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in the space of a canteloupeNovember 22 Black Friday"DO NOT come in late, tired, sick, or hungover." - my GM on tomorrow, the official opening day of the commercial Christmas season. Thankfully I got any drinking I meant to do this week out of the way last night. The malls open at 6 a.m. or earlier. People in my family are planning to go shopping. I cannot imagine the appeal of such madness. Who looks forward to long lines, competing with other people for the things you intend to buy, not to mention for personal space? I can seethe as much as I want about the senselessness of a mass designated shopping day and the commodification of Christmas, but the truth is I directly profit from it. More people out shopping means more people at the restaurant, and more tips for me. If I was not working tomorrow, I would refrain from coming anywhere close to a parking lot of a shopping mall. However, sure as your Target wake up call, I'll be there in the middle of it, with people collapsing into their seats as if they had just run a half marathon, but really because they had "been shopping all day," refusing offers for to-go boxes because they cannot carry them with all their bags. Rail against it as I may, I am much happier to be on the business side of the insanity, because, despite my bleeding liberal heart, I'm still a college slob who needs money. btw, why Black Friday is called Black Friday (according to my old GM): because businesses, in their account keeping before modern technology, would use a red pen to record a negative day's profit, and a black pen to note a positive profit. All retail businesses will make a profit, or be "in the black" on the day after Thanksgiving. November 14 Reflections on growing up to be an academicThe transition from being an aimless 20 something to an academic is something like being at the top of a roller coaster, in the sense that I am going head first into what's before me, and I cannot really stop because, if I put the brakes on and look around, there is nowhere else really to go. After 4 years of denying myself my true interests, I jumped on the opportunity to begin a life that will likely bring me more fulfillment. Occasionally I ask myself if I might be moving too fast, if I am making the right decisions, if this is what I really want. Then I recall why I am going for this. I love culture, language, and talking to people on intellectual levels. I love to travel. And I realize that most of my reservations have more to do with the idea of "future" itself. Sometimes it's hard to get my head around the idea that I will exist in 10 or 20 years. When I was 15 I couldn't imagine myself at 21. I don't know how to picture myself living differently than I do now. The ideas of the radical changes in my environment and people around me between then and now are overwhelming. But I can't live at my parents' house waiting tables forever. This "future" will come whether I plan for it or not. In 5 years I could be: a) still waiting tables, paying rent or still living at home, doing nothing outstanding with my education b) making damn good money somewhere while I grind through lab work or research with a mediocre level of satisfaction, with 2 weeks vacation c) still waiting tables, but working in/toward my much more stimulating lifestyle as an anthropologist d) tumbleweeding around the globe, working for food and shelter in distant lands, learning new languages and finding my inner Self Between (c) and (d) is a tough call, but at least (c) will have a share of (d) in it, with a little higher chance of survival. The thought that this means 10 more years of school, or that I will be probably 35 when I can apply for the type of job I would like, is unsettling at first. Then I remind myself it's not the same as training to work in a lab, or going to school to get the big money job. It should not be so "goal-oriented," in that I ought to be enjoying (in that masochistic sort of way) my work in grad school. The lines between student and professors blur. My "career" starts now. Right now I am only learning the ropes. At this stage I've only read or heard about them, let alone touched them. We begin with this little field research project in Morocco. My prof and I agreed on a topic today, the most accessible and with the fewest likely IRB issues, which I wouldn't know anything about if it wasn't for my Medical Ethics class. Now that that stage has been settled I am more at ease, just because there is not as much risk/planning necessary with this topic. Now we are up to writing the proposals to beg for money and approval from the U's research comittee, my first exercise in what supposedly will make up much of my work in the coming years. I am coming into these studies in anthropology with a non-extraordinary academic record. I really wasn't motivated to do anything extracurricular or spectacular until now, so in addition to tuning into a new field, I am playing some catch up as well. Needless to say I am a little self conscious, it's a bit a challenge to keep my head above water in the conversations I've had so far with professors and grad students. I know my place, but even if I do have to make up for missing pieces, I know I have the ability to do this stuff. November 12 Quote of the Day"...you need someone who speaks Arabic." "I know, that's part of the problem. I have nothing to offer anyone, I'm just a college slob." "You can use your femme fatale."
