I have a job interview tomorrow.
It isn’t for a fancy newspaper writing gig or a copy writing position or anything remotely creative at all. I thought for a long time if I took a new job after graduation it had best be in my field or what the fuck did I go to school for? I thought a non-creative position would be admitting defeat or settling somehow. I opted for a creative degree against my family’s slight discouragment in full confidence that the reason for my post-high school education was not to secure a high-paying job, but to become a rounder, more knowledgeable person. Which I totally did. I wanted to major in something I wanted to do, not something that would get me a climate-controlled SUV and a big screen. My favorite journlism teacher told me that newspaper writing is a calling, not a career. Still, I wanted to write, as I do still today.
The beautiful thing about writing is, no one has to pay you to do it. It totally fucking rules when they do, but I wasn’t getting paid to pen plays in day care, so why should I expect money for it now.
The point is, I’ve finally come to my breaking point. With the service industry that is. When I come home from work I smell like greasy fried onions. It disgusts me. I fucking hate everything about it. I make a lot of money, most of it tax-free, and have a very lax schedule, but every time I pull into that parking lot I want to cry. I am mean to the people I work with. I am bitingly sarcastic and short with my guests if they so much as look at me oddly. Someone asked me the other day what we would be broadcasting on the televisions while I was particularly busy in the servers’ well and I was terribly abrupt. He was surprised and claimed he “was only wondering,” in response to which I gave him the world’s most hollow, non-genuine, exaggerated smile I could manage. In order to express how much I totally loathed him, of course.
I’d say it’s time I get out.
That guy didn’t deserve that. The servers I bitch out on a nightly basis for being totally retarded (no really, they are) don’t deserve that. My managers don’t deserve the utter disrespect that sits brimming just beneath my versed veneer. I can fake a smile in an instant, but lately I cannot hide my underlying contempt. Most importantly, I don’t deserve that. Lots of people bitch about their jobs. My new place of employ might suck out loud. But at least it will suck differently. It won’t be that same janky, broke-ass margarita machine. It won’t be the minimum seven pieces of flair rule.
Yes, it’s finally time for me to go.
I’m confident I am more than qualified for the position I am interviewing for tomorrow, and suspect I’ll be starting a new line of work within one month.
One day soon I will never wear a uniform to work again.
17 comments ↓
Good for you, Brittney. You’ve obviously outgrown your current occupation.
Like you, I was determined that I’d never work in any capacity other than a professional writer once I graduated from college. And my first job after college *was* as a technical writer, working under contract at TheWorld’sLargestBrewery’s HQ in St. Louis. God, how I loathed that job. Not the writing itself–working as a tech writer is a great exercise in disciplined writing and editing. It was the suit and tie, and the gray cubicle, and the political infighting among managers, and the interminable meetings (at which I was the “scribe,” in early-90s business-speak, who dutifully wrote down all the dreary nastiness and later rehashed it in benign, prosaic reports). It was having to keep my hair cut so I looked somewhat “corporate,” at least externally. It was having to take out my earrings every morning before getting out of my truck. It was walking into that damned funnel-shaped entryway every morning, feeling like a cow being herded to slaughter. Someday I’ll recount the tale of my last day there–I managed to make the most dramatic exit possible, in full view of everyone I worked with. Priceless….
Anyway, best of luck with the interview. Even if the new job does turn out to suck out loud, it’ll at least be in a venue that doesn’t smell of rancid grease and cigarette smoke. You’ve got lots of options and few responsibilities right now. You’re still young, with your whole life awaiting you. Don’t let yourself get trapped in a life you hate, from which there’s no escape that won’t traumatize the people you love most. Even more important, don’t forget that you still have the power to write your own story. You won’t always have that power–it’s a luxury most of us squander until it’s too late to escape, and then we’re stuck in despair for the rest of our lives. Trust me on that one.
Wow. I never dreamed that you were THAT unhappy. You do hide it well. So where are you going? A place with no uniforms? You getting a job in Shangri-freakin’-La or something…
Best of luck to ya. I hope the interview goes well!
