the job since it was an office job, something I had wanted since graduation. But, I put my trust in God and gave it to Him, trusted that He knew if I’d hate the job and if I was going to, He wouldn’t put me there. If I was going to love it, He’d put me there. And there you have it.
I’m one of those people that take rejection personally. It’s easy for me to forget that a business is a business and the business will do what’s best for itself. It’s also easy for me to forget that a lot of times, it doesn’t matter what you can do but who you know. It’s about connections. It baffles me because I think I have a pretty good resume and I’m fairly articulate, especially for my small town of rednecks who can’t enough pronounce the word resume, much less produce one. Yes, I’m negative. Yes, I’m cynical. No, I’m not that way during an interview. Believe it or not, I can turn on the charm when forced to do so.
I walked into the building (fifteen minutes early, of course!) and sat down. My former coworker from Paris Packaging came through one of the doors and spoke to me. Fantastic! She was there! We talked for a bit until it was time for my interview. And what an interview it was! An hour and a half of charm, laughs, excellent articulation and answers to their questions. My former coworker was also still around when the man who interviewed me led me out to the front door. I stopped and told the man that we used to work together and he was like, “Aah, I didn’t know that, that’s nice!” I left the two of them alone when I left the building. I just hoped the man would ask her how I was to work with and she’d talk about how fun and hardworking I was. Yes, a connection!
I think it was the best interview I’ve ever done and I felt really good about that. Many thanks to God. Now, it was in His hands. I was trying to exercise some faith, although the more I thought about it, the more I really did want the job. First of all, during the interview, the two people that interviewed me said that the job would be basically faxing, filing, creating documents, etc. It was basically everything that I did at Paris Packaging and I enjoyed doing that stuff. It was easy and nothing that was too stressful. I’d have my own computer and cubicle and the best part is I wouldn’t have to work with the unwashed public. Also, great benefits and only twenty minutes from home, unlike my current hour and a half hell drive. I mean, really, how would it not be better than my current job? But, I still tried to let God handle it. It wasn’t easy, though, I will admit. The bad part was the man told me if I was chosen, I’d hear something in a couple of weeks. A couple of weeks? Oy.
The Result
I think another reason why I wanted the job so bad was because I disliked my current job so much. Every day I went into work, I thought to myself, “This could be one of the last weeks I work here!” A small sliver of joy ran up my spine and lit my face in happiness. That is, until some lame customer interrupted my daydream to order another beer that I’d have to clean up later.
As we all like to say in these situations, it was the longest couple of weeks of my life.
I really wanted that job. As much as I tried not to focus on it and worry about it and just have faith, I couldn’t help it. That’s just how I am. I am a thinker. I am a worrier. And that’s just what I do, no matter how much I try to deny it or hide it or give it to someone else to take care of.
And with all the worrying, praying, hoping and faith, I finally got my answer.
After a particularly hard day of work, I came home and noticed an open envelope on my bed. Obviously, my mom couldn’t wait. I let out a sigh and knew the answer. I took out the letter from the envelope, opened it up, scanned it and looked for my rejection. Scanning, scanning…
There it was.
Earlier, I had told God if I didn’t get the job that I would be upset. I said that I would be pretty angry because I wouldn’t understand it at first but I would eventually get over it. Keep the faith, ya know, even if things don’t go your way.
And there I stood, exhausted and now rejected. I put the letter down, took a shower and then went to bed.
Surprisingly, I wasn’t as angry as I had suspected. I was just pretty numb. It’s like, of course I didn’t get it. Another chance at happiness ripped away. The anger came later. I think I was too tired after the initial rejection to be angry.
I guess I just don’t understand because I didn’t even ask for this. I gave up on that job this past summer when I didn’t hear anything back the first time. And I was fine. And then another chance at the job falls into my lap and I took it because it was still a job I wanted but I didn’t ask for all the trouble and mental energy that it was going to take up. It just seemed like everything came together with that job. Dad knew a guy. I knew a lady that worked there. I did so well during the interview. The job came out of the blue during my unfortunate time as a barback. It just all made sense that I would get it. And I still didn't. And I'm still stuck at my old job.
It's just another paper cut in my life, just another thing to make me feel crazy and unnecessarily hurt me. Yet, I'm still trying to keep the faith, still trying to pray that I'll be lead to a job that won't make me contemplate cliff diving.
As I mentioned in Barback Me, Baby!, in the midst of my tenure as a barback, I received a call from a company that I had applied to earlier that summer.
“Hi, this is blah blah blah from blah blah blah. You had applied for a position here a few months ago and if you are still interested, we’d love to have you come in for an interview.”
“Sure,” I said flatly.
At that point, I was pretty jaded with everything and as much as I wanted that job when I first applied, I felt pretty blasé about it after the phone call. I realized that I shouldn’t turn down an opportunity, no matter how I felt about it and no matter how out of reach it seemed yet I didn’t allow myself to get too excited. I gathered that, at the very least, it would be more practice at interviewing. If I got the job, good, and if not, who cares? I had already given in to my misery so I wasn’t investing too much in hope. Not at the time, anyway.
When I told my mom, she got very excited. This company is like the best company in the area to work for. If you can get a job there, you’re pretty much set. They pay better than just about anyone else around, the benefits are fantastic and it’s good work. As much as I tried not to get worked up over it, the thought of a regular 8-5 office job coupled with Mom’s enthusiasm got my excitement up as well. I had to wait a whole week, though, before the scheduled interview. Every day I was at work, I kept thinking that this could be one of my last weeks here in this hellhole. The interview will go great, they’ll hire me, I’ll put in my two-week’s notice and then I’ll be up out of here! That’s when I had to stop myself. I tried not to get too excited, tried not to get my hopes up. It’s pretty funny because as cynical and negative as I am, there’s a deep down part of me that is incredibly hopeful. I think it’s because so many things have been screwed up in my life that I think things have to look up, that things have to turn around because I can’t possibly run into so much bad luck…can I?
The Interview
As soon as my dad heard about my job interview, he went to work. He knows people that know people that work there and tracked down a guy who has a lot of pull there and told them to put in a good word for me. Secondly, a lady that I used to work with at Paris Packaging now works there as well. I wrote her down as a reference. That made me feel a bit better. Then, the hesitation set in.
I had prayed for my current job and hate it. I was worried to pray for the other job because what if I hated it as well? Sure, God came through for me but it almost felt like I was wishing on a monkey’s claw. My wish came true but in a twisted, horrible way. How could God allow me to get such a terrible job? Maybe because I blindly asked for it without taking into account my happiness? I decided to be a bit more cautious this time around.
