pulling myself together again
The last week I have been weighed down, as well as still recovering from the week previous.
And where do I begin in describing this week? A week spent every day, all day, catering to the needs of others. It was the best week and the worst week of my entire summer.
The event was every caterer's worst nightmare. Working in confined spaces, running off no sleep, understaffed, under extreme pressure, with a heavy VIP client base to please. Ladies and gentlemen, I, and a few exhausted others, survived the Rogers Tennis Cup.
For the week we hosted suites, wined and dined clients, slept under three hours a night, and returned the next day to do it all over again. We showed up in uniform, groggy eyed and smiling, turning to hugs for comfort, and would meet up between shifts in the pantry to snack on beautiful platters of food left untouched by guests. The food and the people kept my morale alive.
But it was crazy. People walked out. People got angry. A chef had a heart attack. A guest in the suite next to me did as well. We had the heaviest rainstorms of the year, putting many games on hold and upsetting many ticket holders.
And yet, what I'll remember most is the bad jokes, the pats on the back, the great clients that treated me like gold and even helped me clean when I begged them not to, and the bonds formed to keep us strong when we all felt like crawling up on the floor and sleeping, or crying, in the middle of the day.
Since the event has been over I've been in a strange mood. Very melancholic. I've realized that some time off work is very necessary, and will be spending a week at my grandparents. I've been sleeping in. Cuddling with my beau on the sofa every morning and easing slowly into the day.
I need this time so that I can pull myself together and move in full force again.