From "Get a job" to "Got one"

25/11/10

Long time no write. The list of course, continues. And as a result, I have a new job.

That Wednesday night at the restaurant was definitely my last. It was a busy night and all a blur. The last thing I remember was the Manageress calling me back from the bar and asking me why I wasn’t taking more drinks to more tables in one run.

I explained that I wasn’t confident carrying 10 drinks on one tray; that I understood that I needed to get there but just 3 nights in, I wasn’t there yet. That I felt the customers would be happier receiving their drinks, rather than wearing them. She looked at me and said; “So, now can you see why you can’t work here?”

Immediately I could feel the emotion well. Almost instantaneously, self-preservation moved in. I needed the work, yes. But don’t try to intimidate me. I am prouder than that.

I gathered myself, put down the tray and replied; “So why am I here? We established last night I wasn’t fast enough. You said you’d send me to a smaller restaurant, but here I am on a busy night and I still can’t give you what you want. There was no need to stand me in front of the customers and the staff and humiliate me by telling me I’m not good enough for you. I know that, you know that, so why did you bring me back?”

There was some apologising. Some over-explaining. Some poor excuses about why I hadn’t received any training. Unbelievably, at the end of it all, she asked me to return the following night.

WHY?

If it was because they needed more staff on the floor on a Thursday night, then tough. I didn’t take this job to make everyone else feel better about themselves.

If it was because, unlike a lot of the runners, English was my first language then sorry. I’d be taking my fluent, personable communication skills with me.

If it was because they saw some potential in me, it certainly would not be realised here.

I left that night and then on the weekend, I returned my uniform, nicely ironed.

In the background, the To Do list charged on. I had a job interview on Friday morning. Completely relieved of the pressure and intimidation at the restaurant, confident that I could say I’d given it my best effort and proud that I had finally drawn the line myself, I went into the meeting completely recharged.

He gave me the job on the spot.

I didn’t announce it ‘til I’d we’d done the paperwork because anything can happen, right? But yesterday, I started work at a new boutique personal training studio, grand opening December 4.

As we establish our client base and I learn the systems, my hours are very flexible right now. I have time to write and time to think and time to continue to tick off my list; the only thing that’s been constant over these past few, mad, otherwise unpredictable months.

The list has kept me training. I am fit and confident. I walk into that gym, looking like the Personal Trainer I say I am. There’s always room for improvement by the way and I’ll continue to set goals to do that.

The list has kept me learning. Hey, I might not be using my hospitality certifications any time soon, but right now I’m more versatile and qualified than I was just a few weeks ago. I’ve learned a lot about alcohol and gambling and entertainment law. I learned a lot about the expertise and expectations of professional wait staff. No harm in that.

Most of all, the list has kept me motivated.

In 2008 I was part of a sudden staff redundancy. I remember saying to others who had lost their jobs; “The most important thing to do now is to stay motivated. We are competing with hundreds of other people who are motivated to work. We need to be more motivated than them.”

More positive. More pro-active. More confident in ourselves.

Whatever your list shows, however it changes, as long as you’re ticking it off, you’re achieving something; moving forward. If you want to get somewhere, unless you want to go backwards, you have to keep moving forward.

In the last 6 weeks, my list has changed from “Get a job” to “Got one”.

Somewhere in between all that I’ve got fitter and more qualified. In between flexible hours I’m doing some script writing and the Property Manager has welcomed me to become the resident personal trainer of our apartment complex.

“1200 residents, 2 in the gym” I’m sure I can do something about that.

Maybe that’s next on my list.

If there’s something about your life that needs to change, then you can change it. Start with a list. You don’t know where it will take you, but as long as you’re ticking it off… your life will change.

Unless of course, you send me home.

17/11/10

Errrf. I really should put “Have a nap” on my list today because it’s the only thing I know I’ll get done. I’m really tired today.

Following my challenging re-introduction to hospitality, I was absolutely rapt to be given another 5 shifts this week; it was a small boost to my confidence and confirmation that I was doing something right.

