I consider myself a fairly easy-going person. I usually don't get upset too easily. I usually don't worry too much. But there are a few things that I hate immensely, things that get me upset quite easily. At the top of that list is job hunting. And since it is summer and I need to make money, I have had the distinct displeasure of parading around with my resume.
A digression . . . One look at my resume and you know what I'm about. I might as well print it on the back of a tract, and include "The Four Spiritual Laws" under my special skills section. My resume screams, "This chick is more than religious. She is a religious nut." Christian education, Christian jobs, Christian volunteer work . . . Basically every interview turns into an apologetic session. I've discussed everything from the Trinity to inclusivism to sin to the value of other religions. Job hunting tires me out because it ends up being a spiritual exercise.
I am currently working at a private golf course where cell phones and denim are strictly forbidden. I forgot to change out of my jeans before heading to work yesterday, and realized my error as I neared the parking lot. I hid my lower half behind cars so that members on their way home wouldn't see me and report me to the authorities. If anyone saw me, I have yet to hear about it.
This is the most culturally diverse place I have ever worked. Filippinos, French, English, Italian, Japanese, Chinese, Malaysian, First Nations, Quebecois, East Indian, Persian . . . The big boss of the food and beverage division is a large Austrian man with a bulbous nose who towers over us all like Hagrid in a suit with suspenders. As a generic Anglophone Canadian, I am pretty boring.
My first day was traumatic because of the uniform. A men's tuxedo shirt, which when tucked in reaches my knees. A men's vest, teal green front, buttoned and cinched at the back giving the impression that you might actually have a waist, but then again, you might be pregnant. Then a bow tie.
But the kicker of it all is the pants. Tuxedo pants. High waisted. Polyester. Pleated. Tapered leg. Wait - when I say high waisted, I mean HIGH WAISTED. I am an old lady in training. My torso has disappeared. The trunk of my body is being eaten by my pants.
The girls say the members' wives designed the uniform so we'd be unattractive.
2 comments:
Oh HAHHAHAHAA...Kristy and I can sympathize, though the pants are beyond comparison! Kristy and I worked at a three-star restaurant while in high school in which we wore black slacks, and either a fuschia tuxedo shirt or a teal one, both with a bow tie. In the summer we wore short sleeved white tuxedo shirts with long ties that always got dipped in the messy plates we cleared...sigh. But, oh...those pants...I don't think I could handle that without thinking I was slowly becoming an eighties queen. Oh well, you're beautiful and no crazy pants are going to hide it!
Blessings in your work; this even this is done for Christ : )
Sarah
Our boss changes the uniform every time when season changes, first time is Polo sirt with big logo one the back, that was the most terrible one I ever worn, second one is long sleeve black shir for fall&winter, it's much better and pratical. The third one is white shirt with flower patal like collar&sleeve, this one makes us all look house keepers in 18 centre !
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