Plan A: Figure Out A Plan.

Plan B: continue holding myself together like a champ for another 10 days in which I will finally be in my own bedroom where I can break down freely and un-judged. 

The last few days have been…. something. Fun. Exhausting. Didactic. (New Word, heck yeah! thanks Thesaurus.com
Yes. Intended for instruction or teaching a moral lesson. I have been floating through these cool, late summer mornings holding onto the fact that A and I have one week until we can move into our little basement suite and relate to “Two Broke Girls” on a whole new level. Its been stressful for both of us as we’ve been bouncing from friends houses to work, sleeping on floors and couches, and trying to express our thanks for their hospitality by being overzealous in the cleaning. A lot of the time we think “We could really use a drink.” but then a little voice reminds us that rent and the rest of the damage deposit are due in 7 days and we stay on the couch watching cartoons and drinking water. 

On Monday night I ran in all black across the Olympic Park. No, I didn’t win anything. Yeah, it was really, really warm out. My lovely manager told me about an NHL gala fundraiser that needed servers and then he went even further to set it up for me and forward my number to the co-ordinators. (calgarians are so nice. I love it here.) So, on Sunday afternoon I was told where to be at what time and to be in all black. Then I missed my train and grabbed the bus which was now late. Fortunately the bus didnt have to stop at a lot of the stops so we were running early. YAY! Unfortunately, the driver thought he needed a bathroom and food break at a gas-station where he parked for 5 minutes to get back on schedule. WHATAREDOINGIMLATEAAAAHHHHFGGGGGG! Somehow, I made it and people smiled at me as I burst through the doors of the gym of Canada’s finest Athletes. I calmed my breathing, fanned my face, gave a chin nod to some cute guys who were probably just mature 16 year olds, and then booked it up the stairs and attempted to get my next few hours figured out. 
 800 people, business men, important, familiar looking sports people, hockey players (lots from team canada, but no Sidney Crosby. Probably a good thing as I would have likely offered him a cream cheese stuffed watermelon piece and dropped it on him as I stared at his godlike beauty…………

Focus, Sarah. Focus.)  and Boston Pizza Owners were there. Or at least their sons were. I heard a rumour that each table was $15,000 and we were serving ten people per table. It was a lot of really rich people and as I brought food and cleared plates I continued telling myself “Sarah Marie Goddard, if you so much as even almost trip and drop this water on that dress you are going to jump on the next flight to china and never find that fame and fortune you dream of unless its in newspapers for being a runaway. Smile. Step surely. Don’t trip. Don’t trip. Dear God don’t let me trip I can’t afford to trip.” Now take that speech and expand it to fill 8 hours and there you have it.

Tuesday handed me a fun Pasta Tuesday serving shift where nothing of significance took place. I made 30 dollars in tips thanks to bills being low and tables being few. 
Wednesday, was a day off. I went to the beach with my sister and friend and got Chinese food, a tub of ice cream, chocolate bars, and pizza. It was probably the worst day of food my body has ever received except for any rodeo ( mini donuts…)  however, I was under a lot of emotional stress and A’s truck got ticketed and towed and we just really needed reese’s pieces ice cream. A whole half gallon of it.
Thursday, hmm. What did I do yesterday. I went for coffee with my sister again and another friend, came back to the house and wrote a great goodbye letter for my sister to read on the plane, edited it, went to write a blog, got distracted by actual travel blogs, and then went to work. 
Work. Ha. I arrived. I was given the ten table patio. As 5:30 rolled around I complained that I hadn’t had a single table and wouldn’t make any money that night. Bam! *initiate late dinner rush on the patio.* I was sat four tables at once, rocked that, and then didnt have time to complain about being bored until 11:30 that night when, an hour and a half after I was ‘off’, I got home. During those hours I served grumpy people who tipped well and happy people who said “Thanks for the excellent service! That was great!” and then slapped me in the bank with a 3% tip. I don’t care what you think about the government needing to pay us the same so you don’t have to tip. Until they change that, servers are working for our tips. If you don’t want to tip, go to McDonalds or stay home. (Unless its bad service. Then do whatever. But please, please, don’t tell me it was great and you are happy with everything and then not even cover tip-out. It hurts.) 
At the 3% tip, my energy was running low, me feet despised me for the heels I was wearing, and my tear ducts were filling up with stupid unnecessary emotional water. I accidently gave the wrong bill to a table and they paid three dollars less than what they should have, and though they wanted to fix it, I was told that here in Alberta that can come out of my pocket. So I lost three bucks there and gritted my teeth when they told me “You’re lucky it was such a small bill. Some servers have to pay out 20 bucks or more depending on the bill.” Not a big deal today; Made me want to cry last night. I closed my last table at 9:30 and was simultaneously sat a 10 top and a 9 top. Serving them was great and I was not about to complain about the extra hour or the potentially good tips. Then I cleared the 10 top and in scullery I turned my focus from the tray of glasses I was holding to the lack of room in the glass rack. I felt a balance shift on the tray and then smash, shmew, crash. As glasses fell one at a time I stood solidly and just yelled at them “JUST. STOP. No! URG. Please stop falling….” at this time I was also the only female working and I just don’t cry in front of guys. So I sniffled back those annoying emotional waters, took a breath, and got a broom. Everyone tried to make me feel better with stories of “One time I dropped this many plates—” and I smiled for them, then I refused a hug, refocused my priorities, and worked to get out of there. And I didn’t cry! I was so happy. 

I’ve had so many plans that I’ve probably gone through the entire alphabet twice in the last two weeks. They are constantly changing. Right now I’m sticking with Plan B. Relax, take one thing at a time but always focus farther ahead, and just breathe. Things are going to work out. 
I have a date tonight with a guy who asked me out during Stampede in July. I told him he’d have to wait until August 14th and now I’m just thankful that I’m actually going out with him before September. I don’t know much about him. He’s nice though via text which we don’t do much which I like because really, texting is so impersonal. I’ll probably let ya’ll know how that goes if it goes. 

Have a wonderful, Weird afternoon, World. All my scattered love, 

Sarah. 

Mom, please hug S, N, E, A, and you for me please. I miss you guys. Grossi, heres a hug for you too. Anita, thanks for being so cool and awesome. Give Grandma a gentle hug for me and tell her I’ll have a letter for her soon. Dad, thanks for being you. I love you and miss you. All my siblings who don’t read this, I love you guys and even though I’m kinda not like you guys, I still admire each and every one of you. To the song that began playing and inspired this sudden paragraph of love and missing, I’m changing you because you’re too mushy for this day. 

 

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2 thoughts on “Plan A: Figure Out A Plan.

  1. You poor girl. Times are hard. They will get better and you will flourish. And boy, will you appreciate the good times. Intestinal fortitude is what you have in spades! Love

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