-my friend & me, on complications of doing research in Morocco November 11 Saturday night achesAnother 12 hour Saturday sets on my stiff shoulders, worn feet and heavy eyelids. This is a tip of the painful Christmas season iceberg. Even 2 weeks ago was considerably more masochistic, and I can expect something likewise in the weeks to come. Typically at this time on a Saturday (although it's now Sunday, we still consider it Saturday in terms of when our last shift ended and next starts) I would be sipping on the glass of wine that I never finish gossiping about work. They opted to play pool at a different bar than our usual, though, and for some reason I don't feel too sociable. My excuse for not participating in the social life as I should be is that I'd rather not be somewhere loud like said bar. I would love a glass of red wine, but I am trying to avoid the habit of drinking at home, though I think I would excuse myself tonight. I realized lately that most of my coworkers, at least the ones I am closer to, are in their late 20s and early 30s, many with kids. They are not so much of the younger, single, student demographic as many restaurants are. I don't know how they do it. They tell me I am young and should be able to handle anything. But I have been so disenchanted with my job lately. I believe there was one time where I thought to myself, "I like my job, maybe I wouldn't mind doing this for a while if I had to." Now I ask, what was I thinking? Don't get me wrong, there are quite a few upsides to what I do. There is nothing like restaurant work, and anyone that's ever experienced it knows it. There are so many opportunities for crazy things to happen. It keeps me constantly moving and active. It is quite substantially true that the more and harder I work, the more I earn. I am quite comfortable where I am. My restaurant makes up the majority of my meager social life, including my significant other. I work under a GM whom I genuinely respect professionally and personally, and does her best to keep both guests and us happy. But then there is the job itself. You know there are people that are really cut out for this kind of stuff. I heard an interview with Steve Carrell on NPR, who used to wait tables before he played a 40 year old virgin (talk about moving up in the world). He said something along the lines of how he would get personally upset when a table was dissatisfied with their experience because he felt obliged to make their outing a good one as they were investing their money in his restaurant, etc. etc. See that is the type of person made for this job. Because it practically is a show business, and what good are you if you don't care about your audience? Take my GM, too, on whom I feel the vitality of practically the entire restaurant rides. Every time a guest is unhappy she knows exactly what to say and does whatever she can to fix them up. But me? I've never been a good saleswoman, to start with. I follow a script, but when something goes wrong, or I meet a cold table, or even in the general course of my day, I am just not motivated to put the extra energy into making my guests' experiences exceptional. If a guest gets upset or there is a problem, I follow protocols to fix it so that they are happy, but while I do have some sympathy for people investing money into me and my establishment, I am not motivated by a personal view of my work as an entertainer. It's just my job to do this stuff, and doing otherwise would only make everyone's lives more difficult. In a noncomplicated setting, I don't resist conversation or brush aside personable talk, I even welcome it if it's quiet enough, but I can't make myself the one to break the ice with all my tables like I know some people are just naturals at such things. I honestly kind of wish I was better at it, but it's just not in my wiring. And lately... lately it feels like the only day I go in ready to work is a Saturday, and even today I couldn't get myself into it. It is the same repetitive laborious day after another.
I would love a change. And not another restaurant, because the range of problems and challenges are the same in every restaurant, or in more conventional terminology: same shit, different pile. I could get one, I think to myself, a different job when I graduate, if I just start looking... and then I remember why I don't, and why I don't leave this place, and another one of the greater perks I do love about it. That I can travel, request off, and manipulate my schedule almost as I need it, and still have a great paying job. Would any entry level job that requires a college degree give me that flexibility and pay me as well as I am paid now? I don't think so. If I am wrong please forward me some offers, because I am aching for a change of scenery. September 03 its never easy It is amazing how fast one can find a comfort zone. Dar Afram is one of those places that you keep wanting to go back to just one more time, to see who checked in and who is checking out and to bum around talking to Taz Abdel Oulamine and Tim (for the time that he is there) into small hours. So how do you take your leave?
Difficult as it is to say goodbye when we are limited by laws of mass conservation, it is such a relief knowing that we can keep in touch in so many ways now. And it is more of a strange thing how often we do not keep in touch, even with the ones who are physically close to us. Some people say it takes so much work energy and courage to travel but I think we have it so easy. When I do travel about I keep thinking about how people used to pack up and leave their homes or families in search of riches or business, or even more a wonder, out of an itch to go and see the world despite all its unknowns. What were these relationships like, where you could not even feign an ¨I will email you¨ or ¨I will call you when I get on the plane¨ ? How hard was it without MSN messenger to talk to your family so they knew you were ok, or without phones to call up for a minute? I mean back when the only way was thru letters that took months to get anywhere... how did they get along? Were they more engaged in their surroundings and establishing their comfort zones when home was not close?
