I could use some advice. As you may have guessed by the clues I left in my last post, I had spent the last three days off from work pondering my fate. Specifically, what to do about work. I tried to make an honest assessment as to the pros and cons to keeping or quitting the job. At the end of the day, I had decided it was time to quit. I was so sure of my decision that I felt an enormous sense of relief. I was so sure of my decision that I phoned mom and dad and told them the news and reiterated what was bothering me. Mostly, it's the hours and the lack of food. I'm supposed to be working between 45 and 50 hours a week. On the surface, it's a lot, but I can handle it. Problem is, it's frequently more. And it's also a matter of the hours taking over the day. I usually try to get up by 11 am every day, but admittedly, it's usually closer to noon. I have some coffee, check my emails, maybe write some half-ass crap to post, then I grab some breakfast/lunch. SSS* and it's off to work. “In-time” is usually 4 or 5. Realistically, I can plan on getting out anywhere from 1am to 3am. 5am is unusual but not unheard of. I'm "allowed" to have another meal after the show ends, that's usually around 11pm or so. The next day is a repeat of the last. And that's just a single shift. A double is doubly long and physically painful. So, did you see anything in there about getting a workout in? Or about working on my photography? Or doing some good writing? To say nothing of gettin' my kitten punched. That's because it didn't happen. There wasn't time. Every endless day that went by I felt like another tiny piece of my soul died a little. I was exhausted every night. I had headaches after every shift. I felt, quite literally, like this job was killing me. Surprisingly, mom and dad were in agreement. I say surprisingly, because they used to be a part of the "keep your job, any job, at all costs," school. My dad, especially has moved off this position as he got older. I’m paraphrasing when I relate he opined, "It doesn't matter what the job is, if you hate it, it's not worth doing. Because ultimately, nobody will appreciate it anyway." And mom, also surprisingly, advised that I was endangering my health. And you know what? She's right. I am. I also factored in to my decision some money considerations. Honestly, as much as I bitch the pay is OK, I guess. But there's no health insurance (Which I don't really need. Thanks, State of New York!) no 401k, which I most assuredly do need, as well as a legendary policy of no raises. You get paid what you get paid. The end.
The upside? It's a job, and those are nice. I do pay my bills and I have a pretty sweet line of credit these days. I'm learning a ton about running a big honking nightclub. My confidence and my assertiveness grow weekly. That's pretty much all I came up with for the "pro" camp. So, done deal. I'm quitting. I'm sure of it, right?
Not so fast.
Tonight I worked with one of the other managers. He has a brain tumor.
A brain tumor. It’s his third one. He’s getting radiation therapy. The side effects leave him sweating uncontrollably. He loses motor control of his hands. His vision blurs. I’ll see your potentially fatal blood bourn virus and raise you a tumor. I spoke to Neo about this, and he pointed out that one thing has nothing to do with the other. Keeping my job because someone else has what I consider a “bigger” illness is retarded. What I need is what I need. True enough. But here’s the one thing I haven’t worked out. I‘m doing it again. I have automatically defaulted to the most dramatic conclusion to my situation. Work is taxing my energy. I’m not eating right. So I have to get with my boss and quit. It will be sudden and shocking. They may or may not accept my resignation. I might be escorted out by security. People will be talking about it for days. But what if I take a chance and explain, not outright that I’m HIV+, but that I’m ill? What if I give my boss the opportunity to prove that I’m not just a convenient bag of skin in a suit and actually an employee that is valued? What if I let her know that while I’m completely capable of a regular shift, I really can’t do a 17 hr. “double”? What if I try to explain that while I don’t necessarily need to have six meals a day, I do need to have/bring in some extra food, as nutrition is an important part of controlling my illness? What would happen if they surprised me and agreed to it all?I know for a fact this job is finite. I will be quitting. But it’s a resume builder. Do I do another six months? Do I learn more about contracts and how to handle myself with celebrities and production managers and sound techs and guest list divas? Or do I throw in the towel and admit enough is enough and walk away? No harm, no foul. It’s just not a good fit. These things happen. I’m torn and I could use some help. By all means, weigh in. I’m just not sure what to do.
*Shit, Shower and Shave
