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Mia: Shaken Not Stirred |
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Saturday, August 23, 2008Thank You “How do you over come it”, I asked “how do you survive it?” “One fucking painful day at a time kid” she replied, “but you can’t let the pain define you or dictate your life. Instead you focus on the good and then one day without even realizing it you let go of the pain and you’re reborn.” I was asked to write an essay as to why I chose my field specifically why I want to work with troubled children and adolescents and I froze. I could give a standard answer of wanting the world to hug and kumbaya their ills away and to do this we must first treat the children but the reality is that the answers that spring to mind are myriad and complex. Ultimately it comes down to this. I’ve been blessed in life and I know it. My work is a debt I owe and gladly repay with love because if someone had not taken the time to save a child’s life over thirty years ago I’m certain that the person who stands before you today would not exist. I’ve always felt that my path was chosen for me during my freshman year of college but in retrospect I guess the path was already being mapped out for me as far back as 1965 … She was running again running from the demons in her mind running from her illness. Running away was nothing new except this time she took off with her three year old daughter. In a city the size of New York it is not so hard to get swallowed up especially when you don’t want to be found. Eventually her condition deteriorated to the point where she had to be committed. No effort was made to locate her family and the child became a ward of the state. To look at her now you would never guess that she’d done hardcore time in hell. Her little body had been tortured and used in ways so vile and repugnant she’s never revealed the details to anyone including her parents. What is known is that she was often beaten to the point of unconsciousness her skin flayed with leather belts or whatever they could get their hands on, “Did you know extension cords are really multi-functional? You can use them to tie someone down or as a whip. Amazing how versatile those things are.” She dead pans. There is no anger in her eyes, no self pity. “It is what it is,” she says “ but I survived and didn’t let them break me. If I’d done that then they would have won.” She was their prisoner four years. you’re ugly that’s why no one claimed you…your eyes are evil, no human has eyes that dark. When she was older she wore dark tinted lenses to hide her eyes but now she wears them because,” I look fucking good in them!” While the women found nothing they liked about her that was not the case with the father. If only she’d been so lucky. He thought she was beautiful and would often tell her so. Every night he ate dinner with her in his lap and fed her from his hand. He called her “mia bambina” (my little girl) and at night he would walk into her bedroom and slide into the bed with her. As an adult she can no longer recall the names or the faces of the adults. She blocked them out long ago but she still remembers certain things, the name of their teenaged daughter for instance. The way the mother always wore her gray hair in a bun, and chain smoked Viceroy Cigarettes. She remembers his brown uniform and his smell. He reeked of cigars and old spice after shave. Their hateful legacy still lives on in the form of little quirks she has. She hates people whispering in her ear or breathing on her because he would do this to her. She hated having long hair because they always grabbed it and twisted in their hands using it to keep her pinned down while they violated her body. For years she kept her hair short, cropped close to her head. “I used to call the man fat pig and he used to find it funny; his wife was always yelling at me for something or other and cursing me out in Italian. For the longest time I swore puttana (whore) was my first name and stronza (shit) was my middle name. Their daughter was named Leonore. Good lord she was something. Thick glasses, acne, braces and her breath was always hot and putrid. I remember her clearly she always hurt me with her braces, drew blood from me on purpose. I took it like a champ though. When I was old enough to realize they wanted to see me cry I learned to keep it inside. I guess that’s why they escalated their beatings because I refused to give them the satisfaction of crying or begging for mercy. Even when they… no, no you don’t need to know that. Ah shit. Okay…You know I saw her once when I was pregnant? She was standing right next to me getting ready to cross the street. She didn’t even see me. Honestly it took all the strength I had not to push her into traffic. For as long