There comes a point at which a drop is not quite enough. I reached this point today and have surpassed my drop and reached the Crash and Burn level.
This is a very indulgent, depressed post essentially talking about myself being sad. I’m sorry in advance, but this is just depressing word vomit.
I’ve recently received a ‘promotion’ of sorts which gives me new responsibilities and has meant a larger workload and longer hours. Mostly it has meant having to deal with a lot of issues from the people who work ‘under’ me (sort of).
I have four receptionists I work with and each of them pose their own issues. The first one is unreliable and is currently off on sick leave for two weeks. The second and third are both inexperienced and lack common sense. One has too much attitude and the other doesn’t think. The last is my main problem at the moment. My new position is temporary (until I leave for the UK) and this fourth receptionist is pushing to take my job. Which would be fine if she didn’t have an attitude problem, struggle with authority, suffer from mood swings that even guests notice and leads to her being rude to guests and not care enough to bother try learning anything.
Tonight, after a run of thirteen days of nine to eleven hour shifts without break, this fourth receptionist gave me attitude, asked me stupid questions that she easily could have answered and then had the audacity to ignore our general manager and act as though she knew better than the rest of us.
I know she had an issue with me because I’m nine years younger than her with less than half as much experience in hospitality as her AND have the job she wants, but this is because I am actually better than her at what I do. And while I may not love my job sometimes and plan on moving industry as soon as I can, I take pride in the fact that I am actually quite fucking good at my job considering I’ve been doing it since I was fifteen and was trained by one of the best general managers in the industry who also happened to be the woman who raised me and put me in a hotel kitchen when I was six days old.
So basically, I lost my shit mentally. I was exhausted, annoyed, then got yelled at once I got home because I mentioned work, had to deal with phonecalls from the hotel after finishing a ten and a half hour shift about stupid things that a receptionist trying for a promotional n to management should be able to handle herself after I’ve spent the last two weeks steadily dropping. I fucked myself up enough to have enjoyed four days in a row of cutting myself and a second day of leaning over my toilet bowl with my fingers down my throat and I came very close to actually just slashing my wrists and neck until I bled out. Practicality and sense stopped me because the honest truth is that there instead anyone trained enough to take over from me at work and blood stains probably aren’t fun to get out of porcelain.
Here’s to hoping practicality keeps me from it every time.
Goodnight lovely people x