Shower Epiphany: Being a Nice Person vs Flirting

           I posted on Facebook recently that I had received a rather lengthy email from an old friend who was concerned that my feelings for him were more than just "friends" status. I was really surprised by this email because I hadn't given any hint during the random times we'd spent together in two weeks that I wanted to be more than friends. Because I didn't.

     One of my Facebook friends commented that I must have been flirting with him.

Hmmmm. Nope.

     You see, this old friend was my ex-boyfriend. You know, the one I've mentioned in previous posts. Why would I even consider going into a relationship with him again that was anything more than just friends?  Some might wonder why I would even want to be friends with him. Because, I'm a nice person. I forgive easily. No, really. I do. I can be trampled over and over again and still stand up and say, "Okay. One more chance." It's what I do. I did it for 22 years (even doing it now, three years later) with my ex-husband. I love so I forgive.

     Anyway, Comic Con was approaching. I go every single time with my youngest son, Luke. It's our thing. But Luke has become a social butterfly so he likes to go wander Comic Con by himself, or with his friends (who wants to hang out with their MOM?), and I knew I would be left alone to wander Comic Con in my little Steampunk outfits. I knew it wouldn't be as much fun alone. It's always more fun with someone who also wants to be there as much as you do. I don't have any other Comic Con friends. You know, the ones who get soooo excited about being there that they buy their tickets as soon as they go on sale...6 months ahead of time.  And I knew the ex-boyfriend was one of those people who did. We had a common interest: Comic Con. Since the first one three years ago that only Luke and I had attended, we had gone to every single one together, the ex-boyfriend and I. That was why I contacted him after a no-contact zone of six months. So I'd have someone to wander Comic Con with. And so that, knowing him, he'd have someone to go to Comic Con with also.  That was the only reason. Nothing more.

     Let me first preface this whole thing (wait, I didn't really preface it, did I?) by saying that I am not lonely. I don't feel alone. At all. It's weird. For a really long time I had felt lonely. I perused dating sites every six months, hoping to find that one person who'd fix my loneliness. Guess what? I fixed it by myself.  Seriously. Didn't need some guy to do it for me. Imagine that. AND I am really confortable in my single status. Really. That scares me a little bit too, but that's a blog post for another day.

     So, two weeks ago I contacted the ex-boyfriend via email and asked him if he was going to Comic Con. He replied that he was and would be interested in doing what we've always done at Comic Cons before: wander together. Between that contact and Comic Con, we've gone to two movies together and a lunch (and I paid for myself which makes them NOT DATES), and the local Italian Festival. Once again, I paid for myself. Once again, not a date. Then we wandered Comic Con. The ex-boyfriend did not fund one part of my personal Comic Con experience. NOT DATING.

     And so, imagine my surprise when I get the lengthy email the day after Comic Con ends telling me that we could only be friends. That he didn't want me relying on him for movies and dinners. That I should also be seeing my other friends and "movie buddies".  And not be surprised if he distances himself when he becomes interested in someone else.

     HUH?

     Yeah. Me too.

    So, back to my initial epiphany: Being Nice vs Flirting.

     I'm a nice person. I treat all humans, male or female, with the same niceness. If you are friendly or sarcastic, BONUS!! We will get along perfectly. If you're nice to me, I am automatically nice back. That's why I've always been in customer service. It's what I do.

     When I worked at the front desk at my hotel, more than once I was told (jokingly) to stop flirting with the guests. It's because I am friendly. I'll act interested in what you have to say. I will laugh at your jokes. It's my job to make you feel good and walk away happier than you were when you first started talking to me.

    Is that flirting?

    Or am I just being nice?

     So is this where the world has gone? Have we forgotten what it's like to be friendly to people? So much so, that when someone is friendly to us, we think they are flirting? Or other people think we're flirting with them?

     My Facebook friend said that he found it hard to believe that I wasn't flirting with said ex-boyfriend.

     I cannot tell you when the last time was that I actually flirted with someone. I almost think I have forgotten how to flirt. Seriously. It's been so long.

     So the other morning when I was in the shower (because that is where all serious thinking - and karaoke - is done), it hit me: Was my ex-boyfriend so un-used to people being nice to him that when someone is, he thinks they're interested in him? Is that why he thought I was wanting to be more than friends? Because I was nice to him?

***Insert eye roll here***

     And is that why he never once asked me how I'd been or what I'd been up to for the last six months? Or showed any interest in my life? Or even smiled the first or second time he saw me after six months? (in fact, he just looked plain pissed) Because he was afraid I'd think he was interested in me?

***Insert another eye roll here***

     Is that where the world has gone? You can't be nice to someone without them thinking you're seriously interested in them?

     That's just sad.

     NEWSFLASH:

     Being nice to someone is not always flirting.

     Sometimes it just is what it is.

     I suppose there are those who are so blind to flirting that they don't notice it when someone actually is interested in them. They have their buddies punching them in the shoulder, "Dude. She was totally flirting with you!" and they still have no clue. (OR, there are those that assume EVERYONE is flirting with them. Big ego much?)