as it took the traffic light to change I was suddenly a kid again and so scared I wanted to run and hide and then I felt a flurry of little butterfly movements in my belly and that brought me back to reality and it made me smile. I looked over to where she was and I realized she had no power over me. I remember thinking to myself that she had probably been his victim as well and felt sorry for her.” Once in a fit of rage they’d set her on fire. The father was furious when he came home from work and found out the little girl had been hospitalized. It was an accident they told the officials she’d been playing with matches and the child had been too scared to refute the lie. He rarely left her bedside while she was in the hospital such a devoted father the nurses had whispered among themselves. While in the hospital her new family had been approved for public housing so when she was sent back to hell the location of her prison had been changed. Sometimes fate can’t help but to intervene to right what never should have been in the first place. What they didn’t know was that their project apartment was located smack dab in the middle of the very neighborhood where her parents had grown up together, where she had been conceived and born and had learned to walk and talk and had ridden her first tricycle and most importantly where someone would recognize her. It had been nearly a year since the fire when a home attendant paid her first visit to the family. The mother had been ill and needed an attendant. Even though the child was older the home attendant recognized her and recalled the young mother’s family looking for her when she’d taken off with the little girl. “Where are her parents?” she casually asked the mother over a cup of coffee after being told the child was adopted. “Dead, her mother killed herself and her father died in a car accident.” Despite the fact that they had moved away the death of the parents would have spread through the neighborhood like wild fire the attendant thought to herself, tragic news has a way of getting around. “What about her family?” “No one wanted her.” The attendant remembered how the child’s feet barely were allowed to touch ground; she was always in the arms of her mother or father, an aunt or uncle. She was the youngest female member of a very tight clan and she’d been a child who had been loved and cherished by an entire family. La muñequita (little doll) her family had called her. When they were alone the attendant asked, “Como te llamas?” and in a voice barely above a whisper she responded, “I don’t speak Spanish.” Maybe she was wrong maybe it wasn’t the same girl. “What is your name?” The little girl whispered her name. The attendant knew she had the right girl when she heard the name a name so unusual that 39 years later I’d google it out of curiosity and discover that in the entire United States of America and Puerto Rico there is only one person with that name. The little girl picked up a dust rag and began to help the attendant dust. She had finished dusting the ceramic statue of the Virgin Mary on the mantle when Leonore entered the room. “Momma says it’s time for you to take a bath. ” The little girl reached out and grasped the attendant’s hand, “No.” The teenager leaned over and pinched her arm. “You have to.” The little girl didn’t even flinch despite the fact that the pinch had left a wicked red mark. “She’s such a pig she doesn’t like to take a bath.” Of course she didn’t want to bathe Leonore always saved her worst for the tub knowing that the running water would wash away the evidence of her assaults. “Mi muñequita can I give you a bath? ” asked the attendant. The little girl stared at her weighing her options trying to decide if the attendant could be trusted. “Why are you calling her muñequita? That’s not her name” Leonore asked. “In my country muñequita is what we call pretty little girls.” Lenore snorted,”She’s not pretty.” The attendant ignored the teenager and turned her attention back to the little girl."Will you let me bathe you muñequita?” The girl shyly nodded. As she bathed the child the attendant saw something that disturbed her and she knew she had to get the little girl away from those people. When she was done the attendant asked the mother if the child could accompany her on her errands. The mother nodded her consent as she handed the list of errands and some money to the attendant. “Can I go too?” Leonore asked “We’re going to be doing a lot of walking.” The attendant replied. “Never mind.” Leonore said as she clicked on the TV and walked over to the sofa. They took the elevator down in silence the attendant formulating her plan as they got closer to the lobby. They walked three blocks down towards Broadway just in case someone was watching them before the attendant