Genesis ...

On Wednesday, I start a new job.

Wait, no ...

On Wednesday, I re-start an old job.

Wait, what?

Let me start over ...

For two months, I went corporate. I wore the shirt and tie. I carted the big wigs around in their rental SUV's. I bent to the whims of the suits and the head honchos and was a puppet on a lonely string. I gave up my freedom and worked 65-70 hours a week and had the credit taken from me and reaped none of the rewards. I was the whore, and I took it straight up the ass. And now, I'm going back to make coffee for the denizens of lovely downtown Wilkes-Barre. Hoo-freakin'-rah.

For the respect of others who would not be able to defend themselves, I have chosen to not name the company or the people I worked for during July and August. If you know me, and you don't know to whom I'm referring, ask me and I'll fill you in. I was given a position at this company as a store manager, despite the fact that I had never done anything of that magnitude. I was looking to work my way up to this position after learning the ins and outs of the business, which was a new concept altogether. I suppose that's why so much was handled in the way it was, but still, why take it out on the 23-year-old? Easy scapegoat, I'm assuming. Baa.

I spent weeks setting up this new business, working closely with the general manager in hiring and layout and setting up accounts. It was exciting, exhilarating, like putting everything I learned at Wilkes into practice. I suppose that's what many people feel like at their first after-college job. But then the store opened. Inventory and food costs were out of control. Labor was through the roof. Scheduling was done all wrong. There was too much waste and not enough profit. And whose fault was that? Why, the manager's, of course. The guy who was told by his GM that he would get help with scheduling and ordering and how to handle food costs and labor and anything else he needed help with, since he never had a position like this before. Hold on a minute, let me just go ask the GM.

Wait, where'd he go?

I was hung out to dry. The store wasn't performing to the high standards that was expected of an established, done-well-for-years restaurant. But this was brand new. This was growing and learning. This was a baby, learning to walk - learning to crawl first. Give it time. Let it develop slowly. Don't rush it. But that's never how the big cheeses think. So the blame had to be placed somewhere. Their solution was to demote me. Me. The guy who worked his ass off; who put in more hours than anyone else; who came in hours before the opening and stayed hours after the closing; who never got the resources he was promised to do the job he was hired to do.

Bend at the waist, insert foot in rear.

Am I complaining about long hours? No. I can work until the cows come home. But only if it's for people who deserve it and appreciate it. Only if it's for an attainable goal and for the recognition I deserve. I did my job to the best of my abilities, and I got the short end of the stick.

Bitter much?

Anyway, if I'm in a situation I'm not happy about, all I can do is change what I can and get through the rest. So I left. I'll be starting again at my old job this Wednesday. And while I'm there, I'm going to get myself back on the track I saw myself on after graduation.

Hopefully.

I'll let you know how it goes ...