I QUIT.

I actually quit my job. Sort of.

It was more like I stopped going, a la Office Space. I really didn't like it and uh, I just didn't go. For the first four or five days, I called in. I went through the time and effort of dialing their 1-800 number, went through all the prompts, connected to my store, and told management I wouldn't be in. They never ask why because there's no such thing as an excused absence; even if you bring in a doctor's note, you still weren't there.

So I didn't go. And a week later when I finally got to see my doctor, she told me I've probably got mild carpal tunnel. She said that if I take care of myself, I won't need surgery and it can heal on its own.

I was so happy to have an answer to something that I drove to Smile Central and hunted down the store manager.

"I need to talk about my employment status. If I haven't been fired, I need to quit."

Imagine all that said by someone radiating energy and joy. I was told I'd been removed from the system and the worst part is that you didn't even call in!

Yeah yeah, whatever. "I'm going to do my graphic design, so no hard feelings?" Still grinning, of course. "I'll just clean out my locker. Bye!"

YES.

At this point in winter I'm usually reminding myself why I should stay alive. Instead, I feel free. That job was sucking out my soul. I worked between 12 and 36 hours per week (depending on their whim) running back and forth pushing, lifting, twisting, and getting lectured for whatever anyone in the department had forgotten to do. I was paid minimum wage, got no benefits, and worked until eight or nine at night, random days of the week and every weekend. I'd get two, maybe three days off per week, but not consecutively, and it was exhausting. I only saw my daughter when sending her to school and putting her to bed, and I was in so much pain that most of that time was spent arguing.

During my week of not going to work, I decided that I could be poor, uninsured and miserable or I could be poor, uninsured and doing something I love. I realize that I will be more poor now, as getting things going won't be quick or easy, but this time I'm ready for it.

This time I'm going to get myself settled as a freelancer instead of caving to pressure to have a real job. Parenthood is a real job too, and it's the most rewarding one I've had. I will work while my daughter's at school or asleep and be home for her all day, rest when I need to rest, sprint when I can, and enjoy the hell out of life.

I'm tired of hoping in silence. I'm going to try hoping out loud for a change.

Adventures at Smile Central

As you may recall, I have a job at a store I shall hereby refer to as Smile Central. That is not the store's real name, in case you were wondering, and in fact has nothing to do with the store. It is a pseudonym, because I dislike the idea of being fired and sued. Because I'm maybe going to complain about the place a little, and corporate entities don't have much of a sense of humor about these things.

But back to my job. I'm working a temporary security gig, sitting at a back door making sure construction and remodel guys don't steal anything. When the construction and remodel is done, I no longer have a job. Maybe. I have strongly hinted and pledged and vowed and sworn on my name badge that I would appreciate continued employment. At least two people have consulted the store manager on my behalf, and other employees miss me when I'm not here, so I'm doing a decent job.

So I got to work tonight and no one acknowledged my request to open the door (not unusual, actually), and eventually someone wandered back and asked what I was doing here. He told me that the remodel guys aren't using this door anymore, and hauled away their mobile office. As we debated the merits of sitting by a closed door making minimum wage and playing smartphone for four easy hours versus being sent home, someone else showed up and blew my cover.

Send Lyric to stationery.

Does Lyric know how to do this?

How about housewares?

Pharmacy?

Go see the manager.

I'm going to say I don't have to worry about being dropped and jobless in a week. Nervescitement? Lots of it. I've been waking up my daughter with somewhat noisy nightmares about work for weeks because I knew the remodel was wrapping up. I could about puke right now from the nervescitement.

I ended up talking to the store manager personally. Not a department manager. Not a shift manager. The Big Boss of this particular Smile Central. I was asked what position I wanted, to which I replied that I was open. I mentioned the departments which had expressed interest in me before. I was asked what my Goals are.