Good luck! Hope you get the job - sounds like you need it for the sake of your sanity!
Good luck! And I want to read some of your day care plays. I may produce them.
Brittney, as someone who’s made the transition from starving news reporter to buttoned-down corporate schlub, I feel your pain. But the funny thing is, for me anyway, in retrospect, the schlubbery I experienced in my two years of working in a newsroom seems unbearable compared to the garden-variety dorkiness I get when I clock into the corporate job du jour. The pinheads I deal with today? They are amateurs compared to the people who rise to positions of authority in the newsrooms of America.
And it is totally *not* about abandoning your dream in favor of the air-conditioned SUV with the leather seats and the personal adjustable ass heater (and I think you know what).
I do the math this way: I could have done news writing forever, or I could been paid to go to Sweden two summers in a row to give the same one-hour talk on somebody’s dumb software product. (I picked Sweden.) I could have written captions that describe in graphic detail what happened when the mayor’s wife’s car hit the telephone pole, or I could have written a bunch of books. (They were technical books, but still.)
Writing is a calling, sure, but it’s something more than that. It’s something that you have, something that’s in you, and it’s something that will help you survive and succeed wherever you are, whether you’re working at BigCo Inc. or T.G.I. McScratchy’s.
At the end of the day: there’s no such thing as an ex-writer.
This hit home for me. I’m stuck in a job that I loathe as well, but at least it’s a “non-uniform” environment. Call-centers are the devil…they suck you in but don’t quite spit you out. You start working at one, and you don’t like it. But they pay you well enough to keep you there, give you enough benefits, and before you know it five years has passed.
I’m only 23, and I realize how it sounds. “Get out of there, girl!”, you might say. I took a few years off from college but I’m back at school now, which is why I’m still at the call center. The job I loathe provides me with a decent salary so that I can work part-time and make more then I would somewhere else working full-time. And they have tuition reimbursement. This is not a small thing.
But I, too, know what you mean about the “creative degree.” I’m a sociology major and I’m not quite sure what I want to do with it once I graduate. I love the study of people and just learning new things in general. I’m not going to college to learn a technical trade or to become a high-paid doctor or lawyer. But God knows I’ll have a different job once I can get from my current job what I need, even if I have to get paid less. My happiness and my state of mind is worth more than that.
I’m sorta from the other side, but your digital etchings reverberate just as loudly in my ears. I did engineering, though I did start with a love and interest in the math which I still retain, after finishing, I’m torn. There’s gold (well, eventually when I get hired, ha ha) in them thar hills, but I look at the friends who I went to school with, complaining about overtime and stress and never having enough money, despite making three or four times what I’m making now, and wonder if that’s what I really want. (It’s not, really)
I do have plans, though. I don’t know what I’d do without them.
Thanks, another great bit from you, Brittney.
Oh, and best wishes on your interview!!
You’ll totally rock them.
Mmmm, greasy fried onions.
Best of luck, kid. That last day when you throw the name badge in the trash and walk out the door is gonna feel better than sex. Trust me, I know what I’m talking about.
Yeah, good luck on getting out of the Outback. The brush is thick, and there are dingos. Be careful. Still, I can tell you that you will be trading one uniform for another. As a male in an office, I am required to wear a button up shirt, a tie, and a presentable set of footwear (non-white socks, non-tennis shoes.) Even casual Fridays have a dress code (no jeans, t-shirts only if they are work related, still no sneakers). Plus, you have to buy your own uniform, and shit is expensive.
Sorry. Sitting in a carpet walled box, venting.
booooo jobs! i hate changing jobs, and will stay at at bad job longer than i should just because i have adjusted to the particular way in which it sucks. and walking out feels fantastic, but i still hope to prove jonmc wrong.
Go Brittney! K had an interview on Friday, and they called her back for a second this week.
Dong gave me some great advice right before my last interview, and that was to not take my pants off, no matter how comfortable I felt.
I am sorry you are so unhappy.
I am glad you are doing something about it.
I hope things work out for you.
I still like Outback steaks.
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