The Absurdity of My Pride Written By: Niki Ishikawa
"How was work?"
Looking down at my white coffee mug cupped in between my hands, I admit to my husband with embarrassment and shame, "I hid."
I felt like I couldn't even look up at him, the man I love, the man who has been there for me through everything for the last 13 years. The man with big kind brown eyes, who always tries his best to understand me as difficult as that may be at times.
"You hid?"
The events of the night before had been playing on repeat in my head all through the night and was still haunting me on this early Tuesday morning. I felt as if I had barely slept at all during the past five hours I had laid in our bed. When I got home from work, I could hardly settle down. I felt this unease and anxiousness pulsing through my body. Typically when I get home from work, I will sit at the kitchen table and journal for a few minutes, scrawling the days events onto the page freeing them from my mind. Then I shower, washing away what is left of the day and crawl into bed next to my sleeping husband, to read until I get tired enough to fall into a much needed sleep. But last night, I sat frozen at the table, unable to write, unable to focus, and unable to follow my usual routine. I felt ridiculous for the way I had behaved and ashamed for not being proud of who I am and where I am in my life. I also felt guilty for making my coworker do the brunt of our work, though he didn't seem to mind.
"I was supposed to be on a private dining party, but instead I hid."
"What do you mean you hid?"
"I saw a mom from [Captain Awesome's] music class and I didn't want her to see me."
In truth, I did not want to have to serve her. I did not want to be deemed less than worthy than her. I have been seeing this woman nearly every Saturday for almost two years. Now I don't know her name, nor does she know mine, but we are both very familiar with each other's children, both the boys in the music class, her older son, and my younger son. We haven't ever had much of a conversation, just the niceties of salutations and the occasional compliment on something one of us is either carrying or wearing.
Once, I accidentally kicked my Starbucks venti iced mocha, knocking it over onto her teal Michael Kors handbag. I was horrified as I watched the slow-motion scene of chocolate and whipped cream splash onto that expensive soft leather. Luckily at the time I was still carrying baby wipes and was able to wipe it up quickly and neatly without any damage done to her bag that surely would have cost me at least a shift of work, maybe even three. Needless to say, since then, I have only brought water to class.
I'm not sure why it bothered me so much, the idea of serving her. I guess, because on Saturdays we are equals watching and helping our children learn music. Thanks to my dad, I am able to take my oldest son to music class, where he plays piano with children of professionals, while I fake the funk and mingle with those professionals as if I am a professional too. Everyone in his class, except for my son, have foreign born parents. Even the teacher is from another country. I am not sure if that is because Americans have less of an appreciation for classically trained musicians than overseas, or if it is simply due to where the music school is located in the center of neighborhoods filled with European and Asian Engineers and Computer Geeks employed at nearby corporations. Regardless, we are the only multigenerational American family in the class and most surely have the lowest income as well, judging by their cars, handbags, and stories of their travels around the world.
When I arrived at work Monday evening, I was ready to work, excited even. I had been told the night before that I would be taking this private dining party sharing it with a coworker. I work private dining parties on occasion and sometimes they can be very lucrative. The party that night wasn't until 6:30 so I spent the first hour of my shift getting ready for the party, making sure that the room had everything it needed, from candles on the table to stocking the preselected wine and properly polished wine glasses and utensils. As the guests started arriving, I helped my coworker pour Franciscan Chardonnay and Swanson Cygnet Merlot. Everyone at that point was male with heavy European accents. Then I left the room to grab an iced tea for a gentleman. When I came back, I saw her. The only woman among many men and I knew exactly who she was. I stopped in my tracks, turned around and walked away. I did not want her to see me, screw that guy's iced tea.
I told my manager of my angst and she completely understood, offering me her jacket and keys so I would look important, like I ran the restaurant. I thanked her, but declined. Instead I chose to hide. I told my coworker how I'm really good at pretending to be higher class than I am, and I didn't want that woman to see me. It didn't seem to bother him at all, as long as I took care of our section on the floor, he was fine with taking that private dining party. But I felt bad, for many reasons.
I felt bad that I wasn't helping my coworker like I should be. I felt bad that I wasn't proud of my work. I felt bad that I wasn't confident enough to say hi to the woman and show her who I am outside of music class. I felt bad that I didn't want to serve her. But most of all I felt bad that I was so ashamed of who I am.
Now this morning, my husband is simply asking me how my night went, like he does every morning and I can't even look at him.
