Re-Wiring

Roughly two weeks into my time in Gibraltar, I thought, “where the hell have two weeks gone?”. I was under the weather and my time zone clock was totally screwed up when I arrived. The clock got straightened out rather quickly, but I got a full-blown cold in the middle of summer that refused to depart. And I think Saint Lucia itself, for many reasons, left me tired. So I feel like a week was simply rest and reset.

Then there also had to be the adjustment to my new living arrangement – tiny, dark, musty quarters with a person I barely know who speaks with quite an accent that really required me to concentrate.

It doesn’t matter that I barely know Darius. I feel like I have known him forever. I could not speak with him for eighty years and I feel like we would pick up right where we had left off. Oh, and he’s never at the flat. When I met Darius, he had two jobs. One of them came to an end at about the same time that he was presented with his dream opportunity-the chance to run a restaurant. So when I arrived in Gibraltar, Darius was going full tilt. He has kept one of his old jobs – managing 5 AirBnbs – and started another – running the restaurant. I think he kept the AirBnbs because he thought he could get an income from the AirBnbs while getting the restaurant off the ground, and manage both. But it hasn’t really worked out that way. Someone will want to check in early, or be late, or run out of toilet paper, just when Darius is trying to serve a specially-reserved supper or have a meeting with staff or go home after being on his feet all day. And when does he fit in the cleaning? He doesn’t. So the recent trajectory of the ratings for his Airbnbs is a whole other story…

So could I come to the rescue? I’ve tried. I’ve done loads and loads of bedding and towels-keep in mind there are no driers here. I’ve mopped floors and emptied garbages and cleaned bathroom sinks and changed bedding and gagged cleaning up strangers’ hair. That’s a really gross job when its clogging a drain. I have wondered what the hell people could cook in a kitchen that creates such a congealed glob in the kitchen sink. I have learned that the toilets here are on a completely different system than the rest of the indoor plumbing. The toilets are flushed using salt water. The reason I know this is because the saltwater system is not nearly as reliable as the other plumbing, and sometimes the salt water system goes out in a certain district, but you only discover that after 24 or more hours of +25 humid heat when you go into the flat after the people have left it…and then all you can do is get water from the kitchen or shower, take a huge breath, and force yourself to go back in to flush the toilet with that water while holding your breath.

But I have also discovered that most people are neat and tidy. And they leave behind a lot of partial six-packs of beer and unfinished bottles of booze.

I have also worked in the restaurant. Darius wants people to rave about the great food and fantastic service, but with a staff that is foreign to each other also working in a foreign environment where everyone thinks stock and processes should be set up in a different way, it’s hard to achieve the necessary cohesiveness that will produce such reviews. Darius has chosen to place his resources on food first, so the front end is a little short-staffed. I generally show up and just…run. Getting drinks. Running glassware through the sterilizer machine. Swearing at the till (because yes, it is the fault of the till that I don’t know how to use it). Asking people if everything is all right and fearing the requests that follow the question. And, reminiscent of the time I spend in the AirBnbs, in the restaurant I clean up after people too – I scrape plates and wipe tables and clean food off the floor. But that rarely if ever bothers me. For some reason, it is hair on the floor or in the sink or shower that I really can’t stand.

IPA Beer Garden – a band plays one night on the patio

I have a great sense of satisfaction when I leave a sparkling clean flat with the perfectly-folded towels and smoothed bedding. It is so nice to see the results of one’s labours, something you can never do in law.

But what I enjoy even more is the restaurant. I like making people guess where I’m from. I enjoy pouring a pint and trying to remember where there’s more gin, and even the til doesn’t frustrate me much anymore. I like watching everyone enjoy their food, making sure their drinks are full and they have enough ketchup, and when they smile back at me, or make a special point of coming to say goodbye and thank you to me, I’m in a really happy place.