“God, just let me do well during this interview. I’m not asking for this job, I’m just asking to do well. That way, if I don’t get the job, I’ll know it wasn’t because of me.” I then prayed some more about God leading me where I’d be happy. If I was really going to hate this new job, I didn’t want it and I’d just stay put. There’s no sense going from one crap job to another. Of course, I couldn’t see how I’d hate the job since it was an office job, something I had wanted since graduation. But, I put my trust in God and gave it to Him, trusted that He knew if I’d hate the job and if I was going to, He wouldn’t put me there. If I was going to love it, He’d put me there. And there you have it.
I’m one of those people that take rejection personally. It’s easy for me to forget that a business is a business and the business will do what’s best for itself. It’s also easy for me to forget that a lot of times, it doesn’t matter what you can do but who you know. It’s about connections. It baffles me because I think I have a pretty good resume and I’m fairly articulate, especially for my small town of rednecks who can’t enough pronounce the word resume, much less produce one. Yes, I’m negative. Yes, I’m cynical. No, I’m not that way during an interview. Believe it or not, I can turn on the charm when forced to do so.
I walked into the building (fifteen minutes early, of course!) and sat down. My former coworker from Paris Packaging came through one of the doors and spoke to me. Fantastic! She was there! We talked for a bit until it was time for my interview. And what an interview it was! An hour and a half of charm, laughs, excellent articulation and answers to their questions. My former coworker was also still around when the man who interviewed me led me out to the front door. I stopped and told the man that we used to work together and he was like, “Aah, I didn’t know that, that’s nice!” I left the two of them alone when I left the building. I just hoped the man would ask her how I was to work with and she’d talk about how fun and hardworking I was. Yes, a connection!
I think it was the best interview I’ve ever done and I felt really good about that. Many thanks to God. Now, it was in His hands. I was trying to exercise some faith, although the more I thought about it, the more I really did want the job. First of all, during the interview, the two people that interviewed me said that the job would be basically faxing, filing, creating documents, etc. It was basically everything that I did at Paris Packaging and I enjoyed doing that stuff. It was easy and nothing that was too stressful. I’d have my own computer and cubicle and the best part is I wouldn’t have to work with the unwashed public. Also, great benefits and only twenty minutes from home, unlike my current hour and a half hell drive. I mean, really, how would it not be better than my current job? But, I still tried to let God handle it. It wasn’t easy, though, I will admit. The bad part was the man told me if I was chosen, I’d hear something in a couple of weeks. A couple of weeks? Oy.
The Result
I think another reason why I wanted the job so bad was because I disliked my current job so much. Every day I went into work, I thought to myself, “This could be one of the last weeks I work here!” A small sliver of joy ran up my spine and lit my face in happiness. That is, until some lame customer interrupted my daydream to order another beer that I’d have to clean up later.
As we all like to say in these situations, it was the longest couple of weeks of my life.
I really wanted that job. As much as I tried not to focus on it and worry about it and just have faith, I couldn’t help it. That’s just how I am. I am a thinker. I am a worrier. And that’s just what I do, no matter how much I try to deny it or hide it or give it to someone else to take care of.
And with all the worrying, praying, hoping and faith, I finally got my answer.
After a particularly hard day of work, I came home and noticed an open envelope on my bed. Obviously, my mom couldn’t wait. I let out a sigh and knew the answer. I took out the letter from the envelope, opened it up, scanned it and looked for my rejection. Scanning, scanning…
There it was.
Earlier, I had told God if I didn’t get the job that I would be upset. I said that I would be pretty angry because I wouldn’t understand it at first but I would eventually get over it. Keep the faith, ya know, even if things don’t go your way.
And there I stood, exhausted and now rejected. I put the letter down, took a shower and then went to bed.
Surprisingly, I wasn’t as angry as I had suspected. I was just pretty numb. It’s like, of course I didn’t get it. Another chance at happiness ripped away. The anger came later. I think I was too tired after the initial rejection to be angry.
I guess I just don’t understand because I didn’t even ask for this. I gave up on that job this past summer when I didn’t hear anything back the first time. And I was fine. And then another chance at the job falls into my lap and I took it because it was still a job I wanted but I didn’t ask for all the trouble and mental energy that it was going to take up. It just seemed like everything came together with that job. Dad knew a guy. I knew a lady that worked there. I did so well during the interview. The job came out of the blue during my unfortunate time as a barback. It just all made sense that I would get it. And I still didn't. And I'm still stuck at my old job.
It's just another paper cut in my life, just another thing to make me feel crazy and unnecessarily hurt me. Yet, I'm still trying to keep the faith, still trying to pray that I'll be lead to a job that won't make me contemplate cliff diving.
Friday, January 29, 2010
Categorically Correct
It just feels good to know that I’m not always wrong about people. On my first day as a barback, I was introduced to a scary hairy man who was to train me. He stood at about five foot nothing, his head coming up to my chest. He had a ring of closely cropped hair that surrounded a bald spot on the crown of his head. I guessed he was in his early forties by the lines that etched into his forehead and splintered off the corners of his watery blue eyes. His face was small and square, a neatly kept goatee surrounding his thin lips. His clothes were weathered and worn to the point of no longer having structure. Tufts of hair poked out of his outstretched shirt collar and covered his short, stubby arms. His voice was loud and carried a country cadence that grated my nerves. I instantly didn’t like him. He was too loud, too serious and too creepy when it came to the ladies. He was a small man but a giant slime ball. Any time an attractive woman would walk past, he’d make some sleazy remark and then follow them with his eyes as they walked by, an unsettling grin across his hairy lips. You could just tell he was undressing them with his pervy eyes as the women walked by.
As I mentioned before, he changed the soda fountain syrup bags like they were IVs and didn’t hesitate to sling the sticky stuff on my newly purchased ninety-five dollar shoes. He was way too serious about changing the bags and keeping everything squeaky clean. He also kept telling me every five minutes if I wanted a “drank” I could get a “drank” from the soda fountain and put it on one of the shelves but I was supposed to put it in a certain spot so he wouldn’t mix up the cups and drink after me. The feeling’s mutual, turd. I’d hate to choke on some of that his hair while taking a “swaller” of the Sierra Mist. He was also quick to point out when I made a “booby” as he called it one time.
“Um, you made a booby earlier over thar,” he shouted, although he was standing right in front of me, close enough that I could count the rough pores that spread out along either side of his hooked nose. “You got the Diet Dr. Pepper and the reg’lar Dr. Pepper mixed up. You gotta be real careful.” Crap. The guy made me so nervous that I couldn’t help but to make boobies from the intense pressure of trying to do everything just the way he preferred. This isn’t chemistry, dude.