hailed a cab to her apartment 19 blocks away. After several phone calls the attendant was able to locate a friend of a friend who was still in touch with the family. Several hours later five cars, 1 motorcycle, and two police cars pulled up in front of her brown stone; five aunts, six uncles, an anxious looking set of grandparents, and one 22 year old father who looked as if he’d been crying followed by several policemen climbed up the three flights of stairs and knocked on the door of apartment 3S. The little girl was my mother, the attendant was Maria and until she died holding my mother’s hand at the age of 90 my mother thanked her everyday for saving her and now by virtue of my career her namesake does as well. Click here to read entire post.  @
12:46 AM
4 comment from:  ,  Just Jane, Deanna, ,
 
 Friday, April 11, 2008The Fates & Their Sidekick Destiny My goal when I started college had been to be a lawyer but The Fates and their sidekick Destiny had other plans for me. Hands firmly planted on my ass they continuously tried to He was the product of dysfunctional parents who cared more about themselves than their children. The walking wounded was a term that always came to mind when I looked at him. Life had been especially cruel to him, abandoned by his father as a child; his mom had recently died and now his sister had run off with a man abandoning him as well. In truth the brother was a hard person to get along with. He kept people at a distance. To the outside world he was defiant, angry, cold, obnoxious, and mistrustful of everyone, especially women. He expected the worse from people and was rarely disappointed. My family and I knew a side of him no one else did. We had long ago figured out that his public persona was just an act, that in reality he was just a scared kid. I chose to define him by the rare moments when he allowed me to see who he really was rather than the role of arrogant bastard he played in public. One day I awoke panicked from a nightmare; he’d been shot and died. Which given the way he was living his life at the time was a prophecy waiting to come true. As the day progressed a feeling of dread intensified in the pit of my stomach. Unable to shake off the nightmare I decided to head out to his place earlier than usual. Even though I loved her dearly I mentally cursed his sister out for running out on him during the entire bus ride to the South Bronx. As soon as I entered the apartment I got a vibe that something wasn’t right but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I set my keys on the counter and pulled the Tupperware containers out of my back pack and put his dinner in the fridge. Glancing around I noticed a stack of dishes in the sink and the absence of his usual note for me on the table. Back then due to our conflicting schedules our main source of communication was a flurry of humorous notes left on the kitchen table and the occasional dinner at my house. The phone rang a few times as I cleaned the kitchen and the answering machine picked up; it was his girlfriend, she wanted to come over tomorrow and get laid. Then a mutual friend called inviting us to a Christian team’s softball game. Our balls are soft for Jesus we jokingly called them. I left a note for him and got ready to leave. Still unable to shake the feeling that something was wrong I made a quick inspection of the apartment satisfied I attempted to leave but the front door wouldn’t open. I twisted and turned the door knob even jiggled the lock several times but still the door refused to budge. I noticed my sneaker laces were untied and as I bent down to tie them I caught a quick movement out of the corner of my eye and froze. Great I am trapped in this hot ass apartment with a mouse or a really big water bug Rodents I can handle water bugs however scare the crap out of me, go figure. Don’t laugh people Bronx water bugs have been known to carry weapons just so you know. I pulled at the door again, no luck. I leaned back on the wall and closed my eyes thinking about my next move. Okay Mia don’t panic ….. Give it a few minutes the lock is probably jammed. Call mom; have her send Tank and Brad over. They’ll get you out. If it’s a mouse stomp your feet. If it’s a water bug arm yourself with a meat cleaver and lock yourself in the bathroom. My eyes still closed I was wiping the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand when I suddenly felt a burst of cool air gently blowing over my face and a light caress on my cheek. It felt like gentle fingers… or the beating wings of a water bug. I felt a scream in my throat waiting to emerge. Don’t panic, do not fucking panic. Don’t scream or it’ll fly into your mouth. I opened my eyes slowly, there was nothing there. I was about to pull out my cell phone when it suddenly hit me