Wednesday, January 13, 2010

Drama: And I Don't Mean Shakespeare

Do you know what I love about drama? Absolutely nothing. I'm a fan of things that are fun, inspiring, and generally mellow-yellowDrama happens to be none of these things and it's damn proud of itself too.

They say that money makes the world go 'round, but I'm pretty they got it completely wrong. Ironically enough, they probably didn't realize that the rest of the world was talking trash about them and their money.

The problem I have with drama ... and, for the sake of argument, we'll narrow it down to gossip ... is that it's fueled by miscommunication and judgements. There's nothing I hate more than judgement. For me, it's a form of ignorance and that's my biggest pet peeve. I'm never wrong I could be wrong, but I like to think that I don't judge and, if I do, it's because I've been given reason to (aka. judged first, treated poorly, extremely misinterpreted). So when someone turns around and judges me without knowing me, it's like a being punched in the face for the first time. OUCH.


At work last night (Oscar's Oyster Bar) our owner tried out  a new late-night 'happy hour.' The drink specials were awesome and our favorite DJ played all night, but it was dead. If I'm being honest, I love my job - my boss is great, the people I work with are fantastic, and there's nothing better than gaining a customer's loyalty. Here's the catch: as much as I love my job, my success depends on my boss' success and the economy is kicking our ass. So, after doing busy-work and talking to the DJ one million times, my fellow employees and I started bouncing ideas off of each other and venting our (economic) frustrations. Because we all know each other and we all love Phil, none of us thought much of it - all we want to do is help Oscar's and we want Phil to know that he's not alone in the building of his business (it's a heavy burden to carry on one set of shoulders).

Apparently some (irregular) regulars overheard our conversation and started eavesdropping - completely misinterpreting what was being said and running with it. Why, you ask? Drama. That's the only answer I can come up with. So now, I'm shaking in my boots, hoping that our good intentions (misinterpreted by someone who doesn't know any of us or our relationships with Phil) won't turn into a big pile of gossip and drama.

So what's the solution (if there is one at all)?  Should I walk around with my tail in-between my legs? Should I become the mousy girl who won't make friends with her co-workers because she's afraid of being honest? Should misinterpretation turn me into a quiet, scared little girl? Life without risk or challenge isn't really life, but working in a bar (or working anywhere, for that matter) is like living under a microscope, in a tiny little box, with a bunch of people packed in, and a bunch of secrets to keep. Trust me when I say that DRAMA is the name of the game and it doesn't involve Shakespeare.

You know what? This is so not mellow or yellow.