One day, while the intense man was away, I was sticking my hand through one of those barely accessible cardboard holes to check on the status of the plastic bag’s fluid content when one of the other barbacks came in to check on me. He was much younger, taller, thinner and smoother than the other man. His cheekbones prominently stood out in contrast to the rest of his sunken, sloping face. His lips were round and chapped, his hair slicked down across his forehead and ending in a slight wave.
“How’s it going?” he asked, his voice deep and gravely, reminiscent of a pubescent boy getting used to his new enlarged larynx.
“Alright,” I said reluctantly. As much as I wanted to turn to him with my troubles over this new position, I knew I probably shouldn’t unload in front of this stranger ‘cause he’d probably think I was a total freak. Fortunately, I didn’t have to. He offered up his own observations on the scary hairy man.
“Nobody in the bar likes him,” he said. “Everyone talks about him. And the way he is around the women.” He closed his eyes and shook his head in a disapproving manner.
I stood there with my eyebrows in knots, half surprised to hear I wasn’t crazy and half jubilant that I wasn’t.
“He’s just so anal about everything,” he added. My pales eyes lit up as the barback continued to relay his dissatisfaction with the hobbit.
After he left, I felt so much better about the way I felt about the man. A lot of times, I'm concerned that my general disdain for people might cause me to make swift, unfair judgments of certain individuals. I admit that I can be pretty quick and pretty harsh in my estimations of others. I often feel that sometimes I'm being way out of line but when I'm validated like that, it makes me feel like I'm less of a dick. Furthermore, there's a guy on my team that I've mentioned briefly. Talk about a dick! I've had several new teammates come up to me and ask, "Is this guy a smart ass to you, too, or is he just like that to me?"
"No," I replied. "He's like that to everyone."
Once again, feels good to know that it's not just me, that I'm not totally wrong.
And that's not to say that I dislike everyone. Just because I can point out jerks effortlessly doesn't mean I can't finger the friendly folks as well. In fact, there's two ladies on my team that I genuinely like. Sure, I might be heartless and have no friends but that doesn't mean I'm a bad judge of character. I'm not saying I'm excellent, either. It's just that, I don't know. Is it just me or does everyone feel slightly apprehensive when someone gets on our nerves? We know they irritate us but do they irritate anyone else as well? Are we being too harsh or are we justified in our thinking? I often feel that maybe I just have a low tolerance for obnoxious behavior but then when people come up to me and confirm what I was already thinking, it's kind of comforting.
As I mentioned before, he changed the soda fountain syrup bags like they were IVs and didn’t hesitate to sling the sticky stuff on my newly purchased ninety-five dollar shoes. He was way too serious about changing the bags and keeping everything squeaky clean. He also kept telling me every five minutes if I wanted a “drank” I could get a “drank” from the soda fountain and put it on one of the shelves but I was supposed to put it in a certain spot so he wouldn’t mix up the cups and drink after me. The feeling’s mutual, turd. I’d hate to choke on some of that his hair while taking a “swaller” of the Sierra Mist. He was also quick to point out when I made a “booby” as he called it one time.
“Um, you made a booby earlier over thar,” he shouted, although he was standing right in front of me, close enough that I could count the rough pores that spread out along either side of his hooked nose. “You got the Diet Dr. Pepper and the reg’lar Dr. Pepper mixed up. You gotta be real careful.” Crap. The guy made me so nervous that I couldn’t help but to make boobies from the intense pressure of trying to do everything just the way he preferred. This isn’t chemistry, dude.
One day, while the intense man was away, I was sticking my hand through one of those barely accessible cardboard holes to check on the status of the plastic bag’s fluid content when one of the other barbacks came in to check on me. He was much younger, taller, thinner and smoother than the other man. His cheekbones prominently stood out in contrast to the rest of his sunken, sloping face. His lips were round and chapped, his hair slicked down across his forehead and ending in a slight wave.
“How’s it going?” he asked, his voice deep and gravely, reminiscent of a pubescent boy getting used to his new enlarged larynx.
“Alright,” I said reluctantly. As much as I wanted to turn to him with my troubles over this new position, I knew I probably shouldn’t unload in front of this stranger ‘cause he’d probably think I was a total freak. Fortunately, I didn’t have to. He offered up his own observations on the scary hairy man.
“Nobody in the bar likes him,” he said. “Everyone talks about him. And the way he is around the women.” He closed his eyes and shook his head in a disapproving manner.
I stood there with my eyebrows in knots, half surprised to hear I wasn’t crazy and half jubilant that I wasn’t.
“He’s just so anal about everything,” he added. My pales eyes lit up as the barback continued to relay his dissatisfaction with the hobbit.
After he left, I felt so much better about the way I felt about the man. A lot of times, I'm concerned that my general disdain for people might cause me to make swift, unfair judgments of certain individuals. I admit that I can be pretty quick and pretty harsh in my estimations of others. I often feel that sometimes I'm being way out of line but when I'm validated like that, it makes me feel like I'm less of a dick. Furthermore, there's a guy on my team that I've mentioned briefly. Talk about a dick! I've had several new teammates come up to me and ask, "Is this guy a smart ass to you, too, or is he just like that to me?"
"No," I replied. "He's like that to everyone."
Once again, feels good to know that it's not just me, that I'm not totally wrong.
And that's not to say that I dislike everyone. Just because I can point out jerks effortlessly doesn't mean I can't finger the friendly folks as well. In fact, there's two ladies on my team that I genuinely like. Sure, I might be heartless and have no friends but that doesn't mean I'm a bad judge of character. I'm not saying I'm excellent, either. It's just that, I don't know. Is it just me or does everyone feel slightly apprehensive when someone gets on our nerves? We know they irritate us but do they irritate anyone else as well? Are we being too harsh or are we justified in our thinking? I often feel that maybe I just have a low tolerance for obnoxious behavior but then when people come up to me and confirm what I was already thinking, it's kind of comforting.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
The Barback's Bad Luck
Written January 10th.
I knew I had made a huge mistake after the first night of my new position. I tried to talk to my manager but he said he was too busy for me and that I should see him the next day. I did. I told him I wanted my old job back. He said he’d talk to his boss. The next day, he said I should be able to transfer back to my old position the next week. Fine. Only two more days with the scary and hairy hobbit man. I can deal.
Next week rolls by and I talk to my new manager and ask him what’s up with transferring back and he changed his story. “Well, I talked to my boss and he said you have to either sink or swim. You gotta stay with me and maybe on down the road, if he needs any other customer service person, he’ll consider you.”
Uuuhhhh.
I stood there in a kind of shock because he had told me the week before that it wouldn’t be a problem for me to go back to customer service. They still needed to fill two slots on my team and I could easily slide into one of those spots but the boss’ reasoning was that I had made this decision and now I had to stick with it or quit. Really? Really?
