No More Red Cheeks

As I climbed the greasy pole of the service industry to get to my position, I saw people at their worst. People in the hotel industry often do!

I've seen the embarrassed birthday girl finishing off her two tier cake when no one shows up and we have to insist we take the full amount off their credit card. (It wasn't me.... maybe)

I've seen the last minute event havoc before the curtains go up, and there's more last minute running around than ants fleeing bug spray!

We know, as many people do, that there are times that we annoy even ourselves for the horrible things we think and do, even if we don't mean it. For all the people that witness us at our worst, there's always a harsher critic.

Ourselves.

Most recently I have really annoyed myself at how petty I was and I just couldn't help it!As I thought "God, I should have just stopped when I was swimming for the egg", I realised that my horrible thoughts could be quite funny. So here I am, ready to be judged for all the horrible things that have crossed my mind.

These are my confessionssssss

Do you ever have a bad smell wash over you so hard and so fast that you feel you are swimming in it and it's infiltrating your pores? It might be stale pee in a long narrow stairway, or the boiling vat of lard and hot curry that is some fortunate soul's natural scent. What I fear, is not only the initial "OH GODDDD" and the cover of my nose, but afterwards, when I'm still in the stair way or next to this person that reeks of puberty and I STOP SMELLING IT. Do I smell like that now? Is that why I can't smell it anymore? Today I was slightly disappointed when an overweight person took the place on the train seat next to me, of the skinnier person that I had orinigally moved over for. How rude is that? My brain needs soap!

When I saw a male hairdresser approaching me with the straightening iron, I thought "this guy is either going to be really freaking amazing, or I'm going to come out of here looking worse than Dobby the House Elf... with freshly burnt ears". I found myself judging him harshly for every nick of my ear, and every burn to my scalp (as you do), but the bad part is, I had this horrible almost-unfightable urge to scream "How would you know what you're doing? You have less hair than Lex Luther and you're A MAN. GO DRIVE A TRUCK LIKE NATURE INTENDED!".

Then I calm down, and feel so bad I want to throw the book at myself and go to bed without dinner.

I hope I'm not the only one that laughs at my own lame jokes.

Out loud.

While alone.

With a mouthful of Ben and Jerry's.

About something really stupid like a one liner that doesn't even make sense, like "Download a virus? Already? At least buy me a drink first".

It's not funny! I thought it was so clever that I wrote it down and dribbled Chunky Monkey down my new Portmans Jacket. Class act, funny lady.

I have a confession. I ranted about my horrible pedi for a whole week. "A light scratch does not a massage make" I would say. You would think that I would be used to it after my 3rd visit there with the same problem. Yet I ranted and raved like a jilted lover even though I should have known better, paid an extra $10 somewhere else and saved myself the disappointment.

The last time I went drinking, I woke up with voice messages from the NSW Department of Health asking me if they can use last night's YouTube videos for their new ban on alcohol campaign. The ad would have started with "She was supposed to be in Church, but she stopped at the bar for a quick drink". I turned the offer down. I'm far too modest for that!

That and I didn't want my mother to see me barefoot in Darling Harbour running up to random strangers saying "it's ok guys, I got this. I'm wearing shoes". "If you guys have any problems, don't worry. I'm wearing shoes". 

I hope the tourists got my good side when they were making vids to send back home.

I did have some horrible, serious thoughts that were the muse of this blog. I was ready to be rude to someone  I hadn't yet met because I didn't like the sound of her. I didn't think she fit with my group, so I was going into bulldog mode.

And boom, annoyed at myself. Then boom. Outpouring blog of my inner worst thoughts to scrub up my soul a little.

Please judge me, so I can have redemption, and hopefully make you feel better for the absolutely haneous times that you thought you were really funny, too rude, and a downright racist for no good reason.

<3 Miss Coordinate

The Food and Beverage Exposé

There's something about public transport that gets me writing. Maybe it's the forced hour of spare time in which I can either fall asleep and drool on a stranger, Facebook till I get annoyed at spelling errors, or check out photos of True Blood.. and drool on a stranger. Nom. Nom. Nom.

Heading for a job interview, I find myself pondering, not only about how much you have to work out to get those abs, but about how I wound up out of a job once more. Battling for the best, or any, Event Coordinator job is not easy. Working my way up from Food and Beverage Operations, has proven even harder.

Food and Beverage operations in a hotel is like... throwing something in the bin from far away and no one seeing it. If you talk to people about it, they will say "good job", but no one actually cares. At the end of the day, it's a jazzy way to say, "I feed, water, and clean up after people".
I can't figure out if the final straw for me was being understaffed on purpose while running 2 three course dinners and a night conference, carrying glass tables down 2 flights of stairs, or the monotony. Set coffee station. Take out coffee. Refresh conference room. Bring coffee in. Take coffee out. Make espressos for entire team, because instant coffee is shit. Refresh room. Repeat 3 times daily. Reset coffee station. It takes mental strength not to throw your hands up in the air sometimes, singing "ayo, where'd my life go?".