That's right. My Goals. In the blink of an eye, about a million thoughts rushed through my head. My goal for the past however many hears now has been stay alive, with a side of get a job so there's one more reason to stay alive. Before that, my goal was to move to a specific urban area where there would be job opportunities appropriate to my bachelor's degree, which so happens to be in a field I love.

So I blinked. I said that I was interested in management, that I've applied for management positions more than once, and that I have a degree in a field without many opportunities in this area. I said that when I'd graduated I hadn't intended to stay in this area, but now I do.

This is true in a way. I cannot legally leave the state and take my daughter because her other parent objects. I will not leave without her, and if I must stay, and I don't have the resources to move to a city (I don't), I may as well stay here.

Big Boss asked what my degree was in (Graphic Design), and I told her. I can't say what the smile she shared with the shift manager was about, but I said that I was thrilled that they knew what Graphic Design was to begin with. Many people don't, or they have a very limited view of what it is. Graphic Design isn't really something you do for glory.

This hasn't turned into me mocking the place. Sorry about that. Too excited and all.

Big Boss asked if I minded working in produce.

Now, that sounds bad, but what I've learned is that they shuffle people from position to position, based on what's needed, and they desperately needed someone in produce. I said that was fine. I was asked if I liked cleaning. Pfft, who likes cleaning? I said I like feeling useful, which is the truth. Approving looks all around. I was given a new schedule and sent out... to straighten shelves in housewares.

By this time I'd run back and forth answering summons to this place or that (as mentioned in paragraphs 4-8), and straightening shelves sounded pretty decent. I've got no clue how long I did that before someone walkie-talkied someone else to call me back to the remodel door. Then they paged me over the store speaker, by which time I was halfway there.

Apparently they'll need me at my door until at least Friday.

Okay, complaining time now. This place is a mess, and I don't know how they manage to keep things on the shelves. The right hand not only doesn't know what the left is doing, but is totally unaware that it should be watching its own fingers, and that there are also arms, feet, eyes, and other such things.

Earlier tonight I got paid a total of approximately fifteen dollars to sit by a closed door, listen to people bicker about what to do with me, and straighten a few aisles' worth of merchandise. I was given a new schedule, then put back onto my old one in the space of a couple hours.

For now, I'm still door security. I have no desk to rest my head heavily on, so facepalm, I say. Facepalm.

Does This Job Come With Benefits?

I'm not too bad-looking. I'd say I clean up well enough. My first day on the job my boss said, "Don't let them flirt with you. And they will." And they did. Two weeks later I've got a date coming up this weekend and a friend who has confiscated my right to low self-esteem due to my persistent single status.

The last time I had a date (more than two years), I exploded with nervescitement. It was high school all over again with the talk and the social panic. This time was actually kind of fun, though. And then, of all the ridiculous things for me to think about, I realized that the nicest clothes I own are my work clothes.

When you're unemployed for a while and don't get out much, or at least in my personal experience, you don't buy new clothes for yourself. It doesn't matter if the edges are frayed, doesn't matter if there's a little stain right there. Who's going to see you anyway?

Well, maybe, just maybe, you have three interviews and have to wear your "best shirt" more than once. Maybe you realize that your "best shirt" might not work the same for a movie date as it did for the old lady who interviewed you. Three times. Maybe, and this is all hypothetical here, maybe this movie date is an attractive person whom you find witty, amusing, and/or attractive. Like, really attractive. Hypothetically.

It'd be cheating to buy something from the discount store I work at, right? Especially since my not-actually-hypothetical date is doing work for said discount store until sometime this summer? Maybe I'll go next door to the factory outlet place and get something there instead. I'm not vain or anything, but I'd like to look at least as decent as I do in my work clothes. That's fine, right?

Like I said, high school. At least I'm not talking in all caps this time. I did that yesterday, via text.

Epilogue:
There was no date, after all. Someone went and got drunk instead, and my interest faded while watching them work with a hangover. Nothing ever got arranged and nothing ever happened. The end.

Nervescitement

I am near puking with nerves/excitement, which I will hereafter refer to as nervescitement. (I totally made that word up, it doesn't exist on Google. Seriously.)

