I've been watching movies lately; too many, actually, especially for someone who professes to have too little time for liesure. Juggling two jobs which are both equally time-critical, and for the past months have been overly demanding of my time, I have now learned the best way to keep myself from imploding: DON'T SHOW UP.
More and more, I'm turning irresponsible, showing up late for work, or just not reporting at all. I know, it sounds childish, immature, and least of all, unprofessional; but given a choice between my sanity and my work, I believe I have chosen wisely.
I have two pet peeves: Books and Movies. Getting lost in either realm for hours at a time is a needed remedy for my weekly dose of reality and the rigors of 20-hour workdays. After Thursday's monthend vigil, I feel I deserve some liesurely rewards.
I went home early Friday night (I reported to work just half day) to reacquaint myself with my almost-lost loves, my books, and after a few chapters of my new read (Showdown, by Ted Dekker), I fell asleep. My ever-faithful moblie woke me up with its trilling, indicating an incoming message, and I was pleasantly surprised by Stitch's inviting me to a movie along with his group.
Thirty minutes later, I'm in Glorietta looking for the group who has my ticket. I haven't yet eaten then and I made the mistake of buying takeout from Wendy's. I made another mistake of falling in line on the counter that had the smaller queue of people. I the queue was short for good reason: the girl at the counter was woefully inept, and took her sweet time taking orders and serving the food. It didn't help that I'm strapped of time, with the movie starting in 15 minutes, and she taking 5 minutes per customer. I was fourth in line.
I fear that accounting for a food business, and entering the kitchens at least once a month had a negative effect on me: I am overly critical of services performed for me, and easily loose my patience when I see that service is slackening. My track record with food servers is long and colorful; my volley-friends can attest to that fact. Being hungry and late for my movie did not improve my mood when I got to the counter. And seeing three customers on the other aisle finish their transaction, while in my line, three people are still waiting for their takeout, my bitch-button took auto-pilot. Curtly, I asked said counter-girl to make an advance call of my order.
Lately, when I get frustrated over something, especially over my old computer in the office, I get into banging fits. Armrests, keyboards and desks are not spared my banging fits, my fists falling heavily on any surface, to relieve my head of mounting tension. Wendy's counter-girl met with the same reception. I was holding my wallet-pouch then when the banging fits started, and in sheer frustration, repeatedly slapped my wallet onto the counter, causing a mild scene, which in my impatience, I failed to appreciate fully.
It did me good, actually; my head was relieved of the mounting pressure, and counter-girl quicked her pace; finally moving at an acceptable speed for a fastfood personnel. She was displeased, and she made it known, tearing from me the money I was handing over. Had I been clasping the cash tight, we would have torn it in half. She didn't even give me the customary closing spiel when she unceremoniously handed me back my change.
But who cares about her, I had a movie to rush to.