You had a yellow scab on your face yesterday. You could feel the pus gathering underneath. You picked a tiny corner of it off and it weeped. You observed yourself in the sunlit mirror in the living room of where you work. You still sincerely hope there are not nanny cams. You doused your wound with the hand sanitizer you keep in your purse. You have a nice Coach bag but you still pick your scabs. It burned. You cringed. But you love the burn.
The woman you work for last night lectured you. You’ve dropped the ball a few times, organizationally. In your defense, this past week was the first week she was actually at work.
Oh my god, my roommate is being so annoying. She’s listening to stupid youtube videos at the table and I’m in the middle of trying to write something. Oh well. That makes this writing authentic, right? That it wasn’t written in perfect conditions? Oh wait, I actually think I just saw her out of the corner of my eye get up and grab headphones. Maybe she noticed my slight-cringe. Or, maybe it just dawned on her that it was loud. Either way, I appreciate it.
Anyway. I don’t like fucking up. “I need you to be organized for me”, was what the woman said. She said it nicely, but the intent of the conversation was obvious: she was reprimanding me. It didn’t make me feel good. But in my defense it is a lot to organize at once. And I haven’t been there very long at all. I’m still very new. Still, I know that was basically my memo to stop fucking up. The pressure is on me to be more organized than ever.
I didn’t like that convo. It made me feel lowly. It made me feel like a child caught doing something bad. But I’m a grown, fleshy woman. I’m tired of being reprimanded. My mom all my life was very big on the reprimanding, and now I seem to have picked out a new job where I’ll be reprimanded as well.
Don’t get me wrong. The job is a good job in a lot of ways. They pay me well. And are very fair. And let me eat their food.
But it’s very clear we’re not equals. From the conversation last night, I felt very inferior. The job description called for a “third spouse”, but it’s very clear that they only want that in some regards; in other regards, I’m still to serve and look up to them. It’s hard, because I really don’t know these people very well. I’ve only really had a handful of rather shallow conversations with both the mother and the father, and now I’m in their house with their children trying to make inferences on the spot as to what the best way to react to every rising situation would be.
The younger boy was rude to his piano teacher yesterday. This has been an ongoing thing. The piano teacher is very nice and passionate about what she does. The younger boy doesn’t have a lot of manners with adults. When I mentioned this to the mother at our little talk, she nodded her head and said she would be on board with me trying to reel him in a bit, but she also said that she would be looking into another piano teacher who was a little harder on the kid, who would discipline him. I kinda feel like it’s not her job to discipline an unruly kid, because she’s a piano teacher, not a babysitter. It’s my job and the parents job to be disciplining the kid. She’s a nice, professional person, and shouldn’t be asked to put up with or wrangle with, disrespect. And if the kid is ill-behaved, it’s not her fault for not knowing how to control it; it’s not her job to fight with him. That’s a behind the scenes job. Anyway, I can tell the piano teacher was frustrated when she left yesterday, perhaps even a bit frustrated with me because she expected me to intervene more with the kid (I didn’t interject several times to tell him he was being disrespectful and to stop). However, I got the disappointment from both sides, because when I told the mom about it, she said, “well, she should no how to discipline a kid”, which I just really disagreed with on the inside. So now I’m a bit concerned that I’m going to continue to disagree with these people’s parenting philosophy. It’s very hard to play “third spouse”, or be any sort of nanny-like-figure, when you just don’t have matching instincts with the parents about what the right course of action is. Obviously, they’re not my kids, and I should default to the parents. I’m not an idiot: I’m not going to push what I think it right when it’s not welcomed. I did this with my last job: kind of found myself in instances where I was swallowing my values and what I thought was best to “fit in” with the pre-existing family philosophy, which, while being clearly out of whack to me, as an outsider, was seemingly perfectly accepted by all other members of the family.
Yeah. So, it’s a small thing, but it my eyes, it’s indicative of a big thing. It seems she was quick to brush off my concerns, and immediately went on to placing blame on another person rather than her son. I really don’t like that. That whole thing. And I do think the kid needs some serious manner-adjustment. So yeah. I want to do a good job for these people. But it already doesn’t seem natural for me in some ways, being there. I already feel like I can’t be completely honest with the woman. Which to me is the worst feeling, and kind of a deal breaker. When I’m working with your kids and your home, I should be able to be honest with you. It’s a necessity.
Nothing really to do except stick it out, and try hard to at least be as organized as possible and not drop-the-ball anymore. And I will try to be honest with her in a tactful way. That’s something I won’t compromise on. I’m not going to lie. If I think something’s right or wrong, I’ll say it, but I’ll try to find a nice way to say it that doesn’t sound abrasive to her. That to me is doing the job they hired me for.
But yeah, being a nanny/personal assistant isn’t as easy as you’d think. It’s a juggling act. There are two sons, a mom, and a dad. And I have to juggle their personalities and their commitments, cook their meals, know their schedules, and mediate between them. It actually requires one to be exteeeeemeelely diplomatic. In a way, I’m realizing it’s an absolute minefield. It seemed easy to me at first, but I’ll admit, I was suspicious of its seeming easiness, and now I know why. There are a lot of ways to mess up. Thankfully, I think I’m actually pretty good at this balancing act of personalities. I have my dysfunctional childhood to thank for that.
So yeah. This is where I am right now. I have this job. And I don’t want to be fired hahahaha. I need to get my shit together. Be really good on my end.
I had a meeting with a guy yesterday. He has connections to a lot of major studios. We had a great time talking for about three hours in his West Hollywood apartment. He has connections to Amazon, Netflix, HBO and Showtime. So he could be really great for me to know in the future.
And the woman I work for was nice in that she said she’d get me scripts to read if I asked her for them. So I’m excited about that. I’m going to do some research to figure out which scripts to ask for now.
I went to Taco Bell last night after meeting up with my friend. I fell asleep with a chicken quesadilla next to me and string lights aglow over my head. The Redhead tried to sext me four sexts between the hours of 3 and 6 in the morning. I told him I think our schedules are off.
I want this. I want commercial success. I want to write a show and sell my show and have my show do well. I’m starting to feel aggressive about it. I don’t want to settle for scraps. I want the Big Thing. I don’t want to be lectured. I feel too superior for that. I have my own vision.
In a way, it’s going to be uncomfortable for me, being an assistant for another year, but I guess we all have to eat shit in different ways.