Day 26. My Brief Stint in Advertising

[E.D. So I was going to skip the following bit of my Tales from Down Under the Table. After all, we’re leaving Melbourne in just one week and I figured I’d just jump to the nitty gritty details of how I umm… quit. Sort of. But this is too embarrassing good to exclude.]

There is a commercial that plays on television here. A couple of talking Aussie crows intentionally make some noise in a tree, and a man (whose glass door has been previously polished with Windex) attempts to walk outside to investigate and… you guessed it… smacks right into the door. One of the crows falls out of the tree, laughing.

It’s a pretty mundane and unlikely commercial. Or I thought it was, until I uh... (I think you can see where this is going).

Let me back up. It was nearing the end of the night and I was carrying a server tray. A tray containing one latté, one (poorly made) Mojito, and one Cosmopolitan, sloshing precariously in a tall martini glass.

I wanted to be anywhere but there. My mind had already packed its bags and was standing on the platform of Gate Get the Hell Out. My eyelids were threatening to close, and my feet were sore beneath the weight of my constantly upright body, as I walked towards the always-open front door.

(And when I say always open, I don’t mean mostly open, or open during peak hours. I mean I had never seen the door closed.)

I headed, zombie-like and mildly depressed, to the patio outside.

SMACK.

The tray that had seconds before been balanced on my right hand struck the shiny, devious, straight-out-of-that-stupid-crow-commercial closed door and tipped upwards. Shock, embarrassment, and horror covered my face and body.

Oh, and also a latté, a (poorly made) Mojito, and a Cosmopolitan.

I miraculously managed to catch the glassware before it went crashing to the floor. But as for my pride? Nope. It was very much on the ground and soaked in a gross cranberry-alcohol-mint-coffee mixture.

Seriously. This was worse than that one time I bumped Meg at the pub and managed to overturn onto her, a tray of three glasses of wine, two beers and an assortment of mixed drinks. Because after the initial shock, (and resulting wet chill) Meg was laughing it off. Somehow I doubted this slip up would be received in the same manner.

I looked over at Bashir, who was out of customer view, and to my surprise, he was scolding another employee, John, over the spill. I hurried over. “It was my fault,” I said, giving John the chance to slide away.

“I know,” Bashir turned to me, daggers in his eyes.

The mess was cleaned, the drinks remade, and in moments the night moved on, as the night is known to do. As the restaurant slowed, I joined John and Anna by the kitchen. The three of us made small talk and drank water, thinking we were hidden from view.

“Laureeen.” An eerie chill crept up my spine. I set down my water glass, and headed over to Bashir. He gripped me by the shoulders. Ew, get your gross hands off me.

“Don’t listen to them,” he said, referring to Anna and John. “They’re not helpful. They’re pushing you to make mistakes, DON’T YOU SEE?” His vile breath floated down around my face, and I turned away, nodding, confused. What is this, a goddamn game of survivor? Did I pick the wrong alliances? Will I be voted off at tribal council? Oh, please, please vote me off at Tribal Council…

Later on, taking notice of my depressed demeanor, John scribbled a smiley face on a spare napkin and held it up across the room. I sighed, and gave him my biggest grin.

Life is meant for happiness. Maybe not for everyone, and certainly not always. But most of the time, I strive for high spirits. And this job? This demeaning, suffocating, soulless job? Was not making me happy.

I needed out. And I had a plan.

Until next time,
the traveling stahr...