Well, so I thought.

My second shift started at 6.30 last night. I’d spent quite a bit of the day gearing up to go in well “prepped.” At home after lunch, I’d practised plate technique; walking around with 3 dinner plates, adding weight by piling them with random items from the kitchen and walking around at various speeds, dodging imaginary obstacles; fast moving waiters, aimless children and the sudden “push-my-chair-backwards-right-in-front-you” threat. I’d spent some quality time reviewing the menu online so I was more familiar with the dishes I was serving and browsed the wine list, as though I was choosing a bottle for myself.

I was wearing a pair of new black pants that fit me better than their 2-for-1 price tag might suggest; my shoes were black, my hair was up, my bra was white.

Arriving about an hour early, I found and ironed a smaller shirt, then spent some time wandering the restaurant trying to make some sense of the table numbers. 6.30: Bring it ON!

And so they did.

An event on the harbour created a busier Tuesday night than anticipated.

Un-booked customers started wandering in from about 7.30 and for the next few hours a constant flow of hungry, happy people; often in big groups, well primed to continue their night of drink, food and festivity.

Unsupervised, I quickly got into the throng of things, more confident at the pass; taking the time between “Order up!” to listen hard to the chefs as they presented their dishes. A senior waiter amused himself by playing “Quiz” with me, yelling out each time I passed him with plates on the way to a table.

“What have you got?”

“Dori, fried! Prawn, tempura! Sirloin well done!”

He’d give me the thumbs up as we crossed the floor. I was smiling. It was a good game.

Despite my concern about table numbers, I was working it out. My feet were obviously more familiar with the lay out than my head was and I’d find myself heading in the right direction before my brain had time to think too hard about it.

There was no aimless wandering, no smashed glasses and no customers forgotten.

The manager caught me on my way back from a table. “Lisa, can I have a word with you?”

What have I done?

“How do you think you’re going tonight?”

Oh shit. I know this line of questioning. It’s like X-Factor or Idol, when the contestant thinks they’re doing okay but everyone else thinks they’ve sung like crap.

“Good, I think. Enjoying it. Learning lots.”

“Yeah, you’re doing okay. This is a big restaurant and I know it’s been a while since you’ve worked the floor… “

Here we go here we go here we go

“I just don’t think you’re fast enough yet to handle a restaurant of this size”

I think I said, “Okay.”

“How are you going with table numbers?”

Read my blog.

“Good. Finding my way ‘round. Getting there.”

“Look, I know this is only your, what? Third or fourth night?”

“Second.”

“We have runners who are already faster and more familiar with the table numbers on their second night.”

Okay, tell me to go home now because right now, I’m over it.

I think I said; “Okay.”

“Don’t get me wrong, you’re a pretty girl…”

Oh you think I’m pretty. Thank goodness. My life is complete.

“…you’ve got a nice smile and you’re great with the customers and everything…”

Ah yes, I know this one too. It’s called “Kick, Kiss, Kick.” Here comes the kick.

“So, I’ll have a talk to (his manager), we might put you into one of our smaller restaurants while you get up to speed.”

Tell me to go home. I want to go home.

“Finish your shift…”

Dammit.

“… and come back for your shift tomorrow…”

Double dammit.

“… and then I’ll get back to you with some options.”

Dear Sir. I have studied the menu like you suggested. I have come in early to familiarise myself with the restaurant, like you suggested. I have made no mistakes, there have been no breakages (not from me at least), and I have provided our diners with the kind of service I would expect myself from this fine establishment. You said I would have training and I haven’t had any yet. You said it might take me a week, maybe two weeks to be confident in the restaurant. It has been nearly two nights and now you’re telling me, I’m not fast enough? That’s not fair.

You know what I said though. “Okay.”

The rest of the night went very slowly. I wanted to go home.

