The Monsterman Beneath the Surface
Lessons learned while at work told in a stream of hyper-consciousness.
I work at a bar and I work hard to hide who I truly am. I make drinks for a living while shaking up lies on the side. It’s a busy hub in the middle of my suburban hometown.
My job entails greeting customers, taking cash, and making drinks in the classiest fashion. I do my best to appear at my best at all times. The smiles are wide and my heart is open, tailored, ready.
I have help, I need it. Without saying much, they are there for me. I greet them politely and move on to the next task.
I have everybody fooled, everyone except my bar.
There is a small area on the counter where I prepare beverages, this is where the truth spills out. I take careful effort into my image. I am intentional about what I say, quick to smile, slow to respond. I am gentle easy going. But it’s all false.
When I am preparing drinks the real me comes out. He is messy, wild, and unorganized, scattered-brained with drinks slushing and sloshing everywhere. I am a sight to see. This is the only part of my presentation I am not in control of. On a busy day, counters will be filled in an art array of colors. Drinks off all kind splash everywhere except on me, and on my worst days the cup.
I don’t know why this is. I have every intention of being different, being who I want to be while I bar. But the red traces of myself find their way on me somehow, slipping through the cracks of my shaker, only to show in full hue who I truly am.
I am messy & I want to be in control of all things me. I think that maybe my fatal flaw. In this industry, you have to be a team, and that’s hard for me to do. Submitting to the fact that: my team works better with a clean work station, my team would work more smoothly if they know how to help me.
I do not have to be superman. I can be superhuman and ask for help, not because I am incapable but because the operation could be improved if I employed some assistance.
It’s ego. pride. and it’s selfish.
I see it all, in the spots of spilled juice on the countertops, messy floors, and lidless cups. The clean shirts and well-rehearsed mannerisms are not enough to hide from the truth, and the truth of the matter is: I am a prideful mess of a man who could use some help.
Teamwork makes dreams run smoothly, and sometimes even better than what you imagined — if given the opportunity to help.
Though I do not expect myself to be a radically new and improved vulnerable person overnight, I can take small steps such as holding myself accountable to scratch the surface.
Post part 2, it’s a two for one deal.
The “Perfect Person”-Complex
I project a superhero exterior that keeps me from so much. I’m constantly dismantling it and reassembling the pieces to build a more effective self.
And if I don’t address how I’m feeling in the moment I’ll feel it even more intensely later on, until the pain becomes unbearable and I am unable to ignore it any longer. I want to avoid this pain if I can. So I’m learning to work through my shit by owning it, but that’s hard for someone with a perfect person complex.