But its not legal for me to work here. I don’t really see anyone at the AirBnbs, so that isn’t really an issue, but at the restaurant, all I see is people. I don’t want to get Darius in trouble, so I simply tell everyone I don’t work there, I am Darius’ friend and I’m just helping out because the restaurant is new and I really want to see him succeed. The last thing he needs is trouble with the labour inspectors (who do come and check the legality of people’s work status, apparently) from my being there.

It sounds like getting a work permit is going to be extremely difficult. They are only granted if you have a special skill that is not possessed by a Gibraltarian, and there is no Gibraltarian to fill the position. Who can’t do laundry, clean a kitchen, or pour a beer?

So many I have met don’t understand why I haven’t applied at the law firms yet. I can’t be certified to practice law here without going through the entire certification process (18 months to 2 years) but everyone seems to assume that I have some special skill that would get me a work permit regardless.

But the bigger problem, as usual, is me. I don’t think I want to work in a law firm! I don’t even know if I want to work in an office. Running the restaurant with Darius excites me, and that’s why I’ll do laundry and cleaning for 4 hours a day, and then go run on off my feet for 6 to 8 hours a night. But the thought of working in a law office just makes my feet drag…

Yup, you read that right. Some days I might only work for a couple of hours, but for roughly 3 days of the week, I’d say that between the AirBnbs and and the restaurant I exceed 8 or 9 a day. And usually, I’m not being paid.

But that didn’t really bother me, as I am staying at Darius’ for free.

Nonetheless, there was a prevailing feeling of discontent. I attributed it to the usual – that I have no plan and no idea what I’m doing. Gradually, however, a different way of thinking came to dawn on me.

Old habits die hard. Recognizing you are repeating a pattern of old habits takes time, and I gradually came to realize that was exactly what I was doing – repeating an old habit. Gradually I came to realize that I was using all of my efforts to fulfill and sustain Darius’ life dream rather than my own. I may not know what my own life dream is yet. But I know that it is not cleaning up after people who have been staying in Airbnb‘s that don’t belong to me. I know it is not living for free in someone else’s house, planning my entire day around his schedule and tiptoeing around every second he is present so that I don’t disturb him. I know it is not feeling like I am obligated to be on call 14 hours a day because I am staying with someone, and that someone is totally unorganized and will just call or text when he needs something. Worst of all, he has just come to expect that I will do it. He relies on me. And I let him. Maybe me actions, my desire to please, encourage it.

Yes, old habits die hard. But I’m glad this time it took me only weeks, not months or years, to recognize that I was exerting all my effort to enable someone else to achieve their dreams, without considering my own. I am in a foreign place, and I want to see it. How can I do that when I’m working, and on call, seven days a week?

You can tell me to just do less. But while I am living there for free, I am not the type of person that can do that; I feel obligated to help him. And its far from my ideal living situation anyway.

So I quit listening to Darius try to talk me out of moving out. In fact, as I listened to him, I realized my pros of staying were outweighed by my cons. Yes! I came to believe that I was not as indebted to him as I thought, that maybe it was even possible he was receiving more of a benefit than I. And as that thought process went on, I looked at places and discovered all the hurdles (God, there are many), and gasped at the rental prices (it is so expensive here!). Then I sucked it all up and carried on. Darius finally quit arguing with me, said, “we will see each other all the time anyway, darling”, and asked me what I needed for my new place.

Tonight I sit on my couch. There is no Victorian clutter or dust, which suits me fine. There is bright light, I no longer live in the dark chambers of a vampire (Darius hates light, I swear he can see in the dark, and he is even from Transylvania!). My stuff is all unpacked, unpacked!! I no longer live out of a suitcase, or have to carry my toiletries with me to the bathroom each morning. There is no mess of Darius, who left his shoes and underwear and dirty plates and cigarette butts all over the one room kitchen/living room. That alone causes me to breath an immense, contented sigh of relief.

So now what? Tomorrow morning I will go to Darius’ and do a load of laundry, if he hasn’t already done so. I will post this, because I don’t have internet at my place yet. I will then go clean the two AirBnbs, just as before. I’ll go back to his place and hang the laundry and use his wifi some more. And then, I don’t know. Tomorrow is a whole new day.