I signed off at 10.30pm and saw the Manager backstage; sitting with some of the kitchen staff in the loading bay. He didn’t say anything as I approached. Cue the internal debate.

“Don’t say anything. Keep walking.

You really should say goodbye. It’s only manners.

Ignore him. Keep walking and don’t come back tomorrow.

Is that really what you want to be remembered for?

Okay then, say something. Say, “Thanks for nothing!” Then keep walking.
You’ve made no mistake yet, make no mistake now.”

I passed him. Turned back towards him. Called his name and raised my hand. I put on my best hospitality smile and delivered it loud and clear, “See you tomorrow.”

Well, today is “tomorrow” and this morning I’ve been struggling with whether I will go back tonight. My confidence is easily cracked at the moment. It happens when you’ve got something to prove and people don’t really know you.

I’m kind of paranoid that I’ll be watched all night. That’ll make me nervous and I’ll probably stuff up. Oh well. If I go in, I’ll make sure I go out with a big customer-friendly smile on my face.

The established wait-staff I’d already met were very welcoming and helpful last night. It’s like they saw me back and wanted me to do well. Trust me, if they don’t want you there, they can very easily make you look like an idiot.

If I do this last shift then all up I would have earned enough to pay for the boots and the pants and I’ll be about $20.00 up. Minus bus fares. HAHAHAHAHAHA.

Not laughing.

And then of course, I’m very interested in hearing what solution the Manager might come back with. Maybe if they put me in a smaller restaurant, I’ll progress faster. Maybe I’ll get more day shifts.

If I don’t go tonight, I’ll never know will I?

As I wrote in my last post, I am absolutely open to opportunity right now. Some will work. Some won’t. But as long as I keep creating the opportunities, I’ll get closer to the one that does.

The list continues. I’ve got a new job interview on Friday morning.

To Do

Cardio

Sieve SEEK – organise for job apps

Certs / admin to take to work tonight

Finish fitness CV for Friday

Find registration info Fitness Australia

Contact FA re: registration

Contact Marsh - confirm coverage

Renew PL insurance

W/c 22/11/10

Saved apps away?

Call Jackie, organise catch-up

Write it down. Do it. Delete it. Charge on.

Try as you might. I'm not going home. Part 2.

14/11/10

So, my first night back on the floor after about 15 years off it was not going very well at all.

In the first couple of hours I had been there, I had been made an example of in front of an established staff who I already knew “did not always receive newcomers positively,” because my shoes weren’t black enough. To demonstrate my enthusiasm I had gone and purchased a pair of $200 boots that I couldn’t afford. The bar guy had turned my iron off while I was still using it and now I was wearing an unflattering uniform about 3 sizes too big, slightly crinkled. I had stood like a child in front of the Manager and the Manageress while they adjusted my uniform the way it should be worn; I couldn’t understand a word my supervisor was saying and so was missing some no doubt important information about service and table numbers and had just been told my hair was wrong and that I had to go and fix it.

You have to understand, I have very high expectations of myself. I don’t commit myself to something unless I believe I can contribute and excel; and even deep-down knowing that everything so far was the result of me not knowing what was required, this is about where I began to feel like I was failing.

Stan the supervisor and the blonde trainee looked at me, and then my hair, while the Manageress told me it wasn’t right. Thank God I had a hair tie in my bag.  I made a quick exit back to the staff bathroom and put it up.

I marched out of the bathroom straight into the manageress. Shit. Was she following me around? Probably.

“Are you wearing a black bra?”

“A black sports bra.”

“I can see it through your shirt.”

“Can you? Is that a problem?”

“It’s a muslin shirt; you need to wear a white bra underneath it.”

(FFS I didn’t know our shirts would be white and see-through else I would have worn a white bra. Do you think I deliberately wore a black bra so people would see it through my shirt?!)

What I actually said was;

“Sorry.”

She looked at me like I was a lost cause. “Go and find Stan.”

Stan and the blonde were standing on the floor looking like they were waiting for a late bus. Me. Destination Dumbville.