And for me, I am not technologically savvy and I think even if I was I would still think it some kind of magic or miracle that we can be so close now when our predecessors had to suffer so much more distance. I think we still take it for granted because we exchange emails all the time but rarely keep up with those ones. At least traveling gives me this awareness August 29 MarrakechI have been much better about writing in my journal than here. But I write here because my good pen ran out and I only have a crappy one left. I found myself restless in Kenitra so I came to Marrakech solo understanding that I can't wait for people to wait on me. So far it is the best thing that's happened to me on this trip, despite my initial dehydration which caused me to nearly faint my first day here. The coolest thing about traveling solo, at least on a well trodden path, is that you are almost never really alone. I met a French/Canadian couple (Sebastian and Frederique) and a Moroccan man (Abd al Ghani) on the train from Kenitra to Marrakech, who were phenomenal. The receptionist at the hotel was very helpful. I just needed a lot of water, food, and time to do things at my own pace. My accomodation is a humble room literally a 2 minute walk from the Jemaa al Fna. It is absolutely amazing at when the sun goes down. You can hear the adhan from 3 different mosques. The orange juice is fantastic. Spectacular as it is, I will avoid the Jemaa late at night. Last night I walked around at my own pace, guarding my bag. It is not unsafe but I did get harrassed by guys constantly following me talking to me in French or English. Then while I was watching some beautiful music people behind me kept feeling up my back pocket. That was nerve racking. Inevitable, I suppose. Not speaking French is generally a curse here. But it does make it easier to pretend I don't understand (or don't want to) what people are saying to me. The little Moroccan Arabic I do know comes well in handy. Although it is just a few phrases, it helps me feel connected to the people in a more intimate way than French would because it is closer to their culture. This morning I was determined to get a good meal in my stomach. While waiting for the Chez Chegrouni to open I talked to a woman physician (Tania) from Germany. We had a great conversation about medicine and Marrakech. She gave me some tips on fixing my low blood pressure and dehydration. Medicine is very simple, she said. A huge percentage of people who enter the hospital ill in Germany just need an infusion of electrolytes, water and glucose. Antibiotics will often do nothing when a good portion of the time people have viral infections. Aspirin is no good as it thins out the blood and only helps for [non gastric] pain. Coffee can help. Things I already knew but it's great to hear them from a doctor. The lemon chicken tagine was phenomenal. Much better than the one I paid more for later at La Terrasse L'Alhambra. I made my way to the Museum of Marrakech. That was beautiful and I got some nice pictures. Unfortunately I happen to be cursed with a terrible sense of direction and the only way I can tell north from south is by watching the sun. So my way back meant trying to navigate a labyrinth of souqs and residential areas which were a little intimidating. Wearing a shawl on my shoulders by no means keeps nagging people at bay, but it does make me feel a little less vulnerable if not a little more respectable. I asked 3 Moroccan women (Hajja Khadija, Fatima Zahar and Sanaa) for directions to the Jemaa and they offered that I follow them since they were headed the same way. Even they had to ask for directions. When they're not hustlin, what they say about Moroccan hospitality is too true. I am only sorry that sometimes I am nervous to ask for help fearing that they may demand something in return. Where this is not an issue, I cannot emphasize how generous Moroccan people have been with their time and their words. It is very humbling for how much I have indeed needed help. If anyone has talked to my family, tell them I am doing great. August 24 solaTo tell the truth, my first 10 days abroad were not what they were cracked up to be initially. I fell the sickest I had been in a long time, so I missed out on Marrakesh with Carrie and Ally. I left them at the airport at 4 this morning Malaga time, starved of sleep and food, and direly distressed over feeling ripped off at a hotel for 40 Euros and realizing that just the travel between Morocco and Malaga tore my pockets wide open.
Now that I am by myself I feel so much more reinvigorated. Knowing that where I go and what I do is completely up to me is the wonder of traveling alone. I don´t hurt so much from the money I burned. I can absorb and appreciate my surroundings much at my own pace. I can talk to anyone, ask anything I need because I have time, and really no one seems to be in a rush. The last thing I feel is lonely.
I take stock of my assets and feel grateful for each one I have. Being able to speak another language is indispensible. Not only does it help me get around, but I don´t feel myself as outcasted in places such as Morocco where everyone speaks at least 2 languages, even though I usually don´t speak either of them except in the North. Where I don´t speak Moroccan, and am irresponsibly determined not to learn French, I´ll try to eke out Moroccan phrases from the LP book I brandish. I have a cell phone now, and I have great friends to take care of me if I get stuck.
More than anything I pray that my health holds up. I don´t know what it was that laid me out in Morocco but I hope it doesn´t come back.
If I feel gutsy and ready to take on some Moroccan talk, I might spend the night in Asilah rather than going straight back to Kenitra. Just to feel that much more in control.
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