“So, what do you wanna do?”
“Well,” I replied, “I can’t quit. I need this job, so…”
I then asked him what my pay would be. After repeatedly asking him days before, he still hadn't given me a straight answer. If I'm going to be stuck doing this, I at least need to know what my pay is going to be. He went to the human resources lady to ask her. She replied with a salary that was about a dollar and some change less than what I was already making. Really? Really? After my boss had repeatedly told me it would be a pay raise? I sat with the human resources lady and my boss and claimed there was some definite miscommunication going on. She sat stone faced and told me to come back at my scheduled work time and that she and my boss would talk about it to see what they would do.
I left the building and sat in my car and cried a little bit. How is it possible that things just consistently turn to crap with me? How is it possible that I keep making the wrong decisions, keep digging myself deeper into this hole? Even more than that, how is it that I can’t even get out of these situations that I put myself in? People make mistakes, sure, but most are also able to clean up their messes. Yet, for me, I'm forced to wallow in them.
I had a few hours to kill until my scheduled work time so I went driving around a bit. A few minutes into driving, the human resources lady called me on my cell phone and told me that they had made a mistake with some paperwork. They never offered me an offer letter outlining the job duties and pay rate and therefore I could go back to my old position.
"You got lucky this time," she said, "but in the future, you need to take responsibility for your actions."
Well, earlier, when I was talking to the human resources lady and my boss, I told them upfront that I wasn't trying to cause any problems and that I did take responsibility for not fully investigating the position but I take no responsibility for the pay. I kept asking about that and kept getting different answers but it pissed me off because she was acting like I was being unreasonable.
She then went on to tell me she was concerned about my decision to become a barback because of the decrease in pay and the gritty nature of the work. Well, she never bothered to come to me about her concern. But, you know, other people did come up to me. That's the funny part. People that I didn't even know where coming up to me in the days before I changed over and asking me about it with a sort of bewilderment in their eyes. I should have taken that as a sign that something was askew. Apparently, everyone but me knew this was a bad move.
What really pissed me off was the fact that the human resources lady said without the slightest bit of sincerity in her voice, "I am just concerned that you're happy." Complete bull. If she was concerned with my happiness, then she would have allowed me to go back to my old position without any hesitancy. And to compound my anger, I still hate customer service. Don't forget that I might have made a stupid move but that was fueled by my complete dissatisfaction with customer service. I was basically looking for a way out. Unfortunately, I ended up screwing up worse but I'm still not happy with customer service. I'm less miserable, you could say. It just upsets me that I have to keep hoping and wishing for stupid, degrading jobs because I can't do any better.
And then comes the whole idea of not jumping from job to job and sticking things out when they get bad. I understand that, I really do, but this wasn't me just hopping from one job to another. This was me transferring to a different position, realizing it was a giant mistake and wanting to go back to what was doing. I just don't know anymore. All I know is I can't find relief.
She said I was lucky to get my old job back but if I was really lucky, I wouldn't have ever gotten myself into this situation in the first place. No, there is no lucky Brannon. There is only that dead guy who can't seem to get anything right, who keeps finding himself in these silly, sordid situations. It's almost as if my life could be a sitcom.
Except it's a lot funnier when it's not happening to you.
I knew I had made a huge mistake after the first night of my new position. I tried to talk to my manager but he said he was too busy for me and that I should see him the next day. I did. I told him I wanted my old job back. He said he’d talk to his boss. The next day, he said I should be able to transfer back to my old position the next week. Fine. Only two more days with the scary and hairy hobbit man. I can deal.
Next week rolls by and I talk to my new manager and ask him what’s up with transferring back and he changed his story. “Well, I talked to my boss and he said you have to either sink or swim. You gotta stay with me and maybe on down the road, if he needs any other customer service person, he’ll consider you.”
Uuuhhhh.
I stood there in a kind of shock because he had told me the week before that it wouldn’t be a problem for me to go back to customer service. They still needed to fill two slots on my team and I could easily slide into one of those spots but the boss’ reasoning was that I had made this decision and now I had to stick with it or quit. Really? Really?
“So, what do you wanna do?”
“Well,” I replied, “I can’t quit. I need this job, so…”
I then asked him what my pay would be. After repeatedly asking him days before, he still hadn't given me a straight answer. If I'm going to be stuck doing this, I at least need to know what my pay is going to be. He went to the human resources lady to ask her. She replied with a salary that was about a dollar and some change less than what I was already making. Really? Really? After my boss had repeatedly told me it would be a pay raise? I sat with the human resources lady and my boss and claimed there was some definite miscommunication going on. She sat stone faced and told me to come back at my scheduled work time and that she and my boss would talk about it to see what they would do.
I left the building and sat in my car and cried a little bit. How is it possible that things just consistently turn to crap with me? How is it possible that I keep making the wrong decisions, keep digging myself deeper into this hole? Even more than that, how is it that I can’t even get out of these situations that I put myself in? People make mistakes, sure, but most are also able to clean up their messes. Yet, for me, I'm forced to wallow in them.
I had a few hours to kill until my scheduled work time so I went driving around a bit. A few minutes into driving, the human resources lady called me on my cell phone and told me that they had made a mistake with some paperwork. They never offered me an offer letter outlining the job duties and pay rate and therefore I could go back to my old position.
"You got lucky this time," she said, "but in the future, you need to take responsibility for your actions."
Well, earlier, when I was talking to the human resources lady and my boss, I told them upfront that I wasn't trying to cause any problems and that I did take responsibility for not fully investigating the position but I take no responsibility for the pay. I kept asking about that and kept getting different answers but it pissed me off because she was acting like I was being unreasonable.
She then went on to tell me she was concerned about my decision to become a barback because of the decrease in pay and the gritty nature of the work. Well, she never bothered to come to me about her concern. But, you know, other people did come up to me. That's the funny part. People that I didn't even know where coming up to me in the days before I changed over and asking me about it with a sort of bewilderment in their eyes. I should have taken that as a sign that something was askew. Apparently, everyone but me knew this was a bad move.
What really pissed me off was the fact that the human resources lady said without the slightest bit of sincerity in her voice, "I am just concerned that you're happy." Complete bull. If she was concerned with my happiness, then she would have allowed me to go back to my old position without any hesitancy. And to compound my anger, I still hate customer service. Don't forget that I might have made a stupid move but that was fueled by my complete dissatisfaction with customer service. I was basically looking for a way out. Unfortunately, I ended up screwing up worse but I'm still not happy with customer service. I'm less miserable, you could say. It just upsets me that I have to keep hoping and wishing for stupid, degrading jobs because I can't do any better.
