So I committed a major sin against feminism today.
I cried at work. Burst right into hyperventilating tears while my boss was in the middle of (semi-privately) berating me for screwing something up. I tried so hard not to. I'm usually a pretty damn composed person, and am good about taking a stand for myself in the workplace. But this time, I just felt so shitty. My boss is nit-picky, but I do mess up. Small things, but with regularity. I just can't seem to go in and give it 100% and have a perfect day. And when I feel like I'm doing that, I go in the next day only to discover that I forgot to change the menu board or didn't top off the hot water.
Breakdown: Today, I left cool water running on a griddle in the sink (so it would be cool enough for me to wash it) while I ran downstairs to get some laundry out of the housekeeper's way (he'd just arrived for his shift). I consciously left it on, thinking—it'll save time! But I was down there for a few minutes (thinking to myself, "it's fine. Not like it can get too cold"). And that's when my boss shows up for the day, sees the water running like that in the empty kitchen, goes to the basement to find me moving my sheets out of the dryer (a thing we're totally allowed to do, just fyi) and is like "You left the water running." And I say "Oh, yes, I am cooling the griddle down." And then he just says "come upstairs", like, livid, and starts this long list of mistakes he's noticed lately. And all of them are true and I'm just standing there thinking "Jesus Christ, heart_of_copper, you cook and clean. This isn't goddamn corporate marketing or heart surgery. It's an inn. If you can't fucking do this, then what can you do? Really, what the fuck can you do? That will realistically pay you enough to keep your apartment and pay your bills." And then I feel it coming on, and I think "you will not, you will NOT CRY."
And then I just started weeping.
It was so fucking embarrassing. My boss—who has never touched me, ever, outside of a handshake—slowed down and gave me a half hug, which only made it worse, and I couldn't tell him not to because when I cry, I literally can't control my breathing or form words when it starts (anyone else? It sucks!). It took me a looooooooong minute or more to be able to stutter out, "I'm sorry. This is really unprofessional. Let's just keep talking." He told me I could go home (I practically live next door) for a little bit if I needed to, and reminded me that I hadn't done anything that was going to get me fired, that he wanted nothing more in the world than for me to keep working there. I didn't go home. He left to "get coffee"/give the poor thing her space, and I went inside and finished the kitchen shift, bursting into tears at intervals while mopping and praying to newborn baby jesus that the housekeeping guy wouldn't walk through and see me like that.
What the absolute fuck is happening? My life is grand. I love where I live. I love my friends and family. I have time to freely pursue my writing—which I am great at and love, but which will not make me enough money to live in a hostel. I even love my job. I am what you would call a "positive person". I have the ability to laugh at anything bad that happens to me and just keep going, because none of it is really all that bad. Shit, I was laughing about the image of myself crying while mopping, while I was thinking about it and crying. But now I'm starting to really, truly feel like I'm unfit for any kind of gainful employment whatsoever, and it scares the shit out of me. Everything I love depends on my ability to make a living and stay right where I am.
Also, I'm running dangerously low on toilet paper, and all the stores are closed. I'm going to be shit out of luck if I can't stop this crying.
Whew. Merry Christmas! Other than this shit, it's been a fabulous one! Hope yours is merry and bright and full of extra toilet paper, GTers! xo