I am not antisocial so much as asocial. I'm pretty withdrawn, and I rarely seek company, which is a cycle that feeds upon itself. People know this about me, and so they don't invite me to things. I don't get invited to things, so I miss out on the social opportunity and continue to be unsure of myself in company, or at least I feel that way. Apparently I'm perfectly normal, despite the tension constantly coursing through my body.

But let's skip the potential diversion into Freud's theories and my childhood.

I don't date, which is mostly situational. Family still occasionally tell me they know someone, and I roll my eyes and they say that I should meet this person, then never mention it again or tell me later that it wouldn't have worked anyway. I'm talking extended family though, not the sibling and cousin who still occasionally threaten to buy me an hour's "entertainment" from someone of questionable moral character. I know, I could've said hooker, but I am completely in love with metaphors.

So when a friend texted me that they knew someone, I rolled my eyes. I was given basic information that this mystery person likes Harry Potter, classic rock, and the movie Labyrinth, and I gave the typical mhm, yeah, whatever type of response. I was told to look this person up on Facebook. Yeah, sure. I was told to text this person and then given a number.

Hold the phone, there. Text?

Texting is not intimidating. It's something I do regularly, and it gives me time to proofread before speaking and, if necessary, to censor myself. When you're face-to-face with a stranger and you're supposed to be making small-talk, when they give you a two-word answer, you can't go do something else for five minutes, then scroll through previous conversation for something amusing to refer back to. Or, at least, I can't.

I'm a master at dropping conversation when it's with someone I don't know well. Then, once I open up, I give mini-speeches like these. My sister rolls her eyes at my stories, as though she doesn't tell them, too. My friends, who I eventually realize have gone mostly silent, with the occasional witty comment, apparently enjoy the show. "It's cute."

But back on topic. Since texting doesn't intimidate me, I did it. I texted and was witty and charming and all the things I am online, with the buffer of the computer screen and the time to phrase things perfectly. The moment things began to slow, I said I had to go, leaving before the conversation went stale.

So after two days of this, I've been text-asked to go see Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows this weekend. My mental conversation with myself went something like this:

me1: You don't know this person and you're going somewhere with them?!
me2: Yeah, that's what dates are for. DUH. You'll be perfectly safe.
me1: Unless they're a serial killer!
me2: They mod a Christian website, and a sweet, personable friend referred you. They've been screened.
me1: Meh. But what if I make a total nerd of myself?
me2: They like Potter, Star Wars, Star Trek, and Lord of the Rings. I think you're safe.
me1: Omg, they're a nerd. I'm so out of their league.
me2: You have recently decided that cosplay looks like fun, you hypocrite.
me1: Touché. But what if I get shy and come across as a snob, which you know happens a lot.
me2: Deathly Hallows.
me1: But...
me2: Deathly. Hallows.
me1: *can think of no further arguments*

So I'm going out. On a date. With someone I don't know. I won't tell you how long it's been since I went on anything remotely like a date (aside from the time I was tricked into a date, but that's another story). We may put away childish things, but the second someone from the opposite sex is involved, it's high school all over again.

OMG I AM GOING ON A DATE. WTF AM I THINKING? Do I need to clean my apartment? How long should I hide all of this from my family/daughter? What if I fall back into serial monogamy? (Which, for me, was insta-attachment, two years, then BAM!Over. Twice.) OMG I HAVE A FRIGGIN TWIN BED. Which is the most ridiculous thought of all, considering my personality, my values, this person's values as a good Christian, and that we haven't even met yet.

me1: OMG! I don't even go to church! I'm practically a heathen! I'm not worthy!
me2: Calm the hell down! Not all Christians think everyone but them is a godless sinner!
me1: But what if they expect me to go to Church?!
me2: OMG SHUT UP!!!
me1: *whimper*

So, making a mountain out of a molehill, but it's an adventure, right? :p