I distinctly remember the moment when I realized that life’s a bitch.
I was working at a flower farm. We grew flowers. It was pretty sweet, as far as jobs go. I could get covered in dirt and play with flowers and be out in the country. The bad part about it was that it was a husband/wife team who were in the midst of becoming not-husband/not-wife. Which was tough, to say the least. They lived on the farm and worked on the farm, so they never got away from each other and we also shared their house with them for the day to use the washroom, kitchen, grab a coffee. We were in the midst of their relationship meltdown. I was in the midst of my own meltdowns at the time too. And that summer, it seemed like every time I turned around, something else went wrong.
I had been the target of one of my boss’s freakout earlier that morning and was not in the mood. The other boss came out to the field that I had isolated myself in, trying to hide in the 7 foot tall sunflowers, but he still found me.
And he asked me what was up and I lost it. I was bawling and screaming and my arms were flailing like I was a frenchie. After I cried myself out in a very dignified, dirt covered way, I had a moment of clarity.
I looked around the field, the beautiful views, the gorgeous sun, the cloudless skies, the hummingbirds and butterflies that were always hovering around. I focused on the ground, the green plants, the smell of the dirt, the sounds of the birds far away. It was a perfect scene.
I turned to my boss and stated oh-so-eloquently, “This is life, isn’t it Paul? Life is a fucking bitch. I thought I was just going through a rough patch, but this is the new norm. It’s always going to be full of shit.”
He looked at me, narrowed his eyes a bit and just nodded.
An epiphany. A depressing, godawful, death-of-innocence epiphany. I’ve held that memory in my mind, crystal-clear since that day. I was 21.
Today my friends? Oh fuck. Today I was planning on writing a cute, short little confessional piece, admitting that the reason I haven’t posted often is that whenever I log in I get lost in knitting blogs. I am a woman obsessed. I can’t stop reading them. I read them so much that I forget to knit lately.
But my cute little knitting post is getting the boot. Today is a holy-fuck-I’m-glad-that’s-over post.
I woke up with the worst hair ever. I know, but it sucks, still. Then as I was about to get off the subway, after it’s 10 minute delay at Sheppard station, I realize that the hem on my pants has come undone. One pant leg is now a good inch longer than the other.
So I took my uneven pants and bad, standing in all directions hair and I went to work.
WHERE ALL HELL BROKE LOOSE.
I have vowed not to talk about work any longer on this blog, cuz I gots me a big ol’ promotion and don’t want a stupid blog post to jeopardize that.
Let’s say that a service went down and I had 60 fuming customers on my hands. I had vendors who couldn’t get their story straight. I had three possible suspects, all equally deserving of my accusations, who were not pleased with my screaming at them. My job requires me to be a bitch sometimes, and a punching bag other times. I was both today, but mostly I was a punching bag. A punching bag pleading for humanity with people who had NO INTENTION of giving me any slack.
I could do nothing but sit there and take it. I was yelled at for 3 and a half hours.
I was threatened, I was glared at, I was sighed at, I was threatened some more, I had people stand inches away from my face uttering not so nice things. And I could do NOTH-ING. It wasn’t my fault. But it was my problem. All my calls went unheeded, all my avenues were exhausted, all my help had been deployed, and I was left with my own fantastic, dazzling personality to defend myself with.
We can all figure out how THAT went.
As I was sitting there, putting out fires, I thought back to the 21 year old me standing in a field.
Life’s a bitch sometimes and there ain’t nothing you can do about it.
Instead of screaming back at them, I narrowed my eyes a bit and just nodded.