“So,” he said. “You’re on your own now.” Start serving from the pass and from the bar. If you have any questions, come and find me.”

Yeah, I have a question Stan. What did I miss?

Confidence crumbling I headed for the bar rather than the pass. Drinks are easier to manoeuvre than dishes and I figured that while I had the opportunity, I’d serve drinks to familiarise myself with table numbers and the restaurant layout. Within about 15 minutes I’d got myself into a bit of a rhythm on the floor; the new footwear was so-far-so-good and I was enjoying the fast pace between tables. Occasionally I found myself riding on a rush, smiling as I returned from a group of happy customers, a flash back to my time as a waitress at “Mosso”, in the popular café culture / snob-eatery suburb Herne Bay in Auckland. That was a great fun time.

Returning from a table of four who I had wholeheartedly humoured with my Kiwi accent, I passed Stan and the Manageress who became suspiciously hushed upon my approach; not before I heard her mentioning my name. I made eye contact and back-tracked, walking backwards in my new boots to where they stood.

“Is everything okay?”

The manageress looked at me like I’d stumped her plan. She probably would have preferred if Stan was the messenger.

“I was just saying to Stan, that, because it’s busy…”

Spit it out spit it out

“… and we don’t have a system…”

Clearly. Spit it out I can handle it.

“… if we could concentrate you on this quarter of the restaurant only…”

Here we go.

“… your shirt is wrinkled. We can’t have you in the VIP area. Please stay at the back-end of the restaurant for the rest of the night.”

Are you serious?!

“Stan. It might be best if she just follows you around and observes. If you have to go to the VIP area, don’t take her with you.”

Awkward extended moment as I looked at her then him, then her, digesting the information and trying to maintain my composure. I could feel the tears welling.

“Okay, cool,” I said. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

My heart began to race as I headed straight for the bathroom. I shut the door behind me, took deep breaths and tried to get myself together. Fail. Tears.

One friend said he would have left at the shoe scolding. Another said she would have left at the black bra. There in the bathroom, I had finally got to the point where all I wanted to do was rip off my apron and walk out the door.

Consequences. Consider the consequences. If you walk out now, here’s how the story ends. You were the girl who couldn’t handle the pressure. You were the girl who cried and ran away. You don’t have a job. Do you really want to go home and tell Dave that you walked away because it was all too hard?

Nope.

A knock at the bathroom door. It was Stan.

“Darrlink! You in there?”

A cheery “Yes! (gulp) On my way!”

I looked in the mirror. My eyes were red. Like I was stoned. Not that I’d know of course, but I bet if I was stoned, that’s what they’d look like.

Another knock. It was her.

“Lisa?”

In a millisecond I composed myself and opened the door, smiling.

“Yes?”

“Everything alright?”

“Hm-hmm.” I could feel my eyes stinging again.

Awkward.

“It’s not going very well, is it?”

Ok, I have to say it.

“No it’s not. I’m trying to do everything right, but everything I do is wrong.”

“I’m sorry I’ve made you feel like that but we need to address these things.”

“I know you do, I understand that, I just wish I knew about things like the shoes and the shirt and hair before I got started. Would you like me to go home and come back tomorrow?”

“No.”

Dammit.

“Take a couple of minutes then go and find Stan.”

Dammit. Dammit. Dammit. Then what I said was;

“Okay. Thanks.”

The night kind of continued downhill from there. Well, okay, it started down hill. With my confidence fully conquered and some paranoia about what they were saying about me, let’s just say it continued downhill, gaining momentum.

You know the waitress with the full plates, wandering up and down rows, looking for table numbers? That was me. Looking for numbers I couldn’t find. (They probably covered that, in French.)

Rapped over the knuckles for not pouring the beer into the glass on the tray (Probably something I’d missed in French)

Then, pouring beer into the glass while it was on the tray, I tipped the tray and smashed a glass.

