The Agony in my Diary

Today is Holy Thursday. The night when Jesus and his twelve disciples celebrated their last meal together. Breaking bread and wine and sharing it as His own flesh. Before Jesus willingly gives up His own life for the sake of providing us perpetual light, especially to those who follow in His footsteps. Anxious about tomorrow, I try to calm my nerves by writing this down on my real journal.

The skies are pitch black. An incessant downpour, almost everlasting in length, accurately sets the scene for tomorrow morning at work when my managers assign me to any position that isn’t the job that I know best and that is being the dining room attendant of my restaurant. The dining room where I am willing to do menial tasks such as cleaning tables, taking out the trash, and stocking up condiments for seven and a half hours. The reason why I fear such a First World Problem is due to the disastrous run I had last Sunday. Working under the heat lamp section of the kitchen where I served side items and kids meals for the decadent visitors, looking for no sympathy towards my fragile heart, at my resort.

My problem isn’t towards serving the food. That part isn’t hard. It’s actually towards the end of the breakfast rush where I have to undergo through a process of switching the breakfast items to the lunch items. Sounds easy enough, but every time my restaurant switches to the lunch hour I am required to complicate a simple task of disposing the morning lefovers. Considering that I have not worked in such a position for two months, the transfer was disastrous. And as weak willed as I am, I fear that I will undertake the same responsibilities tomorrow morning and each day until Easter. Perfectly explaining the chaos Jesus went through when he was in the tomb for three days.

I can’t help it. I only work weekends and ninety five percent of my workload is either by bringing food to the guests or taking out the trash. Whenever I have that brief surprise of working in the back of the kitchen, usually I end up lost and confused, resorting asking constant questions to the preoccupied chefs and slowing down the kitchen in the process. The people in the back mostly consist of Hatians who, in contrast with my laid back Americanized attuitude, are direct with what they want. If I show any hesitation with my decisions, they will call me out and lecture me. Demanding to know why that despite working there for six months, I still do not know how to do my job correctly.

There are two solutions: either I do it or ask a manager to exchange my shift with someone who knows the job better than I do. Because I’m too scared to have my “fellow” co-workers berating my work style. The job isn’t hard. Really. But anything other than being in front of the counter is my weak spot.

I love working in the dining room for several reasons: I walk around the restaurant in order to pass the time to see if the condiments to be restocked, tables need to be cleaned, and if the floors need to be sweeped up. I also love interacting with the customers. Asking them on what attractions they’ve visited and their impressions towards the resort. Thankfully I have never encountered a guest that was despondent towards my presence. Each converstaion I have is brought up with the intention of brightening up their day. One co-worker mentioned that I should work in entertainment because I find joy when I chat with the guests instead of preparing their food. I should probably do that when the time comes.

Most of all, because of the laid back environment and doing work that doesn’t feel like work, I end up having a fun day whenever I am assigned to those two.

Anything goes, but lately I’ve been a bit superstitious. Feeling no uplifting connection between Reason and Science but instead with Religion and Scripture. The latter two never make a good combination as I tend to have a pessimistic attitude whenever I use wishful thinking instead of critical thinking.

Tomorrow is Good Friday, where the son Himself goes through the process of purging our sins by passively recieving each deep laceration given by the Romans. Waking up before the sun rises to work and sweat under the clamoring of the strict, middle aged Hatians and groggy eyed families looking to gain some energy for visiting the parks. The families, who will later on have all smiles with their family on the hour Jesus looked up while hanging on the cross and closing his eyes.

I suspect that if I am assigned to work behind the counter tomorrow where I will have my share of the graceful suffering experienced by my Saviour. Willing to take up the pain due to the simple fact that it’s my duty to do so and I’m getting money in the process.

But as I mention above, anything goes. I have nothing to do but either mentally prepare myself for the day ahead of me. Tomorrow, may the Lord help me, because I know that I can’t help myself.

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