     And there are those, like me, who are just being themselves. Being nice to other people simply for the sake of being nice. No intentions. No ulterior motives.

Just. Being. Nice.

     Maybe, WORLD, if everyone started being a little nicer to those around them, there'd be less wars. Less homelessness. Less hunger. Less anger. Less loneliness. Less confusion. Less judgement. Less hate. Less of everything that is sad and bad.

     Maybe, just maybe, there would be more peace. Imagine that.

You know those little kids who smile at you in the grocery store checkout line simply because you're looking at them?

Do you suppose their flirting with you?

Doubtful.

   
Maybe we need to be a little more like them.

A New Adventure Takes Place...(or "Has she lost her every-loving mind?")

     Over three years ago when I started my new job at the Marriott, I thought I had the coolest job in the world. I remember walking the back hallways where only employees could go and seeing how everything runs behind the scenes. To me, this was an amazing place to be. I loved my job. It was actually fun to go to work and be around happy, fun people. Those were the people I worked with! We were friends! We would laugh over things we dealt with that only we understood, what we experienced. Non-hotel people just didn't get it.  I was excited to go to work more days than not. Even the cranky, entitled guests didn't phase me. It was their issues and had nothing to do with me. Work became my escape from a scary, depressing home life.

     And then I was promoted last December to restaurant supervisor. I was so proud of my new position and the fact that someone thought I could handle a position I'd never even considered taking on. The job was exhausting but I loved it. Loved my co-workers and my employees. I felt like I had a purpose, like I was making a difference. I was proud of my work. I was proud of me. Loved making guests happy when they came into my restaurant, bar, ordered from room service, bought a coffee at Starbucks. I was proud to be in the position I was in.

      I was never bored at work. We welcomed the days or a week of lulls between busy conventions and meetings, because when we were busy, we were really slammed. It was exhausting. Until three months ago, the exhaustion wasn't a bad thing. Have a couple of days off, or a couple quiet, low occupancy days at work, and you recover and were ready for the next slam. We were a team. We worked together, especially during hard times, or when we were short-staffed and made it all work. Those were fulfilling days. I loved being part of a team. Somewhere in the last few months, that opinion, that pride shifted. Going to work was no longer fun. At least more times than not, I didn't want to be there. School was suffering. Creativity was gone. I know, isn't that normal for a "job'? Who really wants to work? Isn't that why it's called "work" and not play? But that wasn't it. That shouldn't be it.

     I was in New York visiting my oldest son and his family for my 53rd (yes, I said it. I'm 53!) birthday last June and somehow it became a time of reevaluation of my current life. I had ten days where I had stepped away from my home, my job. I'm not sure what triggered it. Maybe because it was time. Maybe it was because I was another year older and I was stuck. I felt stuck. I always said that I felt like I was standing on a cliff waiting for someone to build a bridge to the other side. Even before getting this position. Somewhere after my divorce. I didn't know what I was doing or where I was going. I'd lived in Utah for three years, not the place I ever thought I'd spend a year of my life, let alone three. I was planning on moving into a new place because the old place seemed to have become a dark spot in my life and Luke's. Bad ju-ju so to speak. I didn't want to be at work and I didn't want to be at home. I felt like I was lost. I felt like I was just hanging there, with no where to land. It was time. Major changes had to be made.

     I came home from New York and decided that I would be making a pilgrimage next May to Spain. One more thing that I wasn't sure how it had come into my life plan, but it had. I had watched a movie last year called "The Way," about a man who goes to Spain to pick up the dead body of his son who had been walking the Camino de Santiago, but that's a whole 'nother story for another blog post. I knew it was something I absolutely would be doing. I had to do it. Until then, I knew I would stay at my job until next May to save up money and then I would quit to walk the Camino de Santiago for 45 days (because I figured they'd probably never give me a month and a half off for "vacation"). After that, I'd figure it out. Wherever life led me. Or Heavenly Father. You know.

     Then about 5 weeks ago, after an altercation with an employee that was so out of the blue, so unneeded, so ridiculous, it hit me. I couldn't do it anymore. There wasn't one more day, one more hour that I could continue as restaurant supervisor. Funny thing is, I had been warned by this same employee last November that taking this job would be a mistake. She said it was a hard job, one with very little satisfaction and even less pay. She was telling me as a friend, because we were friends at the time. Anyway, this altercation sent me home that night to make a very hard decision. After 9 months of no respect, hearing "You're working alone tonight?", or "Do you know what you're doing?" I couldn't do it anymore. I was exhausted, both mentally and physically. An ulcer that had been long dormant and caused as a result of the ex-boyfriend, was flaring up again. I spent many nights crying after work, during work. Not because of angry guests or problems at home. It was because of what I was experiencing right in my own office, my place of work. 75% of the time, depending on whom you were working with, it was a very hostile work environment. Being me, I was taking it personally, and I was taking it home with me.

