I'm sure this comes as a surprise to nobody. You're all aware of my stupidity. I was not. At least not until this morning when my cellphone rang, I answered it, and in a sleepy haze I agreed to go back to the job that nearly turned me into a killer last week. You see they caught me unprepared, napping, if you will, and they threw me a curveball by having the call come from a fellow P.A. I was fully prepared to tell a boss person to take the job and shove it, but a fellow worker? That just sounds demeaning to the work he does, and I can't exactly cry hardship to someone down in the trenches doing the same damn thing, only more frequently and, frankly, much better.
See liberals born into positions of relative privilege (I've never been rich per se, but my Grandfather does have an internationally known institute named after him and my father was chairman of a department at an Ivy) often secretly yearn for a sort of downward mobility. Not permanent, of course, nobody wants to give up things like reasonable living areas, good food, and health care, but at least temporary. We're guilty at having been given such a head start in life and we want to prove that our soft hands can handle manual labor and our egg-shaped heads can remember a drink order. This is not an uncommented upon phenomenon, of course, witness all the white kids in the suburbs who love hip-hop and identify with a "street life" they've never even seen, let alone experienced, but it's one that affects all sorts of people, including me. My dad made his way up from almost nothing and I think he always sort of resented that I never had to do the same. Sure he paid for the horseback riding lessons, but at the same time he had trouble reconciling the fact that his kid was the one whining about cleaning out the stall.
So despite the fact that I don't really need the money from this job, and despite the fact that I am probably more identified in lifestyle and background with management than workers, I have a desire to prove that I can do it and get along in that world. I want to stand on my own two feet next to heavily smoking teamsters and have them accept me if not as one of them, at least as someone worthy of some sort of respect and not just another asshole who was born on third base thinking he just tripled. Of course I am that asshole, I got this job because my mom knew the mother of the executive producer, but these things are always complicated and I can't change that part. I can only try to put myself in the shoes of someone who doesn't have the option of saying "Shove it up your..." and report for duty when told to.
I don't know if it's the right thing to do. I have plenty of qualms. All I know is that I'm doing it, and that whatever happens I'll survive. Maybe I'll have a story to tell. Maybe I'll have another hell day that takes me a week to fully recover from. Maybe...
Oh forget it. I'm just an idiot.