Looking down at my white coffee mug cupped in between my hands, I admit to my husband with embarrassment and shame, "I hid."
I felt like I couldn't even look up at him, the man I love, the man who has been there for me through everything for the last 13 years. The man with big kind brown eyes, who always tries his best to understand me as difficult as that may be at times.
"You hid?"
The events of the night before had been playing on repeat in my head all through the night and was still haunting me on this early Tuesday morning. I felt as if I had barely slept at all during the past five hours I had laid in our bed. When I got home from work, I could hardly settle down. I felt this unease and anxiousness pulsing through my body. Typically when I get home from work, I will sit at the kitchen table and journal for a few minutes, scrawling the days events onto the page freeing them from my mind. Then I shower, washing away what is left of the day and crawl into bed next to my sleeping husband, to read until I get tired enough to fall into a much needed sleep. But last night, I sat frozen at the table, unable to write, unable to focus, and unable to follow my usual routine. I felt ridiculous for the way I had behaved and ashamed for not being proud of who I am and where I am in my life. I also felt guilty for making my coworker do the brunt of our work, though he didn't seem to mind.
"I was supposed to be on a private dining party, but instead I hid."
"What do you mean you hid?"
"I saw a mom from [Captain Awesome's] music class and I didn't want her to see me."
In truth, I did not want to have to serve her. I did not want to be deemed less than worthy than her. I have been seeing this woman nearly every Saturday for almost two years. Now I don't know her name, nor does she know mine, but we are both very familiar with each other's children, both the boys in the music class, her older son, and my younger son. We haven't ever had much of a conversation, just the niceties of salutations and the occasional compliment on something one of us is either carrying or wearing.
Once, I accidentally kicked my Starbucks venti iced mocha, knocking it over onto her teal Michael Kors handbag. I was horrified as I watched the slow-motion scene of chocolate and whipped cream splash onto that expensive soft leather. Luckily at the time I was still carrying baby wipes and was able to wipe it up quickly and neatly without any damage done to her bag that surely would have cost me at least a shift of work, maybe even three. Needless to say, since then, I have only brought water to class.
I'm not sure why it bothered me so much, the idea of serving her. I guess, because on Saturdays we are equals watching and helping our children learn music. Thanks to my dad, I am able to take my oldest son to music class, where he plays piano with children of professionals, while I fake the funk and mingle with those professionals as if I am a professional too. Everyone in his class, except for my son, have foreign born parents. Even the teacher is from another country. I am not sure if that is because Americans have less of an appreciation for classically trained musicians than overseas, or if it is simply due to where the music school is located in the center of neighborhoods filled with European and Asian Engineers and Computer Geeks employed at nearby corporations. Regardless, we are the only multigenerational American family in the class and most surely have the lowest income as well, judging by their cars, handbags, and stories of their travels around the world.
When I arrived at work Monday evening, I was ready to work, excited even. I had been told the night before that I would be taking this private dining party sharing it with a coworker. I work private dining parties on occasion and sometimes they can be very lucrative. The party that night wasn't until 6:30 so I spent the first hour of my shift getting ready for the party, making sure that the room had everything it needed, from candles on the table to stocking the preselected wine and properly polished wine glasses and utensils. As the guests started arriving, I helped my coworker pour Franciscan Chardonnay and Swanson Cygnet Merlot. Everyone at that point was male with heavy European accents. Then I left the room to grab an iced tea for a gentleman. When I came back, I saw her. The only woman among many men and I knew exactly who she was. I stopped in my tracks, turned around and walked away. I did not want her to see me, screw that guy's iced tea.
I told my manager of my angst and she completely understood, offering me her jacket and keys so I would look important, like I ran the restaurant. I thanked her, but declined. Instead I chose to hide. I told my coworker how I'm really good at pretending to be higher class than I am, and I didn't want that woman to see me. It didn't seem to bother him at all, as long as I took care of our section on the floor, he was fine with taking that private dining party. But I felt bad, for many reasons.
I felt bad that I wasn't helping my coworker like I should be. I felt bad that I wasn't proud of my work. I felt bad that I wasn't confident enough to say hi to the woman and show her who I am outside of music class. I felt bad that I didn't want to serve her. But most of all I felt bad that I was so ashamed of who I am.
Now this morning, my husband is simply asking me how my night went, like he does every morning and I can't even look at him.
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