And then comes the whole idea of not jumping from job to job and sticking things out when they get bad. I understand that, I really do, but this wasn't me just hopping from one job to another. This was me transferring to a different position, realizing it was a giant mistake and wanting to go back to what was doing. I just don't know anymore. All I know is I can't find relief.
She said I was lucky to get my old job back but if I was really lucky, I wouldn't have ever gotten myself into this situation in the first place. No, there is no lucky Brannon. There is only that dead guy who can't seem to get anything right, who keeps finding himself in these silly, sordid situations. It's almost as if my life could be a sitcom.
Except it's a lot funnier when it's not happening to you.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Barback Me, Baby!
Written January 4th.
The bartending thing isn’t going to work out and I am desperately begging for my old position back.
The hesitation set in long before I accepted the position. People I didn’t even know where coming up to me and saying, “So, I heard you’re going to be a bar back now? Did you do that by choice?”
“Well, yeah. And I’m actually going to be, like, a bartender’s apprentice,” I corrected them.
Or so that’s what I was told.
The slimy ten-dollar bill guy even joked that I was the first guy in work history to demote himself. Bartending didn’t seem like a demotion to me. Little did I know that everyone else seemed to have a better grasp on what I’d actually be doing than I did.
On the first day on the job, I knew I had made a huge mistake within the first ten minutes. It was New Year’s Eve and I was given two minutes worth of training by some hairy hobbit looking dude before he dashed away, leaving me on my own to keep the soda supply flowing for the entire building, including two bars and three restaurants. Wait, huh? Where are you going, Mr. Hobbit man? I need some supervision here!
That didn’t happen but I did survive the night, barely. Let me also say that I wasn’t given an access key to the bar so I couldn’t even go in to grab supplies needed to keep everything stocked. I had to stand in line with the hundreds of New Year’s drunkards and flag someone behind the bar down with my flailing hands to hand me cups so I could refill the holders. And that irritated the bartenders because they were too busy mixing drinks to take the time out to help me. Well, crap, it’s not my fault these people #1) hired me to begin on one of the busiest nights of the year and #2) didn’t have the proper materials or training for me to do my job to the best of my ability.
The hairy hobbit man is also incredibly abrasive and intense. He takes his job way too seriously. There’s nothing wrong with working hard and having pride in what you do but he’s acting as if there’s life-giving blood in those plastic bags instead of soda fountain syrup. He also talks about two notches louder than the average person. I don’t know if it’s because he’s so small he feels he needs to yell to carry his voice to the ears of those taller than him or what but he always comes off like he’s yelling and I don’t like that. I don’t like when people raise their voice to me or anyone else because it makes me incredibly uncomfortable. I also didn’t like the fact that when he’d change a bag he would remove the old one, sling it on the floor, consequently slinging the sticky syrup mixture onto the floor, as well as tossing the perforated cardboard flaps to the ground and the caps that go to the plastic bags. I suppose he was thinking the bags needed to be changed so quickly that he didn’t have time to just freaking hand the bags to me, so as not to make a mess, and that throwing them to the floor would be a better idea. I found that action to be rude and inconsiderate, especially when he was throwing those sticky materials in my direction, possibly getting that goo on my pants or newly purchased work shoes. As I mentioned, he’s not replacing vital fluids or anything so he needed to ease up a bit.
I rang in the new year by mopping the floor, breaking down and throwing away cardboard boxes and getting elbow deep in sticky syrup. I was actually going from one bar to the other to check on the cups when midnight hit. All around me, people grabbed their loved ones and pulled them in for a kiss. From one point of my vision to the other, everyone came together and embraced and the scene only accentuated my singularity. It didn’t help that I felt utterly alone with what I was doing. At least when I was in customer service, I was a part of a team and not just one half of the Mountain Dew duo. We all mostly got along but I surely didn’t like this new man that I was paired with. It didn’t help that I was barely acknowledged by the beverage servers. They only spoke to me when they wanted me to hand them a cup while I was refilling the holders or to get out of their way as they passed by with a tray full of drinks. And I thought being a customer service associate was at the bottom. And maybe it is but I somehow managed to dig a hole and crawl inside, making my position even lower, as evident by the dismissal of everyone around me. I suppose you can’t escape high school. There will always be cliques, always be people who think they are better and higher than you are and won’t hesitate to let you know with their turned up noses and condescension.
You wanna know the sophisticated way we check to see if the fountain syrup bag needs changing? Why, you stick your hand through the tiny cardboard cut out hole and feel up the bags! Might not seem like a big deal but sticking my hand through that impossible small hole provided many scrapes to my fingers and put my hands in a chapped condition. It was easy for the hobbit man to stick his entire arm through the hole but I couldn’t even stick my hand all the way through. I don’t have gigantic hands but those holes were just too small. And when I tried to tear the cardboard slightly to provide more room for my hand, the guy admonished me and said that would lead to the box’s collapse. After that, I just tried my best to shove my hand in as far as it would go, leaving read streaks and irritation on my hand and arm.
And when a bag would start to feel empty, the guy pulled the bag out of the cardboard box and hung it up, allowing for the last bit of liquid to drain before changing the bag. It also allows for a visual cue for when the bag needs to be changed. After he did one bag, I decided to be a good little follower, show him I was paying attention, took some initiative and pulled out what I thought was an almost empty bag while he left to go stock some beer or find a ring or something. When he came back, I pointed to the emptying Sunkist bag and told him what I had done.
His fuzzy eyebrows merged to create a deep crevice in his forehead and he shouted, “NO! Put that bag back in the box, it isn’t empty enough!” Holy crap, okay mister! Talk about a soda jerk! I hurriedly squeezed the bag back into the box and then left to check the cups. When I came back, I saw that the bag had once again been taken out. I suppose it was empty enough then, although there was basically the same amount of liquid in that bag. This guy didn’t make any sense! His philosophy was to “work smarter, not harder,” which was complete bull when you recall the way he would change the bags, you know, by sloshing the syrup and chucking the plastic caps over his tiny shoulder. “Don’t worry about it,” he told me. “You just mop up anything you spill.” Well, uh, if you’d carefully change the bags, you wouldn’t spill anything in the first place, thus removing the need to mop.
And on Saturday night, I was introduced to another bar back that would be helping me out since the little hairy man was going to be off that day. Not trying to be rude but I don’t think he was all there. It was in the way he spoke and his behavior. Luckily, he was behind the bar most of the time and I didn’t have to interact with him regularly but every time I went into the bar to ask him for cup refills, he would always give me the wrong number of sleeves. The bar was quite noisy so when I asked him for three sleeves of cups, I said the word and even held up three fingers as a visual cue. He even repeated the number back to me as confirmation and yet when he came back, he brought back five. This went on the entire night. I’d ask for one and he’d bring me three. I’d ask for five and he’d bring six. Huh? I didn’t know what to do with all the extra cups so I just placed them over the cup holders for the next time I’d need to refill them. I suppose it was good that the extra cups allowed me to avoid interacting with the numerically challenged man.