What I knew for sure was this: I could no longer be made to feel inadequate by a Manager that couldn't spell. "Cloths". THERE IS NO "E" IN CLOTHS!!! I will NOT place the dirty oval CLOTHES anywhere!!! One day I had enough and thought, I can't be undermined by stupidity any longer! I have a diploma!
My inner self says, "Relax Miss C, everyone has a Diploma". Everyone.... Except that guy!

Sure, the people were pretty great and the pay was good, and the America fund won't be growing for a while,  but you can't put a price on piece of mind!

So what did I learn?

- Being the super nice staff supervisor with the spine of a gummy bear does NOT earn you respect. It seems that everybody gets off a little on some tough, sadistic love and punishment. Not me;
- I'd prefer praise and hand shakes over "we'll discuss this in your probation meeting" any day of the week;
- Being hobbit-like in stature and eager to please does not make you fit for room set ups and pack downs;
- Being a manager of a team isn't easy. You actually have to be a prick to get the job done. The only difference is, some people enjoy pricking more than others;
- I was ready to pack in my hospitality smile and go back to organising people's lives- I mean... Events;
- If they had posed the job the way it was, I would have said no thanks. Then again, who would really say "Actually, it's a job anyone can do. You won't get a promotion till you prove yourself (by giving us your first born), and you'll be expected to work 10-12 hour days. Of course, we only pay you for 7.5 of those hours. My response would have been, "I would rather sit at home and shove a pencil so far up my nose, it impairs my vision. Could you please validate my parking?".

My way of learning is not to be pushed, tried and tested like a criminal. I thought I was ready to build my career one heavy brick at a time, like Jerusalem (except, replace the sacred with the plate-scraping, chair placing, bowl cleaning, coffee pouring ugly reality of food and beverage).

There IS an easier way. Get your boss to admit he pushed too far, and say you've been with the company for a year, when you're still on probation.
Just this once, I'll save the sweat, and rest assured that I've done enough time to know what I need to get to the top.

AND I can spell.

Thank your waiters,

<3 Miss Coordinate 

The Incarnation Experiment

Every once in a while, when you feel like you've lost yourself and there is no way to bring back that spark, one remembers that they can always reinvent themselves. At a price.
This brings me to today, where I headed to the nearest Westfields to get my fix. I called it my day of Retail Incarnation. A reboot for the soul, ignoring all financial judgement from the Angel on my shoulder. She reminded me that I caught the bus there to save on petrol money.

I ignored her!

Just to hasten the guilt-free haze, I bought myself a new Christina Re notebook for all my delicious ideas.

I was thoroughly enjoying myself, when it hit me. School Holidays. The holidays themselves didn't actually hit me, but a sticky-fingered fairy-floss hand on my new prized possession did. What I concluded was this

a. I needed a baby wipe pronto
b. The coordinator who put a kids playground, a magician, a balloon animal guy, a popcorn machine and a fairy floss (grr) stand in one small corridor should be fired immediately.( And I should definitely take their place! )
c. I'm fairly certain that Frederick William III didn't actually invent the modern "schools" as we know them. I bet it was his wife Louise, with 10 children. I can see it now, that poor woman just wanting to freaking shop in peace from 9-3 on a week day, and VOILA! School.

So for those of you who can't wait to get the young masses back into their educational confinements; to shop without the sickly sweet smell of popcorn and oily fingers, and the shrilly squeaks of "I WANNA GO HOME!!!", fear not. It's only two weeks away. And if it wasn't for that super baby making Louise, those cotton candy stands would probably be permanent features of our shopping experience.

Aside from the shrills, the prams cramming me inside aisles and blocking my entrance to many a tiny sale store, I still managed to get some goodies to cart home. I probably should have known when to call it quits, but there's always one more pair of shoes that I need, and don't have. It was the straw that broke the camels back.. And also his piggy bank. And by the camel's piggy bank...... I mean my own.

Although I had to wait an extra 15 minutes for my Ben and Jerry's fix, the devil herself (It's a she. She wears Prada, right?) couldn't wipe the child like delight on my face. I lit up brighter than a tacky Christmas tree when I got handed that small tub of chocolate chip cookie dough evil (which of course, melted all over my handbag as I forgot I wouldn't be getting home in the comfort of my air-conditioned, petrol weilding vehicle).

Of all the children that could have messed me up, here I am cleaning up after my own child like delights.

Scrubbing my guess bag by hand like a good little girl,

<3 Miss Coordinate