I was delegated to cutlery cleaning with a group of other “runners” toward the end of the night to deal with a cutlery shortage.

“We need cutlery urgently,” said the Manageress. “Whatever happens, stay here and get it out.”

Then I was told off for not running a dessert.

I tweeted earlier in the day that I felt like 17 again. By now, I’m about 12.

Signing off at 10.30pm, I thanked Stan for his help and patience and bid goodbye to a friendly bunch of more approachable juniors I’d met at the cutlery stand. They asked when I’d be back. I said, “I really don’t know.”

I called Dave and asked him to open a bottle of wine before he came to pick me up, then stood outside observing a Friday night I never see.  Sydney Harbour - a beautiful backdrop to lots and lots of drunk people.

Will I go back? I’ve got a call to make to the Boss this afternoon, so I guess that’s up to him. If they give me the opportunity, I think I will.

I will, because even after 20 years in a profession that for some time blessed me with the lifestyle to be a customer at restaurants like this one, I’m not so ignorant or arrogant to understand that if I want to prove myself in a new industry, I will have to start at the bottom.

If they don’t want me back, then I’ll bow out proud. I can wrap up this chapter knowing that I gave it a damn good shot. I’m certainly better off than I would have been if I hadn’t followed through. I had a few knock-backs, I went back in. Some people tried to hinder me, I didn’t back down. I learned a lot about hospitality and customer expectation and I gained a whole new respect for the professional wait staff that make places like this one, landmark experiences in this beautiful city.

Look, I’m a big fan of focus. I’d love to be able to say “This is what I’m good at so that’s what I’m going to do”, but I’ve recently had a reality check that the job I used to love, doesn’t really exist any more. It’s become the place of hacks and Yes Men and I am neither. It’s probably time for me to take my skill set somewhere else, where I can develop it and contribute.

So, I’ve decided I’m absolutely open to opportunity right now. I’ll create the opportunities by ticking off my To Do and as it knocks, I’ll answer.

Try as you might. I'm not going home. Part 1.

13/11/10

Keep ticking off the To Do and something will happen.

Well I did and it did. I’m just not sure where it’s going.

After ticking off (another) “job app away” last week I headed to the gym to tick off a cardio and I got a call from the man I’d just e-mailed.

I interviewed with the owner the next day who seemed excited by my work history and my references and my potential to move forward in the business. He explained the necessity of starting at the front line. I agreed. He introduced me to one of the restaurant managers and a trial was set for Friday night at a higher end restaurant in Darling Harbour.

I arrived at the restaurant nervous but enthusiastic, the potential of regular work had put some momentum in my task-ticking and I had enjoyed a very productive day. Eager to impress, I was early and walked into a staff gathering where management was briefing staff on the night ahead.

The meeting stopped and the group looked at me as I entered the front of the forum.

“Have you got your black shoes?” said the boss. I looked down at my black Vans, custom re-fitted with black laces for the job at hand. “Um, aren’t these black enough?”

“No,” he said. “I can’t put you on the floor with those shoes on. Do you want to come back tomorrow?”

It’s amazing how fast you can make a decision when you have to. In the seconds that followed my inner voice went a bit mental;

“No one told me I had to have entirely black shoes.

What’s wrong with Vans?

Everyone is looking at me…

If I had a restaurant I would definitely let my staff wear black Vans.

Should I just go home?

Everyone is looking at me.

This really isn’t an ideal start.

Tomorrow. I could come back tomorrow.

What? After the whole day revolving around being here on time?

Can’t you just stick an “L” plate on me and forgive the Vans for one night?

Decide!”

I certainly didn’t want to be the girl who everyone watched be banished because her shoes were wrong.

“What if I went and found some black shoes and came back?”

“Okay.”

I marched out of the restaurant and made a beeline for the only shoe shop I knew in the immediate area and burst in the door before they had time to close it. It was just after 5.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes. I’m trialling on the floor at a restaurant tonight. My shoes are wrong. I need black ones, stat.”

