On being both a dick and a nice person simultaneously

Japanese waitress Mafune told me when we started work yesterday that she was so glad that I'd answered the work phone when she'd called on Thursday to check her schedule. "I was scared you might've quit! We have a hard time holding on to good people", making my ego swell so hard my head nearly burst. It's nice to be liked, but it's nicer to be liked by someone who you respect and who's good at her job and respected by her other co-workers. It's even nicer to not only be liked, but to be perceived as being a good worker. So many good things!


The restaurant was insanely busy last night. It turned out to be the busiest night all year, and the only time I've wanted to hide in the kitchen and burst into tears since I started. It was unbelievably stressful, and people kept pouring in both for takeaway and to be seated. I kept trying to keep my head in the game, bringing people their drinks and pre-order miso soup, but things kept piling on, and I swear that if Mafune hadn't been there, I would've cut my losses and run away. Shit was intense.

"So this is how I die. At a restaurant, at the hands of hungry people," went through my head a very unpleasing number of times.

After two hours or so of absolute insanity, things reverted back into a more normal pace, and people went back to being nice and non-demanding. One table even gave me a whole 100 SEK in tips - 10% of their bill which isn't much in most places where tipping is customary, but in a place where I barely make half of that on even bigger bills, I was stoked and Mafune impressed. I seem to be getting the tipping mechanism down now - I make quite a decent bit of money on an average night just by being nice and attentive, laughing at jokes that aren't funny and generally making comments about how hot or cold it is, what the weather's like and what charming decor we have in the restaurant. Yes, we have been around for quite some time. Over twenty years now, can you imagine? I sure hope my insincere pleasantries don't spill over too much into my everyday life.

This kinda was the evening I figured out that I'm far more likely to judge people than I thought. This guy who spent all evening typing on his Macbook, sipping sake and generally looking like a bit of a douche had a bit of Japanese small talk with Mafune before closing, and I caught myself rolling my eyes so hard I thought they were going to roll back into my skull. God, what a poser. And then I realized what I was doing. Why was I being a bitch? Why was he a poser for doing the exact same thing I do when we work together? "But that's just it," my brain tries to reason. "It's work, so that makes it obvious that I need to be able to speak Japanese to Mafune". It's not weeaboo behaviour when I do it. Obviously. Hemingway tends to complain that I'm judgmental, but I always figured that since I score far higher on the Perceiving part than the Judging part of the Myers-Briggs test that I was kinda exempt from judgement. Obviously not, since everyone judges more or less. I was just surprised to actually notice it.

Brain, you're a total asshole. Again it's back to the competition thing - he's stealing my thunder by being a white person who knows Japanese, so I immediately kick into aggressor mode. I can rest assured that Mafune most likely won't like him better than she likes me - especially given what she said at the beginning of the shift. I don't know why I'm so judge-y, but at least I'm calling myself on it now in an attempt to be less of a dick to people.