The Meltdown

It happened yesterday. I had an official

m
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           o

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                n.                                

I knew it was coming, though truthfully I didn't expect it to happen in the company of a co-worker.

Oh, where do I even begin?

We weren't busy and we were zipping through our closing duties, tag-teaming the register and hi-fiving each other. I couldn't have asked for a more perfect day. The sun was shining bright and high. Our customers were feeling our energy too and we were making awesome tips, which is a rarity on a slow day. Then an hour before closing time, my co-worker's mom came into the store.

Just like that, my co-worker's attitude went from daydream to nightmare.

The hi-fives ceased and turned into my co-worker ordering me to do things. The sound of her voice reminded me of the tall, lean black doberman that barks at me everyday I walk home from work. Its barks; sharp, piercing, and to-the-point. My co-worker's vocal tone matched the doberman's, and I pleaded the same question to myself in that moment at work as I do every time I pass the mysterious house surrounded with bars, where the guard dog resides.

Why are you barking at me??? I'm not purposefully trying to bother you
or disturb you. I'm just trying to get home.

I also used the same conflict-resolution strategy with co-worker that I use with the doberman and ignored the barks and sped up my pace so I could get home faster. Five minutes before close I thought we were in the clear to get out of the store on time. I started drying off the dishes my co-worker just finished washing and two of our regulars walked in. No big deal, and I walked over to the coffee bar, pulled a gallon of milk out from the refrigerator and started making their drinks.


My co-worker stepped out from her side of the imaginary boundary fence between us, and onto my side. She leaned against the counter I was working at, arms crossed over her chest. I continued making the drinks and pumped coffee syrup into the blender.

"You're not supposed to pour the milk first. You pump the coffee first," she said to me, annoyed.
"*Lacie taught me to measure and pour the milk first, then pump the rest of the ingredients into the blender so it doesn't make a mess," I replied.
"Oh I highly doubt that", my co-worker snapped back at me.

Mistake #1- I should have kept my big mouth shut.

But yesterday was different, and some days at work I encounter co-workers who take their bad attitudes out on me, passive-aggressively. Most days I don't say a word because its not a big deal. I've had bad days where I take out my frustrations on everything and everyone within arm's length. I get it. It's a forgivable offense. There are also days at work when I don't get drink orders right, so when a co-worker offers advice to teach me, and for the sake of good coffee, I listen to them.


This day, however, didn't roll off of me so easily. I quietly calculated the situation in my head as I put the lids on the cups and sent the customers on their merry way. I secretly wished I could leave too, and considered giving the customers their drinks for free if they promised to take me with them. After careful evaluation, I came up with the following formula for the problem and solution:

 

co-worker's bitchy attitude
+
my overflowing anxiety
/
her mother waiting on her to get off work
June 1, 2010 @ 5:00 p.m.
x
none of the "some days at work..." spiel circumstances to be true
=
my excuse for ZERO TOLERANCE

I rinsed the blender out in our coffee bar sink and my co-worker began locking the front door. I returned the blender to its home on the drying rack and turned off the water faucet, then turned around.

"Why would you say, 'I highly doubt that'? That's how Lacie taught me to make drinks," I explained to my angry co-worker.
"I highly doubt Lacie would teach you to make a drink the wrong way," she barked back.
"I don't think she was teaching me the wrong way, we just poured the milk into the cup first as a way to measure it. Then we added the coffee pumps," I continued in my explanation.

Apparently my answer wasn't what she wanted to hear and her defensive-ness over coffee pumps returned in full effect. "That's not the right way though! Look at the steps!" she yelled at me from across the store.

"I don't understand what you're saying!" I yelled back, as my tone began to match her's so I could get in tune with her barking.
I walked up to the front counter so she could hear me better, "Do you think I'm lying about the way Lacie taught me? That would be stupid for me to lie about! Why would I make something like that up?!"
"I'm not calling you a liar!" she screamed at me.
"Well what are you trying to say?!" I asked, now extremely annoyed with her attitude. "If you highly doubt that Lacie taught me to pour milk first! Why would you say that?! And what's with that? What does that even mean? 'I highly doubt...' That means you don't believe me! Jesus Christ! Do you--"
"I didn't say I didn't believe you!" she interjected. 
"If you doubt something that means you don't believe it." I said in a slightly calmer tone.

I changed my tone because I realized that my co-worker had set me up for this entire scenario. This is how misunderstandings always start, where someone says something, and the meaning of the words and phrases they choose to use they don't entirely understand. Or sometimes they do understand what they mean and they think you don't. I've come to learn through writing and also through life experience, that words in a misunderstanding can be used like masks, to hide the identity of true feelings.

Unfortunately for my co-worker and me, I took her all of her words, phrases, sentences and dialogue to my mind and my heart. There wasn't much space in either of those places for the stress of arguing over coffee to be dealt with, and my eyelids, which I had shut like flood gates, opened up to ease the cramped quarters inside of my body. The flood of tears came rushing out, followed by hyperventilation, then into full blown and highly embarrassing panic attack mode.

My co-worker grabbed a raft and paddled around in my meltdown flood, continuing on her rant;
"I'm a supervisor at my other job! I don't short-cut things! I do things the right way!"
I wanted to scream back at her, "Well you're not a supervisor at THIS job, so stop talking down to me asshole!"

I didn't though. I could barely calm myself down to breathe, much less to resume fighting. It was a set-up trap of negativity, our yelling match, and a complete waste of her time and mine. Still, I knew the argument did not deserve this reaction from me. The reason for my meltdown was because I've been keeping my stress, my anxiety and my worry to myself. After a while, holding everything inside adds up and has to be let out. 

 

the size of my inner stress
+
the set up
/
past, present, future
x
0 room to hold things inside
=
my meltdown

It took roughly 15 minutes for me to enter the post-panic attack phase of my meltdown. All the while my co-worker was still rambling on. I managed to pant out, in between the short breaths I was taking,

"I'm sorry--this has--nothing to do with you.--I'm just--still upset--from people dying--"
"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked me, now snotty in her tone.

If I had more breath to laugh in that moment, I would have. My mind resumed back to a somewhat homeostasis, and I thought to myself, "Yeah I want to talk about it. Just not with you, coffee nazi."


I politely responded, "No, its okay. I'm sorry, let's just get the rest of the closing duties finished." We went back to work in silence. I finished mopping the front of the store then grabbed my cash deposit and left immediately after I was done. I made the drop, clocked out, and headed downstairs to the locker room in the basement under our store. I sat down on the wooden bench in front of my locker and took a deep breath and let myself cry again, minus the hyperventilating.


I realized the next step would be to talk to someone, first a friend or family member, then make arrangements to start going to grief counseling. Its pretty disheartening to feel like the progress you thought you were making was avoidance. Avoidance has become my survival tactic. I knew there was no way I could have dealt with my grief while still experiencing death after death last year. I avoided dealing with it to keep my strength as pieces of my life were torn down and wiped out, like the way buildings fall and get demolished by implosion in seconds.

No one ever sees it coming until after the implosion and the structure has already begun fall. Then just as fast as it happens, its over. There's nothing you can do to rectify the building. But you can rebuild. Before you rebuild, however, you have to clear the space and clean up the pieces of the demolished buildings that stood before.

Twice yesterday, I found myself facing abrupt confrontation because I do things out of order; the coffee pumps and the process of rebuilding my life.

*Name has been changed for privacy.