     I'm pretty laid back. Really. I feel I expect very little from my employees other than doing the job you're paid to do. Work ethic. Most of the time, I prefer laughing with my employees and co-workers, even when we're busy. Especially when we're busy. I feel that part of gaining respect from your employees is that they like you a little bit too. Having fun at work, even while doing your job, makes it easier to clock in. Even when we're slammed from a convention, we could still have fun. That was part of being a team. I saw a sign once: "Being part of a team means making sure everyone is on the bus, not being thrown under it." I was being thrown under the bus way too often.

     That night after the altercation, I laid awake until 5:30 in the morning. I was upset. I was physically sick. I cried off and on for hours. I really didn't take what she said personally. It was that she had cornered me in my office and yelled at me, not over work related things. She was angry over personal things. She said I had changed since getting this position. It was about un-friending her on Facebook, telling her what to do at work (essentially asking her to do her job), "dating" her ex-husband (three dates...over a year ago). Nothing to do with work. Absolutely nothing to do with work. What got me was that it was SO personal. The last straw. I couldn't trust the people I worked with. Backstabbing, gossipy, under-the-bus throwing, lack of respect. Things that had been happening for so long, long before I was hired, that it had become acceptable behavior. Not just to me but other departments as well. This wasn't a job I could stay at. Not even until my trek across Spain. Not even until my one year mark in December. Realization hit. It hit hard. I was done.

     Two days later I was back at work. The two days off had given me time to think and time to talk to Luke to make sure he was okay with my decision. This was his future also. I was quitting a job that helped me contribute to the household. I was still getting spousal support but, without a full time job, things would be really tight. Strangely enough, neither of us were worried about it. We weren't stressed about it. We both knew it was the right decision. Just in case, so I wasn't rushing into anything that I would regret later, I waited two more days of work before sending my boss an email that would end my job as the restaurant supervisor. I told no one. Didn't tell my family, didn't post the announcement on Facebook, didn't hint at it to anyone, didn't tell my co-workers. I kept it quiet. I wanted to make sure it was the right decision. And I cried as I typed up my resignation letter. It wasn't an easy decision to make. Not at all. I loved working for the Marriott. My boss had planned an important trip to North Carolina mid-August. I told him I would wait until he got back from vacation. Then a few days later, when word was out, my co-supervisor mentioned that she had a family vacation that she had planned and she was afraid that she wouldn't be able to do it. I said I would wait until she got back. Essentially I gave a five week notice. I am that nice. It's what I do.

     I realized throughout all of this that my true passion, writing, was something I hadn't done since last November. I had stopped feeling the joy. Stopped feeling inspired. Was there a correlation? Probably. That's when I decided that what I really wanted to do was find a job I could do from home. With that, I could finish college, pursue my writing goals, and even have time for much-needed creative pursuits. With that, I could also avoid the back-stabbing, screaming, angry, rude, drama-filled, throw her under the bus, gossipy co-workers. I could sit at home and do what I had always intended to do: Do your job and go home. No drama. Nothing more than a job. I would figure out how much work I needed to do, how much income I needed to have to be able to pay the bills, and find that job. Every Facebook meme that passed my way mentioning making that risky step, pursuing the dream, or being fearless spoke to me. And I felt at peace. I knew I was making the right decision.

      So, without fanfare, after five weeks of knowing I was leaving, yesterday was my last day as restaurant supervisor at the Marriott. Those that liked me told me how much they would miss me and how much they wished I wasn't leaving. One of my employees bought me lunch, another bought me a Starbucks lemonade as a way of saying goodbye. I was hugged, told I was loved, and wished well by so many. Those that didn't like me never said a word. Just asked when my last day was. Luckily, those employees/co-workers were the minority. Four, maybe five people. That said a lot about who I was. Because a part of me really still loves that place, I went on "pool status," meaning that if they need me in the restaurant department, whether running trays in room service, covering a hostess shift when they are short-staffed, or filling in as "lead" when a supervisor or manager needs time off, I would be there. The fact that they would rather put me on pool status than lose me completely also said a lot about who I am. And I took great pleasure in telling those four/maybe five people who didn't like me that I was going on pool status. (insert evil grin here)

      So, today is more than just another day off. I am officially unemployed. I haven't really had time to fully pursue a new job. I've applied at a few places, even have a virtual interview with one at-home job (that I'm not sure I really want). I still have my painting instruction classes at Michael's and I can increase my schedule there. I haven't fully unpacked my boxes since moving into my new apartment almost a month ago. Today I have cleaned, listened to inspiring podcasts by my favorite author, Elizabeth Gilbert, relaxed, and hung out here on Blogger for the first time since last November, writing my heart out. I don't think that it has completely hit me that I don't have a job. Give me a few more days. Right now it feels like another day off from work. Except that I'm not dreading clocking in tomorrow. Tomorrow is kind of another day off, I guess. It is finals week in my Spanish class so I have that. I still have unpacking. And so many creative things I am going to do. The weight has lifted.

      Look out world, here I come.