I've been thinking a lot about these past few years. Since the end of 2011, my mental health has been deteriorating. It started, I think, with my first job as a waitress at The Utah Noodle Parlor in Ogden.
I was going to Weber State University as a criminal justice student. I didn't realize it at the time, but I wasn't doing well in school. And, though I liked where I lived, I certainly did not like living with other people. I was out of it, taking (medically prescribed) clonazepam to get through the day. I was incapable of seeing how miserable I was. Even now, I look back on that time in my life and I can only really remember what I learned in my classes, the good food I ate, and the long, destination-less bus rides I often took.
Anyway, I was finding myself running out of money. Probably due to all the McDonalds I was self-medicating with. I also liked collecting the Coke glasses and beanie babies for some reason. I still have those. I looked everywhere for a job. I applied to a few places, including the flower patch (I've always wanted to work in a flower shop!). I was getting desperate, so I thoughtlessly walked into this restaurant to inquire into their waitress position.
I was interviewed on the spot and hired the next day. My first shift. I wasn't expecting that so soon. However, I was so happy to have a job! My very first job! I met some interesting people. First, the waitresses. One used to be a nurse. She was aged, but sassy and fun. Another one was a free, rebelious spirit, trapped in a middle-aged body. There was a very happy black man who cleaned the dishes. He'd give us candy. He was always in a good mood. There was a boy, the nephew of the current owner, and he was usually smashing the shrimp. They made amazing shrimp. They were famous for it! Actually, all their food was amazing, but a bit overpriced.
Then there were the cooks. One was reminiscent of a jersey shore member. And just as roudy. He was a young, tan buck. Always cracking jokes. There was another very grumpy, near-silent cook. I tried to stay away from him. Then there was the nice cook. He was so kind to me, even when I was messing up. He made me some bacon fried rice once. It was amazing. He was so kind. There was the hostess, who I didn't see much. She'd spent some time in jail. She was surprisingly friendly. There was an older lady about 65 years old, who sat at the front counter to take care of the money. She was on dialysis, and showed me her terrible bruises. Though she was kind, she seemed miserable. Now that I'm more familiar with dialysis, I can understand why. Then there was my boss. He had a wicked-awesome japanese last name. He was at leat half japanese. He was patient with me, but stern. He had a crippled hand, but he didn't let that get in his way. He was always so busy.
Anyway, it's needless to say I didn't last long. A month. And the parlor didn't last long after that. Less than a year after I quit, the parlor closed it's doors. There weren't many customers usually. I think that was due to the overpriced food. I really thought it was tasty - the egg foo yong, the sweet and sour, the rice - but, per online reviews, customers didn't seem to like it as much. And I'm sure it didn't help that people who worked here would always give rave reviews along with a cup of sass. On almost every review site. Good grief.
Anyway, my experience wasn't great. My first few days, when I'd clean, I was always told to go faster. I'm thorough, but I'm also fast. I don't know what these people were on! I took a plastic grocery bag full of barf out of a bathroom trashcan. A BATHROOM trashcan. They could've easily barfed in the toilet! When I wasn't waitressing, I'd be in the back de-veining the shrimp. It smelled. It wasn't fun, but it was better than facing the customers. That's how horrified I was of seeing the people. The lady at the front desk would tell me that the customers thought I was good, but that I was too nervous. I know. I know that.
I think I remember literally shaking when I had to serve people. I did my best to stick through it. Just like...leave my body for a second, and let whatever was there take control. I was so worried I'd mess something up. To make a really long story short, I'd had 2 panic attacks and, during the fall-out of the second, I quit. It was so embarrassing and I guess I was really hard on myself from then on. And things only got worse.
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