Chronically Ironic

·Oh, the Places You Won’t Go!

Here is a chronological list of jobs I’ve had:

Pet Store – Fish Department
K-Mart – Women’s Apparel Department
Selling Gross 80’s Fashion Watches in Middle of Mall
Selling Dumb Crystals and Wicca Shit in Store in Mall
Selling Hair Care Products in Store in Mall
Selling Books in Bookstore in Hotel/Lounge Singer in Hotel Bar
Selling Clothes in Store in Mall
Selling Clothes in Store in Mall II
Selling Clothes in Small-Town Uppity Department Store
Home Health Care Attendant
Data Entry Monkey for Large Manufacturer
Returns for Large Manufacturer of Electrical Product
Data Entry for Private Secretarial College
Collections for Large Manufacturer of Electrical Product
Customer Service for Large Manufacturer of Electrical Product
Sales for Representative of Manufacturers of Electrical Products

Holy crap. I’m only 36. WTF???!!

I think I have left shit out, too. No wonder I have been at the last place for 9 years. I’m too exhausted from all my other crap jobs to do anything else. Being pretty much forced by my parents to hold down a job by the time I hit legal working age, I took the jobs that kids can get. Mall. I think about the mall now and it’s no wonder that I never want to go in one. I spent half of my life in a mall. The mall has nothing to offer but sadness and bangles. The mall is where you go to get depressed about all the shit you can’t buy or afford, even when you now make more than mall-type salary. Needless to say, my ability to work in 900 different stores in almost as many malls did not prepare me for life, or working, or anything except maybe how to park at Christmas.

College, depending on your field of choice, will most likely not prepare you either. If you have a job that is not 8-5, or are in school, your life is not structured on a “normal” timeline. College, you can schedule your classes pretty much however you want. The Mall does not operate in real time either – 10-9, not normal, and you get days off during the week. It is only when you enter the life-sucking world of the Monday-through-fucking-Friday-8AM-to-5PM I-Can’t-Get-A-Goddamn-Thing-Done workweek that you realize you have finally reached a point where you are A) a responsible adult; B) are really tired and C) need a drink more often than not.

And if you are indeed A (a responsible adult,) you may actually feel pressure to perform at whatever real-time job that has chosen you. Because I am guessing you didn’t fucking pick it, did you. And if you did, then you should raise your hands up to the heavens and thank the Good Lord, because you are one of the lucky ones that might possibly be doing what you Have Always Wanted to Do. If you are like the rest of us, though, you are in a field where you make the best of what it is, and as I was saying, may feel pressure to do a fantastic job – for money, for recognition, for reputation – whatever reason you do it for, you are probably doing it an extra 8-20 hours a week. Maybe more! Maybe a little less. Either way, there is precious little time to spend with the ones you love, or your home bar that you are trying to build up. It is hard to cherish all that shit when you just want to take a big fucking nap. Don’t EVEN get me started on trying to take up any hobbies.

I am sure there are some of you out there that are saying, “Whatever. I have plenty of energy to do all kinds of things in my spare time.” I question these things about those of you: How old are you? Because if you are over 35, you are either lying or doing crank. Do you sleep? I know lots of people older than I am that just can’t sleep. Whenever I have gone through insomniac jags, though, I just watch a shitload of TV. I don’t really get anything done. And if none of that is true and you still have plenty of time to do whatever you want, then screw you. I am jealous.

I’m not trying to depress anyone here, but I will say this: You remember when you were 10, and you wanted to be a dancer, or an actress, or a parachuting-type person, and you don’t get to do ANY of that because you grow up and have to pay for things and do shitty jobs for shitty people and the longing inside your heart to do more, to be more, can be absolutely crushing. But there is a light at the end of this hell-tunnel, and it’s not death, my friends. It’s having the dawn of realization that no one, at any time, has spoken the last words of:

“I wish I would have worked more.”

Give your job or career the best you can – but don’t ever give them all of you. There’s a whole world of cool stuff to do just waiting – that is, if you decide to get out of bed. Which I might NOT.

Work is a Four-Letter Word