That was a $200 exercise. Approximately 10 hours of floor time to make it up and very likely, a painful first night on the floor in brand new boots.

Back at the restaurant, me and another “runner” were assigned to Stan, a senior waiter who would run us through the system and oversee us through the night.

“But first,” said the Boss. You’ll need to iron your uniform.”

Something you should know about me. I don't iron. Any item of clothing that requires ironing immediately has no purchase potential. It took me two years to figure out where we keep the iron at home. 

He handed me two plastic bags; a company shirt and apron.

“We don’t have any small” he said, “This is large. It’ll get you through the night. Iron your uniform and as soon as you’re changed, go find Stan.”

An ironing board and an iron appeared at the front of the bar. I tore open the bag and looked for the rubbish bin.

“Is there a rubbish bin around here?” I asked the guy behind the bar.

He didn’t speak to me, he just held out his hand. I gave him the plastic bags and cardboard from the inserts of the shirt and he threw them somewhere I couldn’t see. I was very aware that it was getting close to the time when people would be on their way.

Pins. Shit. I began to pull pins from the shirt. They were everywhere.

“Excuse me.” I interrupted the bar guy again, “Where should I put these pins?

He looked annoyed. “What?”

I extended my hand with the pins in. “Pins. Where should I put them?”

He looked at me, looked at the pins, shrugged his shoulders and walked away. I remembered something the owner had told me in that interview;

“The staff can be a bit weird around new people. Don’t be worried if they’re not very helpful.”

The manageress flew past me. I stopped her. “Excuse me.” I said, “Where should I put these pins?”

She looked at me like I was stupid. “Why didn’t you just give them to him behind the bar?”

“I tried to” I said. “But he’s not being very helpful.”

She took them off me and put them somewhere I couldn’t see. Seriously, twice it would have been much more constructive to show me where I could put rubbish.

She returned about two minutes later.

“You can’t iron here. People are coming in.”

“Ummmm…”

“Why are you ironing here?”

“This is where they set me up. I was told to iron my uniform stat and get on the floor.”

“Stan!” She called my Supervisor over. “Find somewhere else to put this iron, she can’t iron here.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “I’m nearly done.”

I ironed flat out for another 2 minutes and went to unplug it, to get out of everyone’s way. The cord was limp as I lifted it to find the power point. It was already unplugged. The guy at the bar was suddenly paying a lot of attention to me. I held up the cord. “Did you unplug this?”

He smirked. “Oh. Were you still using it?”

A what-felt-like-forever pause while I considered shoving it up his arse.

“Well, I’ve been flat out ironing for the last 15 minutes. You could probably establish that I thought it was on.”

He smiled, shrugged, and walked away.

Arse.

Back stage I found the staff toilet and started to get changed. By now, I was definitely starting to panic. I had already been chided by the manager and the manageress and tested by the Bar Guy. Now, everything was taking way too long.

I realised immediately that the shirt was ridiculously too big. The shoulders fell about halfway down to my elbow and the hem came down to my knees.

I stuffed it into my pants and instantly gained about 10 kilos. I tied my apron, looked in the mirror, breathed heavily one… two… three and exited the bathroom.

The Manager was sitting in an office back stage. He looked me up and down.

“Oh dear. That shirt’s too big.”

(Not shit Sherlock. Do I look like a large to you?) I smiled. “Yeah.”

“Roll the sleeves back down.”

“You told me to roll them up.”

“Not that far.”

He rolled them down for me, past my wrists and reviewed.

Oh dear,” he said again. I should find you another one.”

He disappeared back into the office. The Manageress entered from somewhere like, on cue.

“Your shirt is too big.”

“Yeah, that’s all they had. He said he’d get me another one.”

“We haven’t got time to get you another one.” She looked at me and sighed. “Your apron is tied wrong.”

“Oh is it?” How should it be tied?”

She turned me around and did it for me. Explaining in slow, loud words each tuck and roll.”

