Big Macs and breakdowns

Wew, what a day. I feel so emotionally drained - and let me tell ya, I hate that phrase. I feel like it's something that only people with a tendency to be over-dramatic say. But here I am, whipping out that line because I think that it sums up my feelings from today perfectly.


Let's start with one of the main contributors to my breakdown today: lack of sleep. I have not slept properly since Thursday. Today is Sunday. I know some people go much longer without resting fully but it's not something I'm used to. I had prom on Friday night, and yesterday during the day I went to a BBQ, and then straight on to a party in the evening. The guy I was kind of seeing was at this BBQ, as were a lot of our friends... as was his ex girlfriend. I don't have a problem with her except that she's really up herself and pretty fake. So maybe a few issues there, actually. Well, she was there bumming around and basically rubbing herself up on the guy (my guy? Let's call him Carlos, cute name).


So, she'd been getting pretty close with Carlos all afternoon at our merry BBQ and when he and I finally left in his car to go to the party, I was all like phew, thank god she's out of my hair. We popped home for a quick outfit change and then back out to our other friend's 18th celebrations. And who's there? THE GIRL. I don't know why I'm only calling her the girl, I've known her for years and she deffo has a name, but she likes to call herself Lala (why?). So, Lala doesn't even know the birthday boi, yet here she is. Why? I wish I knew. Literally, I do not know what she was doing there. I have a vague suspicion she was someone's plus one, but still. Maaate. She was the only plus one there.


Sorry, I'm getting a bit catty here. This has turned from me writing about deep emotions to me bitching out some girl. Apologies. Anyway, so Lala has decided she's not going to drink a drop of alcohol at this party which she was not invited to which is absolutely fine. But maybe if she was drunk, I'd hate her less. I'd hate her less for MAKING OUT PASSIONATELY WITH CARLOS. Carlos was pre-etty gone by this stage. Don't get me wrong, that's no excuse for his disgusting, dreadful, dismal behaviour, but it makes me want to blame him a bit less. Lala, however, knew exactly what she was doing, the scheming bword. I walked into the room and walked straight back out when I saw... it.


Ugh, what a sight. One of my friends went and slapped him which was a bit too far, perhaps, but he's since said that it made him realise what a total dick he was being (correct). I was surprised by how neutral I felt at the time towards the whole fiasco. I wasn't sad or really angry or crying. I was just mildly pissed off. Like, only a little bit annoyed. And I think it was more that I was witnessing it that annoyed me, not that actual thing itself. So I said a cool goodbye to them when they told me they were leaving and didn't really think about it much more. 


But I woke up this morning in the worst mood ever. I'm usually pretty good natured and I don't get too emotional at all, but I felt on edge for the whole of today. This, teamed with four hours sleep and an 8am - 4pm shift, does not make for a happy camper. I was fine for the first three and a half hours of my shift, until I took my lunch break at work. Being employed at McDonald's and all, I got my free Big Mac meal and retired to the staff room. But my Big Mac wasn't quite up to scratch, and it really upset me. The bun had been toasted for too long and there wasn't enough sauce in it. I think my ridiculous overreaction to the sub-par burger was the first indication that my emotions weren't in check today. Of course, I still ate the burger but - ridiculously - there were tears in my eyes. I was tired, okay?!


A few hours later, towards the end of my shift, I saw an abandoned tray on a table. The drink was still pretty full, but all the food was gone. 90% of the tables I clear still have drinks left over, so I didn't think anything of it. I went over to the table and had just picked up the tray. It was literally an inch off the table and I hadn't even taken a step when a man ran over to me and said "WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?". So I did the whole oh I'm sorry is this yours I didn't realise you hadn't finished I'm so sorry here you go sir I'm so sorry spiel and he continued to shout at me. COULD YOU NOT SEE I HAVEN'T FINISHED, WHY ON EARTH WOULD YOU CLEAR MY TABLE. So I apologise like six more times but in my head I'm like you fucking titwank, get out of my face, leave me the fuck alone but I've got my nice customer-friendly-smile on my face and I use my sugary sweet apologetic voice. And still he's shouting at me. I walk away and he follows me across the dining area like I WAS RAISED IN A GENERATION WHERE WE CLEAR OUR TABLES, I DON'T NEED YOU TO DO IT FOR ME. And all these other customers were looking and I felt so embarrassed. It was so humiliating.


My eyes started watering and I couldn't stop it. And then they watered more because I was so annoyed at myself for letting this utter dickwad of a 60 year old man get to me like that. One of my managers in the kitchen then called me over to do some drive thru orders. She hadn't seen or heard the horrible man shout at me but when I got to her, she saw my face and was like wow okay you need to go and take five minutes. And that five minutes, stupidly, turned into about thirty five minutes. I got one of my colleague-friends to bring me the toilet cleaning materials so I could pretend to be cleaning while I actually hid from everyone.


And that, readers, is how at 3pm on a Sunday afternoon, I was locked in a cubicle, slumped against the toilet bowl, clutching a bottle of industrial toilet cleaner, and sobbing madly. I was in there so long that the motion sensor lights turned off. So, all of that but in the pitch black too because there were no windows. And I couldn't stop crying. Even when the tears stopped coming, I couldn't stop gasping and gulping. I don't know why. It was scary because I've never felt so wildly out of control of my emotions. I've usually got a pretty tight handle on things and people, especially at work, know me as someone who's happy and chirpy all the time, and who "never stops smiling" (quote from my fave manager).


There were maybe thirty people working in the store today but my, oh my, word spreads quickly. About five people came to check on me after I'd emerged from the toilet cubicle and every time they hugged and asked what was wrong, the tears would reappear. I've never felt so pathetic in my entire life. I'd love to say that I cried because I'm still ill from Zante (true), and that I'm absolutely shattered, and that the mean shouty old man pushed me over the edge. But I've got a nasty, niggling little feeling that I cried because of Carlos and Lala's kissing last night.


A few years ago, I vowed to never cry over a boy. I know that's pretty near impossible, but I wanted to keep it up for as long as I could. I don't cry over many people and I don't know and haven't - over the course of my life - known many boys worth crying over. Carlos, however, is worth crying for. He's a wonderful, beautiful, caring, sweet, amazing guy who got a bit too smashed and accidentally fell into the arms of his very promiscuous ex girlfriend. It's not great, but I've forgiven him. We've talked things out today and, while we've decided not to pursue an actual relationship with each other, we're as close as ever.


And the cherry on top of all of this is that my vow to myself remains unbroken. Yes, I cried and yes, my fragile mood may have been caused by a boy and his antics with a girl who is not me, but as this was not the direct cause of my tears, I'm not counting it. It was merely a contributing factor to my tragically pathetic breakdown which took place in McDonald's toilets.


I hope you're all having a considerably better weekend than I am and that you have a wonderful start to next week! xo