So why am I going on this trip? Why not? I woke up the other day frustrated because I’m afraid that no one takes me seriously. I used to be very serious about my jobs. I wanted to be the best barista/bartender/waiter in the world, and I wanted people to take what I do seriously. Why? I used to get so frustrated when people wouldn’t appreciate the good service I had put forth. The customer is always right? No, sometimes the customer is a fucking asshole. But the reality is that it often goes unnoticed that I do a good job, or that I deserve a little gratitude, because I’m 23. No one takes a 23 year old seriously. This woman walked into the bar yesterday and says smugly, “You’re young. If I order a mixed drink are you going to know how to make it?” No, I’m just here for looks. Let me see your ID ma’am. We card for minors and old bitches.
Yes, I’m young. And yes, I work three jobs. No matter how professional and hard working I am, I can’t change the fact that I’m 23. Society says that I don’t care about my deadbeat job and that I am just waiting for the time clock to roll over so I can kick it at some party. That’s not me… but maybe it should be. When my day is over the last thing I want to do is to go out drinking. I want to relax and watch a movie because work kicked my ass. I’ve missed out on a lot of fun weekends on the lake, beer marathons in Ohio, concerts in Chicago, ski trips, white water rafting trips, parties, weddings, and even funerals because I work doubles on Saturday. Loverboy songs can suck it. But no one cares because I’m 23… I work the hours that the older employees don’t want. When I ask for well-deserved raise, no one takes me seriously. I’ve exacerbated the point that I need a break.
But not being taken seriously means that I can take a break if I fucking want to! I can quit my lousy jobs, take my earnings, and catch a flight to Japan. Who cares? I’m 23. This is my freedom. Making this realization that no one is going to take me seriously has shown me not to be so serious. The days counting down to the day I leave are getting easier than I expected. I stopped caring about my dead-end jobs and started caring about living my life until I leave. So now I’m at that party 30 minutes after I clock out, and I’m thankful that I work at a coffee shop that keeps a bottle of ibuprophen in the cupboard. Morning shift hangovers are a bitch! I’m 23. I have no car payment, no mortgage, and no rent payment. My mom still does my laundry and I love it! I cannot wait to give my jobs the middle finger (preferably drawn out in latte art form) and set out for the big world. Seriously, I’m done trying to take life so seriously. August 1st hurry up!