that his bedroom door had been closed, which was unusual because the bedroom doors were always kept open to allow the air to circulate in the apartment. My chest tightened as I was hit by the over powering urge to check his room. As I ran towards his room I hoped the door was closed because one his play dates slept over and not because of what had just flashed through my mind. I pushed the door open and ran in practically tripping over his pack back. The room was dark, the blinds were drawn, and the smell of mango-pina weed was over powering. He was alone sitting on his bed looking like crap, an empty sneaker box at his feet and a pillow on his lap. Besides him there was a half bottle of Hennessey, and an ashtray with the remains of several recently smoked blunts. He was not happy to see me. “What the hell are you doing here so early?!” he snapped as he pulled out one of his hands out from under the pillow. “Eww. Did I just walk in on a special guy moment?” Not waiting for an answer I asked, “What are you doing here anyway, shouldn’t you be at work?” He shrugged his shoulders,"Check out the dresser. I got an eviction notice. Since my sister bounced the landlord says I can’t stay in the apartment.” He’d been born in that apartment, his mom had died in that apartment, and it had been the only home he’d ever known. “Damn.” I sat down next to him ignoring the pillow on his lap. We said nothing for a few minutes then I stood up in front of him and broke the silence. “I’m going to turn around and give you a minute to put whatever you got under that pillow away and then you and I are going to my house.” He started to protest and I interrupted him, “Please.” He looked angry and glared at me for several seconds, I glared back at him. “Go ahead give me dirty looks, we can do this all night and I can do it better my eyes are bigger.” He shook his head and motioned for me to turn around. My back to him I heard the heavy sound of whatever had been in his lap being put into the sneaker box and slid back under his bed. “Listen the front door is stuck. I couldn’t get out when I tried to leave.” “Most likely the heat is making the paint in the door jamb stick.” He replied. I nodded my head, “Sounds good to me. Oh and by the way I think there’s a water bug the size of your dome flying around the house.” He grabbed my hand pulling me out of the room behind him, “Pendeja.” “Pendeja my ass those things are nasty!” As he walked to the front door I grabbed my knapsack from the kitchen table and leaned against the wall expecting him to struggle with the door. The door opened easily for him. “What the hell!?” He grabbed my bag from my shoulder, “You’re weak son you have no upper body strength.” “Screw you puto that door was stuck. I must have loosened it for you.” We spent the rest of the evening in silence watching horror movies. When I caught myself falling asleep on him around 1 am I took my pillow and headed a few feet away to the love seat. He looked so tired and worn out. “You’re staying out here with me tonight?” he asked. “Yup, you and I need to talk about some things.” “I don’t want to talk Mia.” He spat out angrily. I shrugged my shoulders at him and said, “Fine. Homo thug.” He gave me the finger. He turned off the television and the room became pitch black. After a few minutes I felt myself nodding off. “Yo wonder twin?” I chuckled at his use of my mom’s nickname for us. “What?” “I’m sorry.” “Don’t stress it count chinkula.” I replied using my nickname for him. “Respect your elders.” “Oh please you’re only a few days older than me.” Silence, complete and utter silence it was so quiet the humming of the air conditioner could be heard. Finally he spoke,“Mia?” His tone was serious. “Hmm?” More silence followed by a sigh. “I was about to kill myself when you walked in. The gun was under the pillow.” “I know.” “Yeah I figured you did. ” We laid there in you guessed it more silence. I’d never realized until that moment how loud silence is. “How did you know to come for me?” “I had a feeling something was wrong. I guess it’s true what they say, for every soul there is a guardian watching over it." I replied. “Are you that guardian?” he asked. “No I’m just assisting in this operation.” “Smart ass.” We didn’t talk anymore instead I listened as he fell asleep. Ever since his mom had died he’d been plagued by nightmares, it was the main reason he hated sleeping alone. When I finally heard his soft snoring I allowed myself to give in to my exhaustion. I'd been sleeping for awhile when he called me out of my dreams, “Mia?” “What?” “Can I go over there with you?” “You’re too tall for the love seat.”He must have had a nightmare. “Hold up I’ll come to you." I grabbed my pillow and stood over him as he scooted over on the sofa to make room for me. He took my pillow