I tried to talk to my new bar supervisor the first night I started to tell him I wanted to go back to my old position but he said he didn’t have time to talk to me and that I should come in early the next day to chat. Uhh, okay. The next day, I did just that and told him I didn’t want to do this anymore. Before I did that, I asked him some specific questions about the job. When I first applied, he told me he wasn’t even in need of a bar back but would train me as a bartender. I assumed the soda room would be a one time deal just to get me acquainted with all aspects of the bar and drinks. Yet, when I looked at my schedule, it had me in the soda room for the foreseeable future. Even the hairy hobbit man said that I was better off in customer service. Also, I asked the head bar guy several times about my pay. He was really dodgy with his answer, first telling me it would be a pay raise and then giving me an estimate of how much I’d be making. That’s how much I was making as a customer service associate. Not really a pay raise. And I wasn’t really a bartender in training. I wasn’t even a bar back at that point. I was the soda guy, the lowest of the low. The head bartender guy had obviously misinformed me about what I’d be doing. I went ahead and told him I just wanted to revert back to what I was doing.
“Well, the HR people have gone for the day and they won’t be back until Monday and you wont’ be back into work until Tuesday so come in and we’ll talk to someone.”
I didn’t really understand what the big deal was. I had only been doing this for about two days at that point. Why couldn’t I just go into work the next day back on my same team. Sure, I understand if there’s some paperwork that needs to be done but couldn’t that be done later just to finalize everything? Why should I wait for approval? The part that really sucks is the bar guy said he wasn’t sure if I’d be put on my same team, if I was able to get my old position back at all. First of all, they might have already found a replacement for me, which I think is ridiculous because we had two people on my team that moved on to different positions about the second or third week on the job and they haven’t been replaced YET and here I am, only having been gone for two days, and they’ve got someone lined up to take my place? That sucks. Secondly, the hesitation to send me back to where I came from stems from the company not wanting people to hop from job to job. While I can understand that, I’m not hopping from job to job. I simply made a huge mistake and just want to go back to what I was doing before. Almost like it never happened, you know? It really doesn’t have to be as complicated as everyone is making it out to be.
It’s just all so frustrating because I can’t believe I keep getting myself into these situations. It would be comical if it weren’t so pathetic. Remember, I hate customer service. And yet I’m hoping and wishing that I can go back there. It’s just so outlandish to me that I have to lie in bed at night and hope that I can go back to scraping ashtrays and wiping away everyone's greasy fingerprints.
And in an interesting turn of events, as I was writing this entry, I got a call from a company that I had applied for several months ago asking me if I wanted to come in for an interview. It's an office job, what I wanted in the first place. No smoke. No public to deal with. Sounds good, right? I accepted an appointment for an interview. I'm going to go and do my best during the interview and see where it goes from there. If I don't get a call back I won't be upset but if I do get a call back and possibly a job offer, what am I going to do? Should I take it? I thought this bartending thing would be great but it turned out to be worse. What if this is the same situation? Should I take another risk and probably end up failing yet again or should I just play it safe and stick to what I hate but what I know? Ugh, this is such bad timing, too. Here I am, wanting to get my old position back but if I accept this other job I'll be leaving them again. That definitely won't look good for me.
Slice, slice. More and more paper cuts.
The bartending thing isn’t going to work out and I am desperately begging for my old position back.
The hesitation set in long before I accepted the position. People I didn’t even know where coming up to me and saying, “So, I heard you’re going to be a bar back now? Did you do that by choice?”
“Well, yeah. And I’m actually going to be, like, a bartender’s apprentice,” I corrected them.
Or so that’s what I was told.
The slimy ten-dollar bill guy even joked that I was the first guy in work history to demote himself. Bartending didn’t seem like a demotion to me. Little did I know that everyone else seemed to have a better grasp on what I’d actually be doing than I did.
On the first day on the job, I knew I had made a huge mistake within the first ten minutes. It was New Year’s Eve and I was given two minutes worth of training by some hairy hobbit looking dude before he dashed away, leaving me on my own to keep the soda supply flowing for the entire building, including two bars and three restaurants. Wait, huh? Where are you going, Mr. Hobbit man? I need some supervision here!
That didn’t happen but I did survive the night, barely. Let me also say that I wasn’t given an access key to the bar so I couldn’t even go in to grab supplies needed to keep everything stocked. I had to stand in line with the hundreds of New Year’s drunkards and flag someone behind the bar down with my flailing hands to hand me cups so I could refill the holders. And that irritated the bartenders because they were too busy mixing drinks to take the time out to help me. Well, crap, it’s not my fault these people #1) hired me to begin on one of the busiest nights of the year and #2) didn’t have the proper materials or training for me to do my job to the best of my ability.
The hairy hobbit man is also incredibly abrasive and intense. He takes his job way too seriously. There’s nothing wrong with working hard and having pride in what you do but he’s acting as if there’s life-giving blood in those plastic bags instead of soda fountain syrup. He also talks about two notches louder than the average person. I don’t know if it’s because he’s so small he feels he needs to yell to carry his voice to the ears of those taller than him or what but he always comes off like he’s yelling and I don’t like that. I don’t like when people raise their voice to me or anyone else because it makes me incredibly uncomfortable. I also didn’t like the fact that when he’d change a bag he would remove the old one, sling it on the floor, consequently slinging the sticky syrup mixture onto the floor, as well as tossing the perforated cardboard flaps to the ground and the caps that go to the plastic bags. I suppose he was thinking the bags needed to be changed so quickly that he didn’t have time to just freaking hand the bags to me, so as not to make a mess, and that throwing them to the floor would be a better idea. I found that action to be rude and inconsiderate, especially when he was throwing those sticky materials in my direction, possibly getting that goo on my pants or newly purchased work shoes. As I mentioned, he’s not replacing vital fluids or anything so he needed to ease up a bit.