“How long have you been in hospitality?”

“Not for years.”

“Hm. Go find Stan. You’re running late.”

I found Stan and our other trainee, a pretty blonde girl out on the floor. It didn’t take long for me to establish that Stan was French. His accent was thick. Not very helpful when he’s explaining the outlay of a 100+ table restaurant. I found myself leaning in to listen to him harder, trying to read his lips. Stan apologised for the brevity of the tour, but it was going to be a busy night. By now it was about 6.30pm. Customers were filing in for a night on the Harbour.

We were discussing specific service practise I think, when the blonde asked a question. I don’t know what it was, the restaurant was getting louder; background music had been turned up a notch and customers began to buzz, meeting up with friends and family; congratulating, celebrating.

I leaned in closer to Stan to get the answer to a question I hadn’t heard. It was like I’d entered the twilight zone. The noise in the restaurant kind of muted into the background. Above it all, I could clearly hear Stan and the blonde in some conversation but I couldn’t understand a word they were saying.

Listening harder. Reading lips. No matter how hard I listened, it came out like gibberish.

I don’t know how long it took for my brain to figure out that they were having a conversation in fluent French. I had no doubt that they had been discussing something that would come back and bite me on the arse later.

“What?” I said. “I didn’t understand what you were saying.”

We were interrupted by the Manageress approaching. “Lisa” she said. You can’t wear your hair like that. It’s too casual. You’ll need to tie it up. We can’t have it like that. Go and fix it.”

(Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod).

To be continued.

Self Sabotage

08/11/10

Monday. I would seriously rather be begrudgingly going to work today; pissing and moaning about how fast the weekend went than not having the option.

Blame the alcohol I drank on Saturday night or the rather extended Free Day I had over the weekend, both no doubt symptoms of me trying to make myself feel better, but boy do I feel unmotivated to do anything today. My want to lie down on the couch and watch crap TV multi-tasking with feeling sorry for myself is quite powerful.

I think I’ve talked about self sabotage before. I don’t know whether it’s unique to certainly personality types or a common indicator of anxiety or depression, but if I am to honestly assess how I’m feeling right now and how I got here, I did it to myself.

Towards the end of last week I was on quite a positive roll. A couple of positions very suitable to my profession and qualifications had come up, I’d got both applications away and had already interviewed for one of them. Work on some of my long term personal projects (great ideas you wished you’d followed through) were underway and I was stoked to have received positive feedback from a potential supporter.

Listing had kept me constructive; I’d had a good week of training, the groceries were done and home-life well organised.

I think I went into the weekend with some weird idea that I should reward myself because I’d got quite a lot done. Maybe I was looking for an excuse to escape my real concerns; either way, the celebrations started on Friday night and didn’t finish until about 1 o’clock on Sunday morning.

It doesn’t make sense. Following a big Saturday of food and alcohol, I didn’t feel so good yesterday. Then, I set about doing two things that could only make me feel worse. I didn’t move around a lot and so, didn’t get much done… and I ate a lot of stuff I wouldn’t normally eat on a Sunday, because I wasn’t feeling so good.

Today, I still don’t feel so good. What a shock. My energy levels are low and I feel FAT. It’s a beautiful day outside, an ideal day to put on my face and go wandering round the local establishments, meeting some people and delivering my hospitality CV but I’m not in the frame of mind or quite frankly physically confident enough to go out there and do it today.

I totally sabotaged myself. What a stupid girl.

I told you I wasn’t frikken Wonder Woman.

To get myself back on track again, there’s only one thing I can do. Return to the list. I’m using the Up Down strategy so I can look forward to easy stuff between frogs.

Today’s short term list looks like this;

To Do

Hospitality Apps – away to all saved on Seek

List Girl

Baking

Review all job sites / search'n'save

Gym Session – cardio

Cat Food Mission

Call Doctor A to confirm referral letter to Dr B

I don’t know how much I’ll get done today, but whatever I do, it’ll be more than I feel like doing or that the rest of me wants to do right now.