added it to his and rolled over onto his back. He then patted his chest above his heart; I turned on my side facing him and laid my head where he’d indicated and he wrapped his arms around me. After awhile he spoke, “You’re my best friend even though your boy friend hates me.” "Well we’re even then because your girl friend hates me.” “True that, but you beat her down. Gave her a black eye and shit.” He chuckled. “Oh please she hated me before the beat down. The behemoth shouldn’t have mouthed off to my mother on the phone. No one disrespects my mama.” “Word” “Thanks for beating up her brother for me.” “I wasn’t about to let him touch you.” “I could’ve handled him.” “No doubt ma, no shame in accepting help though.” “That’s what I’ve been telling your dumb ass all along. So why don’t you take your own advice? ” I sensed he was getting ready to shut down on me so I held back on the lecture I’d wanted to give him. It had taken me a year to get this far. This was going to take time. He hugged me tighter and I could feel his protective wall crumbling. I patted his stomach,"That’ll do pig, that'll do.” He laughed at the Babe reference. “Ma do the singing mice for me." "No." "Come on I love when you do that shit." In a squeaky voice I sang, “If I had words to make a day for you… I’d sing you a morning golden and new… I would make this day last for all time… give you a night deep in moonshine!” he laughed and then asked “Would you really?” “In a heart beat pig.” He hugged me tighter, "Dude. I. Can't. Breathe." I managed to rasp out. He loosened his grip and tugged at my hair, “Man, who would have thought a girl as my best friend?” “Word son, what would the guys back on the block say?” He shoved me playfully, “Fuckin' smart ass. You just can’t help yourself can you?” “Nope.” The following semester I switched my major to psychology and minor to counseling and when I entered my psych class for the first time I could've sworn I felt that The Fates and their sidekick Destiny give me an encouraging pat on my back. If I Had Words Labels: careers, education, fate, friends, smartass Click here to read entire post. @
12:43 AM
1 comment from: Mia,
Wednesday, March 26, 2008Yes Mia, He's a Pimp I am constantly amazed by the people my family knows, they know all sorts of people from different walks of life both the average José and the famous. Yet I wasn’t even ready for what arrived in the mail last night. My mother got an invitation to a baby shower…“So mom are you going to the baby shower?” I asked so I could mark the date in my planner knowing full well that if she was I was being dragged with her. “Oh hell no!” she replied “I’ve got no reason to be there.” “Why not?” “He’s a pimp.” “Wait…wait Delano…is a pimp?!” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Like in where’s my money bitch?” My mother nodded her head, “Big time.” “Are you serious?!” She nodded her head again. “The baby shower is being given by his stable of hoes for one of his pregnant hoe’s.” “He’s a pimp?!” “Damn shame too with a brain like his he would’ve made one hell of a businessman.” I still couldn’t believe it. “He’s a pimp?!” “Yes Mia he’s a pimp.” She sighed. WTF?! Allow me to explain the pimp connection to my family. My uncles met Delano when I was a kid while providing security for a rapper. I tend to bump into Delano really late at night or at the crack of dawn when I’m out partying. He’s friendly towards me not overly friendly if you get my drift just uncle approved friendly which basically means as long as he doesn't cross a certain line he gets to keep his good looks and his life. It works out well for him. Until last night I had assumed Delano was in show business given the way he and my uncles met and sharp way he dresses; tasteful jewelry, Armani and Savile Row suits. Nothing off the rack for this man, what he pays for his shoes alone could probably cover a semester’s tuition for me. During the chillier months of the year I’ve seen him in the company of some beautiful women rocking full length fur coats. A man in a full length fur coat. DUH! Sometimes I am so damn clueless. Click here to read entire post. @
10:59 AM
5 comment from: christina/ohio, Mia, , christina/ohio, Mia,