I rang in the new year by mopping the floor, breaking down and throwing away cardboard boxes and getting elbow deep in sticky syrup. I was actually going from one bar to the other to check on the cups when midnight hit. All around me, people grabbed their loved ones and pulled them in for a kiss. From one point of my vision to the other, everyone came together and embraced and the scene only accentuated my singularity. It didn’t help that I felt utterly alone with what I was doing. At least when I was in customer service, I was a part of a team and not just one half of the Mountain Dew duo. We all mostly got along but I surely didn’t like this new man that I was paired with. It didn’t help that I was barely acknowledged by the beverage servers. They only spoke to me when they wanted me to hand them a cup while I was refilling the holders or to get out of their way as they passed by with a tray full of drinks. And I thought being a customer service associate was at the bottom. And maybe it is but I somehow managed to dig a hole and crawl inside, making my position even lower, as evident by the dismissal of everyone around me. I suppose you can’t escape high school. There will always be cliques, always be people who think they are better and higher than you are and won’t hesitate to let you know with their turned up noses and condescension.
You wanna know the sophisticated way we check to see if the fountain syrup bag needs changing? Why, you stick your hand through the tiny cardboard cut out hole and feel up the bags! Might not seem like a big deal but sticking my hand through that impossible small hole provided many scrapes to my fingers and put my hands in a chapped condition. It was easy for the hobbit man to stick his entire arm through the hole but I couldn’t even stick my hand all the way through. I don’t have gigantic hands but those holes were just too small. And when I tried to tear the cardboard slightly to provide more room for my hand, the guy admonished me and said that would lead to the box’s collapse. After that, I just tried my best to shove my hand in as far as it would go, leaving read streaks and irritation on my hand and arm.
And when a bag would start to feel empty, the guy pulled the bag out of the cardboard box and hung it up, allowing for the last bit of liquid to drain before changing the bag. It also allows for a visual cue for when the bag needs to be changed. After he did one bag, I decided to be a good little follower, show him I was paying attention, took some initiative and pulled out what I thought was an almost empty bag while he left to go stock some beer or find a ring or something. When he came back, I pointed to the emptying Sunkist bag and told him what I had done.
His fuzzy eyebrows merged to create a deep crevice in his forehead and he shouted, “NO! Put that bag back in the box, it isn’t empty enough!” Holy crap, okay mister! Talk about a soda jerk! I hurriedly squeezed the bag back into the box and then left to check the cups. When I came back, I saw that the bag had once again been taken out. I suppose it was empty enough then, although there was basically the same amount of liquid in that bag. This guy didn’t make any sense! His philosophy was to “work smarter, not harder,” which was complete bull when you recall the way he would change the bags, you know, by sloshing the syrup and chucking the plastic caps over his tiny shoulder. “Don’t worry about it,” he told me. “You just mop up anything you spill.” Well, uh, if you’d carefully change the bags, you wouldn’t spill anything in the first place, thus removing the need to mop.
And on Saturday night, I was introduced to another bar back that would be helping me out since the little hairy man was going to be off that day. Not trying to be rude but I don’t think he was all there. It was in the way he spoke and his behavior. Luckily, he was behind the bar most of the time and I didn’t have to interact with him regularly but every time I went into the bar to ask him for cup refills, he would always give me the wrong number of sleeves. The bar was quite noisy so when I asked him for three sleeves of cups, I said the word and even held up three fingers as a visual cue. He even repeated the number back to me as confirmation and yet when he came back, he brought back five. This went on the entire night. I’d ask for one and he’d bring me three. I’d ask for five and he’d bring six. Huh? I didn’t know what to do with all the extra cups so I just placed them over the cup holders for the next time I’d need to refill them. I suppose it was good that the extra cups allowed me to avoid interacting with the numerically challenged man.
I tried to talk to my new bar supervisor the first night I started to tell him I wanted to go back to my old position but he said he didn’t have time to talk to me and that I should come in early the next day to chat. Uhh, okay. The next day, I did just that and told him I didn’t want to do this anymore. Before I did that, I asked him some specific questions about the job. When I first applied, he told me he wasn’t even in need of a bar back but would train me as a bartender. I assumed the soda room would be a one time deal just to get me acquainted with all aspects of the bar and drinks. Yet, when I looked at my schedule, it had me in the soda room for the foreseeable future. Even the hairy hobbit man said that I was better off in customer service. Also, I asked the head bar guy several times about my pay. He was really dodgy with his answer, first telling me it would be a pay raise and then giving me an estimate of how much I’d be making. That’s how much I was making as a customer service associate. Not really a pay raise. And I wasn’t really a bartender in training. I wasn’t even a bar back at that point. I was the soda guy, the lowest of the low. The head bartender guy had obviously misinformed me about what I’d be doing. I went ahead and told him I just wanted to revert back to what I was doing.
“Well, the HR people have gone for the day and they won’t be back until Monday and you wont’ be back into work until Tuesday so come in and we’ll talk to someone.”
I didn’t really understand what the big deal was. I had only been doing this for about two days at that point. Why couldn’t I just go into work the next day back on my same team. Sure, I understand if there’s some paperwork that needs to be done but couldn’t that be done later just to finalize everything? Why should I wait for approval? The part that really sucks is the bar guy said he wasn’t sure if I’d be put on my same team, if I was able to get my old position back at all. First of all, they might have already found a replacement for me, which I think is ridiculous because we had two people on my team that moved on to different positions about the second or third week on the job and they haven’t been replaced YET and here I am, only having been gone for two days, and they’ve got someone lined up to take my place? That sucks. Secondly, the hesitation to send me back to where I came from stems from the company not wanting people to hop from job to job. While I can understand that, I’m not hopping from job to job. I simply made a huge mistake and just want to go back to what I was doing before. Almost like it never happened, you know? It really doesn’t have to be as complicated as everyone is making it out to be.
It’s just all so frustrating because I can’t believe I keep getting myself into these situations. It would be comical if it weren’t so pathetic. Remember, I hate customer service. And yet I’m hoping and wishing that I can go back there. It’s just so outlandish to me that I have to lie in bed at night and hope that I can go back to scraping ashtrays and wiping away everyone's greasy fingerprints.
And in an interesting turn of events, as I was writing this entry, I got a call from a company that I had applied for several months ago asking me if I wanted to come in for an interview. It's an office job, what I wanted in the first place. No smoke. No public to deal with. Sounds good, right? I accepted an appointment for an interview. I'm going to go and do my best during the interview and see where it goes from there. If I don't get a call back I won't be upset but if I do get a call back and possibly a job offer, what am I going to do? Should I take it? I thought this bartending thing would be great but it turned out to be worse. What if this is the same situation? Should I take another risk and probably end up failing yet again or should I just play it safe and stick to what I hate but what I know? Ugh, this is such bad timing, too. Here I am, wanting to get my old position back but if I accept this other job I'll be leaving them again. That definitely won't look good for me.
