The New Stadium

It is 11:30 on a Sunday morning and I am contemplating the new meaning of “Things to Do When You’re Dead”; dead tired, that is. I started a job at the New Meadowlands Stadium where I am a Suites Supervisor in the luxury suites. My husband has been doing this sort of work for about 20 years now so, with unemployment insurance about to expire and all my part time jobs coming to an end for the season at the same time, when his former boss called me late one night to offer me the job, I seized it. I had no idea what it entailed; only that it was a job. My husband thought I was nuts. I realize now that he was just trying to shield me. But it’s okay. I completed my training, such as it was, and was literally thrown into the chaos of managing the needs of guests who had spent a shitload of money, chefs and assistant chefs who had been preparing for weeks, cooking for days, and on their feet for 14 hours per shift, managers who had no clear idea of how this massive ship of commerce was actually going to sail, suite attendants who were running around looking for missing this and that, cashiers who’d had enough training to open but needed someone else to close their registers…there’s more, but my brain is only able to track the number of dinner napkins, beverage napkins, plates, forks, knives, spoons, cups, condiments, etc. that I need in my pantry for the next event… assuming I’m sent to the same pantry, which is a serious question! Some pantries have kitchens and liquor; some have kitchens but no liquor; some have liquor but no kitchens, some have nothing but share space with those other people who crank out hot dogs, pretzels and sodas for the masses, waiting sometimes very impatiently for all their food to be delivered by runners who sometimes get lost negotiating the twists and turns of the massive stadium to bring them their carts of cold food, hot food, rolls, chips, pretzels, etc. etc.

All this is probably far more than you expected or need to know, but in the dawn of my waking this morning, I still found myself cataloguing and organizing in my mind as another portion of my brain kept silently screaming, “Stop it!”
Oh, and all this is capped off by a massive exodus of employees from a single parking lot with just two lanes out, adding at least an hour of unpaid work to the 12 hour day. I got home at three a.m.

Still, I don’t mind it! In fact, if I am to be honest, it was kind of fun. In my life, I have had occasion to work at a wide variety of “bread and butter” jobs, and I am always okay while I am learning how to do them. My mind always seeks to find new and streamlined ways to accomplish tasks and make things run more smoothly. It’s only when something becomes routine that I get bored and irritable and then it’s usually time to go. So right now, with my legs throbbing and my head stuffed full of unnecessary information, I’m okay. Jets and Giants start in August. I’ll let you know how it goes.

Letting go

Antidepressants are good. If you have to take a pill, taking an antidepressant seems to be the pill to take at a time when getting out of bed is the highlight of your day. And those warnings that antidepressants might lead to thoughts of suicide…? Hogwash. That feeling isn’t a suicidal tendency; it is the clear formulation of the idea that in sleep there is respite. Quite often these days, my husband and I look at each other around dinner time with the understanding that it really is too early to go to sleep. This morning we said it at around 11, after the plumber left, having installed our new water tank. The old tank died, leaving in its wake several inches of water in the basement. The new one is quite spectacular, in a shade of blue that makes it seem like a giant Easter egg nestled in the corner and cozying up to the metallic grey hot water heater which was our old ‘new’ thing. The old water tank was also blue but, covered as it was with dust and rust, you didn’t notice it very much. The new water tank is big and shiny and very, very blue, like the sky on a clear day seen through your sun glasses and the tint at the top of the windshield; an impossible, vibrant blue. Your eye goes to it as you walk down the basement steps like “Boinnngggg, look at the new water tank”! And it should! For what this cost, it should have artistic value!

We are off now to look at a new car, the old one having died a few weeks ago but we were in too much shock to do anything about it so my husband and I have been doing EVERYTHING together. Although my stomach is tied in a knot, there is hope in the act we are about to perform: the act of letting go. I have been holding on to whatever we have so tightly I haven’t been able to breathe in weeks. It felt good to buy the water tank; to let our sinks and toilets, washers of dishes and clothes once again function as God and Maytag intended. Perhaps I’ll feel even better when we say “yes” to a new or used car and get on with the business of getting on.