It’s been something like two months since I’ve started working at the restaurant (we’ll call it that for now because I don’t want the wrong people to find this post) and every day that passes by, I feel less and less like I belong. To be honest, I never felt like I belonged in the first place.
Why do I need to feel a sense of belonging? It’s not like I’m going to spend the rest of my life working there; it’s just about the money – this isn’t my life. But I’m only human and everyone knows that Homo sapiens like to feel like they belong . . . lest they feel uncomfortable.
I don’t even think I can describe it as a feeling of discomfort. It’s so many things mixed into one and it will take a few trips around the bush for me to flesh this feeling out. Continue reading
Boy do I never want to see a bag of flour again . . .
Like I explained to my friends on Saturday evening as we convened for our weekly yoga class, I’ve had my fair share of experience in the world of work, but never have I ever had to work this hard EVER to get paid. Ever.
I don’t think I even put any thought into what a job like this entailed before I decided (years ago, mind you) that I wanted to try it out. My mother worked at this same place for about 16 years . . . after one week I have no idea how she did it. Part of it probably has to do with the fact that I have more dough land experience than her. She claims she only learned to make dough when she became a supervisor (some 10 years after working there) and she was short staffed and had no choice but to do it. Continue reading