Slice, slice. More and more paper cuts.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Afflictions
For the past few weeks, I've had an intense pain in my left shoulder area. The pain starts around my collarbone and wraps around to my shoulder blade and often splits and spreads to my neck and back area. I don't know why, I don't know how. I don't remember pulling a muscle or anything so this pain is confusing and unexplainable and it only exacerbates my frustrations. I've complained to a few of my coworkers and they've said it could be a pinched nerve. That's a possibility. I've been eating medication like candy and have been using those Thermacare heat wraps nightly and they've only provided slight, temporary relief. I suffer daily. As soon as I get to work, the pain sets in and only gets worse throughout my shift. It gets so bad sometimes I can't lift my left arm to put on my jacket at the end of the night or wash my hair in the shower. I know I should probably go to the doctor if it doesn't get better but I really don't like going to the doctor. I had enough of that after my surgery this past summer. I am just hoping it might go away on its own. Until then, bring on the Bengay.
And to make matters worse, the lump is back. You know the game Left 4 Dead and it's sequel? You know how a disease broke out and spread and caused everyone to turn into rabid zombie-like maniacs? Well, I know where the disease originated. In a bingo pavilion, much like where I work. I can't tell you how many times I've seen people sneeze right into their hands and then continue to put their hands on the machines. They don't get up and wash their hands or even use any Purell. And I'm the one that has to wipe down those machines. My cleaning cloth is probably infested with all kinds of germs and bacteria and I'm just standing there, breathing it all in every day. Well, anyway, my point was we had a sickness that spread throughout work about a week or two ago. Day after day, someone else on our team caught it and called in sick. I was not spared, although I didn't get the worst of it. As soon as I felt my throat start to hurt, I started taking cold medication. I felt crummy for about a week but never so much that I had to miss work or was tied to my bed for a day or two. I guess it didn't matter. Sick is sick no matter the severity. And what has happened every time I've gotten sick for the past two years or so? The lump returns to rear its ugly head.
To say I'm disappointed would be an understatement. My doctor was hopeful the surgery would eliminate the lump but here I am, less than four months later, and it's already back. It just makes it seem like that surgery was a complete waste of time and money. As I've said, I don't feel like I can breathe any better and now the lump is back in my throat and so the surgery didn't help that, either. I guess the only other option is more surgery, specifically removal of the cyst. Yet, I'm not too thrilled about that because I'm pretty sure something will go wrong. Doesn't something always go wrong with me? After seeing that episode of Mystery Diagnosis, the thought of cyst removal has frightened me. A lady had a lump removed from the left side of her neck and in the process, the doctor severed some sort of nerve which paralyzed the left side of her face. Not only did she have to relearn how to talk, she now talks with a slur and the left side of her face hangs down. I don't want to end up looking and sounding like Mary Jo Buttafuoco. I can live with this lump or have a lazy face. Either way, I'm screwed.
I've been walking around with my head down, trying to conceal the lump with my chin. It's so embarrassing and I am constantly wondering who noticed it, who's wondering about it, who's asking about it behind my back. "Did you see that lump in his throat? What's wrong with him?" I'm so tired of dealing with this and I'm tired of looking like hell despite my best efforts. It's sad that I have to walk with my head down and be ashamed of myself. Maybe I should just give it up and accept that I will always be deformed in one way or another. It's just so intensely irritating because I worry about everything else enough as it is and this lump is something so unnecessary and something I shouldn't have to deal with, especially since I tried to do something about it, tried to get it fixed. All my efforts were for naught. As they always are.
And to make matters worse, the lump is back. You know the game Left 4 Dead and it's sequel? You know how a disease broke out and spread and caused everyone to turn into rabid zombie-like maniacs? Well, I know where the disease originated. In a bingo pavilion, much like where I work. I can't tell you how many times I've seen people sneeze right into their hands and then continue to put their hands on the machines. They don't get up and wash their hands or even use any Purell. And I'm the one that has to wipe down those machines. My cleaning cloth is probably infested with all kinds of germs and bacteria and I'm just standing there, breathing it all in every day. Well, anyway, my point was we had a sickness that spread throughout work about a week or two ago. Day after day, someone else on our team caught it and called in sick. I was not spared, although I didn't get the worst of it. As soon as I felt my throat start to hurt, I started taking cold medication. I felt crummy for about a week but never so much that I had to miss work or was tied to my bed for a day or two. I guess it didn't matter. Sick is sick no matter the severity. And what has happened every time I've gotten sick for the past two years or so? The lump returns to rear its ugly head.
To say I'm disappointed would be an understatement. My doctor was hopeful the surgery would eliminate the lump but here I am, less than four months later, and it's already back. It just makes it seem like that surgery was a complete waste of time and money. As I've said, I don't feel like I can breathe any better and now the lump is back in my throat and so the surgery didn't help that, either. I guess the only other option is more surgery, specifically removal of the cyst. Yet, I'm not too thrilled about that because I'm pretty sure something will go wrong. Doesn't something always go wrong with me? After seeing that episode of Mystery Diagnosis, the thought of cyst removal has frightened me. A lady had a lump removed from the left side of her neck and in the process, the doctor severed some sort of nerve which paralyzed the left side of her face. Not only did she have to relearn how to talk, she now talks with a slur and the left side of her face hangs down. I don't want to end up looking and sounding like Mary Jo Buttafuoco. I can live with this lump or have a lazy face. Either way, I'm screwed.
I've been walking around with my head down, trying to conceal the lump with my chin. It's so embarrassing and I am constantly wondering who noticed it, who's wondering about it, who's asking about it behind my back. "Did you see that lump in his throat? What's wrong with him?" I'm so tired of dealing with this and I'm tired of looking like hell despite my best efforts. It's sad that I have to walk with my head down and be ashamed of myself. Maybe I should just give it up and accept that I will always be deformed in one way or another. It's just so intensely irritating because I worry about everything else enough as it is and this lump is something so unnecessary and something I shouldn't have to deal with, especially since I tried to do something about it, tried to get it fixed. All my efforts were for naught. As they always are.
Monday, January 18, 2010
Suffer Cycle
karma cuts
like the serrated edges of the boomerang
that you cast out so carelessly
see it slice through the air
and break the backs of boys
it cleaves into their spines
and harpoons their hearts
you let go of the good
but grip tight to your grief
and as i lie in the grass
i’ll watch as your abandonment of others
cycles back into you
but i can’t grasp onto the satisfaction
as the boomerang stabs you in your own back
because i’m still waiting for mine
to cut me down as well
like the serrated edges of the boomerang
that you cast out so carelessly
see it slice through the air
and break the backs of boys
it cleaves into their spines
and harpoons their hearts
you let go of the good
but grip tight to your grief
and as i lie in the grass
i’ll watch as your abandonment of others
cycles back into you
but i can’t grasp onto the satisfaction
as the boomerang stabs you in your own back
because i’m still waiting for mine
to cut me down as well
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