Satire Non-Fiction posted February 24, 2021

This work has reached the exceptional level
trial and error.

What's my calling?

by Iza Deleanu

Sometimes I stop running and wonder: what is actually my calling? I like to identify myself as a planner, but then I get bored and push everything down, waiting for fate to intervene.

When I started my adventurous life, I planned to be a flight attendant, but then I realized I am too short for that. In Romania at that time, you had to be good looking, and at least 1. 70 meters tall, so you could reach the above compartment and also ... slim, so you could sneak between the chairs with the food and drinks.
I was all of the below:
Nowadays, no discrimination; you can be short, ugly and fat, you get the job.

Coming to Canada and watching real attendants in action, I realized that all my glamourous ideas about this job were just an illusion. You actually don't get to visit any cities, because you just jump to the next assigned flight. Also the job, now looking without my pink glasses,  is a crappy job in fancy clothes, because you are just an airborne server or plainly said  a waitress with no tip.

While in fourth grade, I wanted to be a tour guide. I still think that I missed my chance with this career choice. In Romania, all you need to do is go to the university and take geography. I realized that I am perfect for this job, I have the personality and of course the looks. You don't have to be tall, pretty, slim, just funny. You know in 2013, when I took a trip to Cuba, I decided to buy an excursion to Cayo Largo.

I remember like it was yesterday, it was the New Year's Eve. My trip started at 4 am, when I landed in the bus next to the tour guide. He was pretty worked out, because he didn't speak any English, and he had two Norwegians that were screaming that they booked the trip with translation in English, and two others that were speaking French and just a little bit of English. I was on a bus full of Russians and I felt blessed, you know anyone from Europe it's considered my family.

I told Diego, that I would help out. He could talk in Russian and I would translate in English. You ask, okay what's in it for you? Well I love to help, but also to try my linguistic charm. I think I did a pretty good job, because the Norwegians stopped screaming about not having an official tour guide with English abilities, and after a Mojito I started speaking perfectly in French.

I remember arriving at Cayo; from there we had to take a catamaran. God was so good to me, guess who I met on board? Two families of Bulgarians, and one from Brazil. I can tell you my day was already looking like a linguistic feast. I speak Bulgarian, so here was my chance to remember my student years. And then I was so curious to see if I understand Portuguese. Well I understood so and so, and my answers were very funny. When Diego was speaking in Spanish with me, I was answering half and half; I mean half Spanish, half Italian.

At the end the trip, I even got a fat tip, which means the four tourists were happy with my service. Of course I did not keep the money, I offered it to Diego, after all, this was his territory. I did the same on another trip, and you know what, they offered me an official job as a translator and guide tour for the hotel. Thinking back, I should have accepted the offer.

That was my calling and was coming with great perks, free accommodation, food and a decent salary, bonus sun all year round and my friend, the Ocean, at my door step. But, no, I had to come back to my boring and cold Oh, Canada, to the dull husband and the same old lousy life.

Then I wanted to be a teacher. And finally, I got the official education for it, but I didn't like it, because the old farts would not allow me to teach my kids the way I wanted. So when I was studying in Bulgaria to become a teacher, I was spending a lot of time in the library, so I fell in love with this profession. I was a teacher for a month during my practicum, and then after I finished university for two weeks. That's all from me as a teacher, I could've been successful, but they never let me.... Their loss, right?

So I came back to Romania, and started to work as a librarian. I loved my job, I finally was happy.

In 2009, I decided that is time for me to move to North America to try out my English that I learnt from TV. And it worked, with a "big" exception that you can see in my writings. I am not so confident in my grammar abilities,
but what the heck, wing it!

Here I started from zero. I went back to school to become a librarian, but when I realized that is not the same level of professionalism and passion as in Romania, I changed my options: so instead I became a records manager. Super dull, no?

I thank you my Lord, for not having ever a daffy moment. Today, after forty something years, I still don't know what's my calling? So I jump from one extreme situation to the next in the name of my old calling: curiosity.

Someone told me that death will not find me in my bed, she will need to dig for me, and it will not be an easy find. By now, you know me: now you see me, now you don't!
So, dear Lord, what's my calling?

Does it seem that I always do the opposite? Or maybe to apply the trial and error in everything I do? Also, I am the Master of all second chances. Lucky me! Somebody told me, that we are the sum of all of our errors. One thing I know for sure, no matter what I will end up doing, I will always follow you, my dear God.

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