Advice From A Fictional Woman I Personally Invented
8/31/20266 min read
I have some terrible news. I know. Again. Apparently lately I'm into complaining like my life depends on it despite having very little to actually complain about. Because my problem is: I like my job.
This is obviously not ideal. The plan was simple: I needed a job after traveling, I got a good one — although at first I was pretty convinced they'd eventually realize I wasn't the right fit and fire me — and I would make money while continuing to write and figuring out what I actually wanted to do next. The restaurant was not supposed to become a character-development opportunity.
And yet, recently I've found myself taking one of my approximately seventeen thousand daily laps around the fourth floor, smiling and nodding, when I had the deeply unsettling thought: Wait. Am I having fun?
I was.
Recently I got business cards. Real ones, with my name and actual managerial title printed on them, which made me think we've been slightly dishonest about what my job is. It should probably say President of Taking Laps Around the Fourth Floor, Director of Showing People Where the Bathroom Is, or simply Clown in Charge.
A lot of my day really is walking around, talking to people, making them laugh and solving problems when they appear. I work hard, I just don't believe in putting out fires that don't exist, and restaurants are particularly good at convincing everyone that everything is an emergency. If there's a problem, I'll fix it. If there isn't, I'm going to continue my lap around the fourth floor and probably throw a joke here and there.
Which makes it particularly embarrassing that I recently spent an entire evening panicking because I lost my key fob. I immediately convinced myself it was a security issue, I'd get written up, and this might somehow be the incredibly stupid thing that finally gets me fired.
Then I thought about a character I'm developing for the TV show I'm writing, which is set at a resort and is becoming increasingly suspiciously inspired by my actual life. She spends most of her employment wondering what she can get away with, and I realized she would not give a single fuck about losing a key fob. She'd tell someone, they'd give her another one, and if they got mad she'd probably ask if that meant she could go home.
Oh. Yeah. Maybe this doesn't need to ruin my evening.
Apparently I'm now taking life advice from a fictional woman I personally invented to make bad decisions.
She was right, though. I found the key fob behind the printer in the manager's office. The entire crisis had occurred exclusively inside my head over an object that had never actually left my workplace.
The other thing I’ve started realizing is that I can occasionally fuck something up and survive largely because people like me. I don’t mean major things. I haven’t burned the restaurant down (yet!). But every once in a while I’ll do something wrong, say something I probably shouldn’t have said, lose something I apparently didn’t actually lose, or discover a rule approximately six weeks after I was supposed to know it existed. And somehow the conversation always becomes some variation of:
Well, your personality is great. Which is excellent news because I’ve been developing that particular professional skill for 29 years. Finally, my education is paying off. I’m an Excellent Personality Hire. Put it on LinkedIn.
And weirdly, the joking is also part of why I think I’m actually pretty good at managing people. Everyone knows I joke a lot. They know I’m not looking for reasons to get anyone in trouble. I would much rather make fun of you (like in a loving way) than write you up. So when I actually stop joking and tell someone something is an issue, they generally know I mean it.
Although sometimes the management techniques are a little less traditional. Recently one of the hosts kept complaining to me about someone new. And complaining. And complaining. I tried explaining that being new at a fast-paced restaurant is hard, that it takes time to get used to everything, and that we don’t need to make it harder on someone by constantly reminding them how long everyone else has worked there.
He continued. Eventually, I exhausted my entire managerial toolbox and told him I’d write him up for being too gay if he didn’t shut up. Reminder - I am also gay, which doesn’t make this HR-approved but does make it funnier. I don’t believe this particular management strategy is in the employee handbook.
But he stopped complaining. So I’m counting it as conflict resolution.
Then a real tragedy happened: I discovered blackout days exist.
Apparently there are periods when we're so busy that nobody is supposed to request time off. I've worked here for two months. This was new information, although it was very likely mentioned in the welcome packet I never cared to open. To be fair, I didn't think I'd stay here this long.
This is especially concerning because requesting days off has somehow become one of my primary responsibilities, and I had plans for Thanksgiving. Not little plans either. Brazil plans with my friends. Apparently Thanksgiving is a blackout period.
My immediate reaction was obviously that I was still going to Brazil. I just needed a new plan. But that's when I realized I might be in trouble, because a couple of months ago this would've gone directly into the mental folder labeled Reasons I Will Quit This Job. Instead, I was trying to figure out how to do both.
I still want to go to Brazil. Obviously. Let's not be insane. I just also want to come back to the job I have. Which is new.
Somewhere along the way, this stopped feeling like a random job I happened to have. More annoyingly, I like these people. Not all of them. Let's not get carried away. But I like walking in and immediately having six conversations, knowing everyone's drama, dealing with ridiculous little emergencies, joking with everyone and figuring out which problems are actual problems and which ones require me to nod thoughtfully for thirty seconds before continuing my lap around the fourth floor.
I like the chaos. Which is annoying, because I had a plan. This was supposed to be just a job — make money, complain about being tired, eventually quit and go do whatever comes next. Instead, I accidentally started caring. Worse, I think I'm actually pretty fucking good at it.
Very inconvenient.
Lately I've also been doing this thing where, whenever something feels scary, embarrassing or like it might get me in trouble, I think: What happens if I just do it?
Technically, I'm calling it research for the script. I sent a risky text to an ex-friend telling her I missed her. I told someone at work I'd write him up for being gay. I'll ask a homeless person what they're planning to spend my dollar on before I give it to them. Different situations, different stakes, questionable research methodology.
But I can report that cool things happen surprisingly often. Sometimes something good happens, sometimes something funny happens, and sometimes absolutely nothing happens and I realize I was nervous about a twelve-second interaction for no reason.
And apparently taking a job I fully intended to quit as soon as possible has become part of the experiment too. So far I've gotten a TV show worth of material, business cards with an inaccurate job title, several new friends, and a concerning amount of evidence that I might actually be good at this.
Unfortunately, the research suggests I like my job. For now, I'll continue collecting data.