Monday, March 26, 2007Career Choices Have you ever wondered about what motivates a person in their choice of career other than the need to eat and pay bills? I chose psychology because of my desire to help people. One of my friends wants to help people as well in her own special way. God Bless her we need more selfless people out there is all i'm saying. My friend wants to be a professional dominatrix. You know the leather wearing, whip wielding, paddle your butt bad boy no sex involved type of chick. At first I was totally perplexed by her choice I always thought that a career like that was something you fell into not planned on. Plus in my opinion she didn't fit the criteria of what I thought a dominatrix would be like. She’s too sweet, too subservient but then again I don’t know her behind closed doors if ya get what I’m saying (wink wink). I still had my doubts about her ability to be a professional dominatrix and then I read how dominant or submissive a person is in their every day life is no real indication of what role they play when it comes to the twisted world of BDSM short for Bondage & discipline (B&D), Domination & submission (D&S) ,Sadism and masochism (or sadomasochism) (S&M). I learned something new and that's what life should be all about learning not judging. I'm assuming that once she's encased in leather from head to toe, riding crop in hand she'll be perfectly able to smack fire out of some middle-aged man's behind. After telling me of her career goal she asked me to be her room mate. She had three bedrooms and two of them were empty. She planned on converting one into her "dungeon” and offered me the other one. I turned her down not because I’m a prude but because I know me and my temper. The penal system does not need yet another Hispanic serving jail time. Heaven forbid one of her customers would try something with me. Hell I wouldn’t need to step into a leather corset to whup him out. I’d do it in my Sponge Bob pj’s wearing the funky socks Dannie got me with a bat and for free no less. In retrospect I guess being a dominatrix allows her to give back to the community of the human male. She can channel all of her pent up rage and really go off on some guy who wants to feel her wrath and will gladly fork over the dough for it. Maybe I should consider setting up a practice next door to her that way when she is done they can come over and we can discover the root of why they feel the need to be punished as I hand them a pillow to sit on. Labels: careers, dominatrix, friends, work Click here to read entire post. @
11:02 AM
4 comment from: DannieS72, Mia, Aisha, Mia,
Friday, February 03, 2006Whipped Cream, chocolate syrup and a g-string... Whipped Cream, chocolate syrup and a g-string... sounds like a play date in certain parts of my city. However for me it was another interesting job offer. It just seems to be my week for job offers. It seems this guy saw my resume and took note of the fact that I’ve studied photography ever since I was a little Mia. Check out the e-mail he sent me. I swear on all that is holy that except for removing his name and e-mail address this is the actual e-mail he sent me: ------Original Message------- From: xxxxxxxxxx Date: 02/02/06 21:16:18 To: TwinkletoezMia@aim.com Subject: Photography position Would you consider a part time photography job? I need to have amateur digital photos taken of myself from fully clothed to g-string to nude for a website I am building. I am a 30 year old single white male who lives on the UWS of Manhattan. There would be no sex involved but I would ask for your assistance with some shots such as applying whipped cream or chocolate syrup from bottles. Please let me know if you are interested. Hope to hear from you. Okay now folks I ask you would YOU take this job? For once I was at a loss for words I had no idea how to respond to this. It just doesn’t ring true, digital cameras over SLR cameras? Get outta here! I just can’t picture myself spreading whipped cream and chocolate syrup on a guy’s tush. Labels: careers Click here to read entire post. @
1:45 AM
5 comment from: Goggles Piasano Ritardo, Aisha, Theresa, Just Jane, Emory Mayne,
Tuesday, April 26, 2005It ain't that serious....I'm outta here...I did it I quit my job at the restaurant... or is it diner? I still haven’t found out the answer to that question. It was a spur of the moment thing. I walked in to start my shift on Sunday and something just came over me I walked up to the manager and told her I was quitting and thanked her for the opportunity of working her. When I left I felt the weight of the world lifted off my shoulders. I then headed out to the mall and went job hunting. I should tell you what made me finally quit. I liked the job, hated the work atmosphere. It all came to a head on Saturday night just before my shift ended.The manager approached me and tells me,” Maria I need to tell you something. I don’t want you to hate me.” Now I’m intrigued … “this is coming from me not the boss.” Ahhhaaa go ahead sister lay it on me….. “I want you to change the way you dress” “what’s wrong with the way I dress? Jimmy (the boss) told me this was fine no one has ever complained.” “You and I are the face of this restaurant when people come in we are the first thing they see.” … a huh go on I say to myself…. “I want you to dress more like me.” I look at her out fit, pants so tight they look