Self sabotage – I’ve seen it in friends, family and people I’ve managed in the past. I think unconsciously a lot of us do it; put something in the way of ourselves so that we have an excuse about why we’re not moving forward or taking responsibility. It’s a classic excuse maker for weight loss and exercise goals, for professional advancement and in our personal lives.

“I can’t because…”

“I didn’t because…”

“I wanted to, but…”

If you ever find yourself delivering that kind of reasoning, to yourself or to someone else, and the bit that follows the “because” or the “but” was something completely within your control…*

Oh, just a quick side note while I’m here. Eating something you shouldn’t have eaten is never someone else's fault. Unless they pulled your mouth open, put a gun to your head and forced it down your throat, threatening to kill your family or a loved pet, no one can make you eat something you don’t want to eat. Just saying.

* … then it’s very likely self sabotage. If you’re doing it to yourself ask WHY?! Why am I stopping myself from moving forward?! Try and identify the key reason thing in its most simple, honest, form. Know the difference between the symptom and the reason:

The symptom is I drank a lot and ate a lot this weekend

The symptom is I don’t feel so good today

The symptom is I’m not in the mood to go out today and be positive and energetic

The reason is…

Maybe it’s because I’m scared that my professional career of 20 years may end up behind a bar serving the customers I used to be.

Identify the real reason for your own self-sabotage, think about what you need to do to fix and put it on the list.

That’s what I need to do today.

Up and Down

02/11/10

I was quite strategic with my list this morning. After all, today is the day of The Race That Stops The Nation and I have every intention of stopping with it.

Yes, Australia stops then it starts again and I still need a job. When I sit on the couch at 2pm, I’d like to know that I’ve put a constructive day behind me and that I fully deserve to relax and escape in the hype, emotion, glamour and wonder of the Melbourne Cup.

The “Up Down List” is the list I create, when over and above my short term deadline list, there are other things I’d like to do just because they’re fun.Or easy. Or both. Things I’d rather be doing. Things that could easily become distractions or excuses for not getting the stuff I don’t really want to do, done.

So here’s how I work it. I do something that’s hard, then reward myself with something that’s easy or fun.

Something that I don’t really want to do, followed by something that I don’t mind doing at all.

Something that makes me tired just thinking about it, followed by something that peps me up just by doing it.

Technically, it’s the “Down Up List” because in my own experience, it’s more constructive to start with something you’re not that amped about and get it over and done straight up. Worst First and all that. Eat Your Frog.

I use the “Up Down List” when I have every excuse to slack off. I mean, the whole nation is chilling out and lubing up and talking “So You Think” right now, it’s not like anyone’s going to be interested in reading my job application today, is it?

OMG. How stupid does that sound? Ridiculous, over-rationalised, over-explained excuses, we’re good at them aren’t we? That’s a whole new post.

Anyway, the whole “Up Down” strategy just gives me a bit of momentum. While I’m getting the hard and/or boring and/or frog feasting stuff done, I’m looking forward to the fun stuff.

As a result, things get done.

This morning, my short term “Today” list looked like this:

To Do

Gym session – Cardio (frog)

(Note; I had breakfast in here, that was more fun than the next one)

Amend CV’s to include Bar quals. (frog)

Book appointment with Dr ABC (easy)

Application away - Job Y (Big fat frog. Cover letters are a TOAD.)

Bets ON! (One race, one bet, one way. I LOVE the Melbourne Cup!)

Research Job X (there’s a frog right there)

Biscuits (fun – I like to bake)

Now, it’s 11am. My list looks like this:

To Do

Bets ON!

Research Job X

Biscuits

I’m pretty happy with that. A lot of frogs eaten in a very short time, and a nice glass of Semillon to wash them down with at 3pm. 2pm. Around there.

The Up Down List - the listing strategy that gets stuff done when you’d rather be doing something else and helps quash the guilt of procrastination.