In fact, it was one of those days I felt like I really can’t do this. I should just go home.
Maybe it’s the hospitality industry… it depresses me? Or maybe it’s just this awful job I have right now. I just don’t know what else I can do here for money…
It all started when I got in a fight with my very Italian, very stubborn boss this afternoon. He told me to wash his precious (and very expensive) hand-made crystal long-stemmed champaign flutes with extreme caution because they were so delicate. So I did. When I finished, he told me I should have been done in half the time. Being the arrogant, mouthy, young American girl that I am, I snapped right back with the comment he gave me about them being sssooo costly and fragile. He didn’t like that much.
Actually, it all started when I told him that his website made the place look like a gay bar. (I said it nicely, don’t worry!) But apparently I forgot that you never EVER give an Italian man corrective criticism. They’re way too proud; it makes them defensive.
Then when I told him that my father said so as well, he told me we were stupid, ignorant Americans. I didn’t like that much. And I thought it gave me permission to be a bitch back.
Again, I was wrong. I forgot – I rely on this man for money.
But anyways, I worked the night as a waitress and made several stupid mistakes on my own, and then combined with the mistakes of the kitchen – it just wasn’t pretty. A lot of the things I did that drew screaming matches with Stephano I just did because the other girls I work with did them. Unfortunately, I am not nearly as beautiful as they are and thus, I am here to work and they are here to look at. And please, read this conversation (unless you are my mother, brother, father or other worried member of my family) I had with not one – but two – of the guests tonight (I’ll write the first conversation verbatum. The second was similar; same intentions, at least):
CLIENT: “So what exactly are you? Dancer? Waitress?” (they ask this because after the Moulin rouge type show, we are encouraged to dance with our clients and Stephano on stage as we clean)
ME: “Oh you know, we’re waitresses but we dance with the clients to make sure they have a good time and we clean and we make drinks… we do a lot around here!”
CLIENT: “Oh, ok. So how much for one of you for the night then? And do I have to go through Stephano?”
See, I just don’t love working in a place where I can be mistaken for a hooker.
Grrr… I get so angry even just thinking of tonight. TWO WEEKS. That’s my goal. Get myself a little over 600€, buy a motorbike, and start looking again. Just ten more days of Stephano… yea right. I’m already miserable.
But that was just the beginning. Work sucked. I left convinced I would make some nice evening phone calls, go home quickly and easily, crawl into bed and start tomorrow as a new day. BUT NOTHING IS EVER EASY.
I hadn’t even left the parking lot when the gaslight come on in my P.O.S. car – and my gas station is closed until Monday. As I drove down the road I realized that I probably don’t even have enough gas to get to work tomorrow. Silly me; that would quickly become the least of my problems.
The only payphone I really feel comfortable in at night here is the one near the local marché, probably because it’s the only booth I’ve been inside of during the day as well. I headed there, looking forward to my favorite daily phone call and chatting with the family back home – but no one answered. It always happens like that – when you really want to speak with someone, no one is home.
With no one to talk to, I drove back toward the cabanon, parked in the lot, and got ready to make the terrifying hike from the car to the house in pitch dark. I made it to the top of the first staircase to the beach. It’s narrow, surrounded by bushes, and in the middle of the steps sat some angry beast with gleaming teeth and glowing green eyes – and his dinner. I know better than to approach a feasting wild animal, so I carefully but quickly turned around and headed back towards the car.
Lacking a phone to call anyone (be it for some company, strength, or in an emergency – i.e. getting attacked by an angry French animal) I was extra intimidated when I encountered some other wild beasts on the trek back to the car. Keep in mind it’s really dark, so these descriptions may not be accurate. Not to mention I was terrified – so they may be mostly in my head. But I THINK I saw a wolf-like animal that was more the size of a fox with long, beautiful white hair, and long, ferocious white teeth to match. I saw a large white pig trotting down the pavement into the woods. I walked into several spiders’ webs (and we all know how arachnophobia I am). I even saw one of those rat-like things that some people are crazy enough to call a pet; Jennifer Aniston had one in “Along Came Polly” – I just can’t think of the name right now.
I went back to the phone booth and got a hold of my Aunt Sarah, which helped a little bit. At least I got to speak to one loving relative tonight?
After some time had passed and I figured my nemesis had finished his dinner, I realized there was no way in hell I was trying that hike again without a flashlight. So I drove my gasless car to the local bar and begged to borrow one. The lovely bartender conceded and voila – I made it home alive. I’m not going to lie though, defiantly one of the scarier things I’ve done in my life.
(local bar - during the day)To add to my bad day, I also lost a 14k gold bangle bracelet and a large 14k gold hoop earring. My rings are not in the locale I left them in before work and I am hoping the cleaning guy just moved them and didn’t pocket them. And I have to buy more Internet time and I’m not supposed to get paid for a month. A whole month. UGH.
On another note, when I went to St. Tropez today I realized how badly I want this to be home. I want to know everyone – from the lady at the sandwich stop to the guy who runs the local bar – and I want them to know and like me. I want good friends and a job I enjoy. And most of all, I want to be fluent in French (the guy at the Internet café today was impressed that I was so proficient with the French keyboard. “Now you only have to learn the language!” he told me, yet again…). I am an instant-gratification kind of girl and this is taken longer than I expected. I haven’t even been here two weeks.
I love it here. I just had a bad day. These things happen. But what I wouldn’t give to just talk to some friends back home who have faith in me… Maybe that’s what I hate most, no one here has faith in me. Of course, I don’t know anyone well enough here for anyone to have a chance to have faith in me.
I do, however, know six different people who all left voicemails in rapid French on my cell phone – none of which I understand.
Tomorrow is a new day. Well, today, I guess. 4am is becoming an early bedtime for me. That’s sad.
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