painted on, and a shirt cut so low I’m pretty anyone a little bit taller than her can see the top of her navel; her cleavage being the main attraction of her shirt. My eyes popped wide open, “You want me to dress like a porn star? What the hell this ain’t Hooters!” I tell her, “ I have clothes some what like yours, actually I have a very nice wardrobe but Jimmy doesn’t want me to show my tattoos, and if I wear anything low cut it’s going to show the top of my tattoo.” She then suggested I wear an open shirt over something low cut again I remind her of the tat on my chest. She then tells me she wants me to start wearing makeup to work. I’ve been known to wear makeup every now and then but it’s not my thing and with my allergies in the spring the thought of mascara and eyeliner is frightening. She then tells me she knows I like my job here and that I shouldn’t take my cue on how to dress from the girls behind the counter that work the late shift. I take it as kind of a threat you know bend to her wishes or I’m out. I tell her that when I started working there I asked specifically if there was a uniform that I should wear. Jimmy's wife saw what I had on and said that what I was wearing was fine; just to wear comfy shoes/ sneakers since I was going to be on my feet for 10 hrs a day. I looked down at what I was wearing…. Nice plain short sleeved white cotton dress t-shirt from old navy with a round neck. Dark plain PePe jeans pressed and hemmed, black sneakers, black sweat shirt jacket since it was cold outside and I’m standing next to an open door all during my shift. My hair was slicked back and in a pony tail because it was a rainy day. One pair large silver hoop earrings and 3 very small hoops in descending order in the other piercing in my ears, my white gold name plate, and a few rings. My nails long and well manicured. No make up today just a touch of lip gloss… I barely was able to get my contacts in that morning my allergies were so severe. She made me feel so “damn un- pretty” to quote a TLC song from a few years back. I felt ugly. My mood turned from curious to wanting to slap the taste out of her mouth. I guess she saw this and backed down and tells me,”Maria I like you I don’t want you to hate me. Please don’t hate me. I tell her, “relax it’s not that serious.”, and go about my business. That’s my mantra in life whenever something goes wrong or my friends are losing their marbles over one of life’s little dramas, “it’s not that serious.” I looked around the place and saw what she was getting at. All the women there tend to dress like they're going clubbing, very sexual. They flirt with the male customers. I understand they do this in order to get tips. In order to keep the men coming in. But that’s not me I’m not there to flirt, or push up my breasts in a mans face, no where in my job description does it say I’m to wear the tightest jeans possible and wiggle my butt for the men that come in. That’s not me it’s not who I am I don’t believe in using my sexuality to advance myself especially for no 15 percent tip. I’m not even getting tips so why do I need to look all “hoochified??” I realize I don’t fit in here. When I got home I spoke with my parents about what had happened they were both pissed off. My dad went on one his funny rants. My mom sensed that this woman had hurt my feelings that she had made me insecure about my looks. My father said that this was nonsense that I didn’t need to feel insecure that if I was ugly Jimmy would have never hired me. He’s known for actually turning away qualified women because he doesn’t find them physically attractive. My dad told me that when he first saw me he remarked to my dad that I was pretty and had beautiful eyes my dad’s response to that was for him to calm himself down and remember that I was his (my dad’s) daughter and the same age as his own daughter. It didn’t make me feel any better. I thought about what the manager had said all night meanwhile this is a woman who last week had worn a see through mesh shirt with a fabric insert only in the front covering her boobs everything else was open to the eye. Several women customers had commented to me that they felt the shirt was inappropriate for a family place perfectly acceptable for a bar or strip club but that it wasn’t kosher for a this place. I shrugged it off and said “to each his own.” I thought to myself this is the way she wants me to dress. I’m supposed to emulate her style. I couldn’t do it and that’s what spurred my decision to quit. So now I am unemployed… but at least I did what felt right for me…i thought about it long and hard and decided it ain't that serious I can find another job and i'm outta here... Labels: careers Click here to read entire post. @
2:04 PM
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