Remember May? You ripped off your robe and threw up your cap to celebrate your first real taste of freedom. You enjoyed the slew of parties, binge drinking and awkward conversations with people your parents insisted on inviting to your graduation party, and now a bunch of people are getting ready to ship off to grad school, and a bunch more will be shipping off to careers they've had figured out since December. This post is not for those people.
This post is for you, person-whose-degree-and/or-career-choice-requires-significant-DIY-work-post-college. I was you, two years ago, and I was lost as all hell when it came to what I was going to do next.
Technically, I'm still figuring that part of it out, but along the way, I have learned a crap-ton about what NOT to do. So strap in, hold on, and get ready to hear about the three times I've left behind a "grown-up" job in the past two years. With any luck, you might be able to skip making a couple of these mistakes in your own life -- but, if we're being honest, probably not.
Or more accurately, a posting break. Things have gotten a little insanely lucky around here, and I just can't keep up with my dusting and work full time and complete commissions and blog. I need my beauty rest if I'm going to keep it up, after all - so at least for a little while, Mrs. Degree will be taking a break. But don't worry - I won't keep my buns in the oven forever!
I was supposed to publish this last night, as I know you are waiting with baited breath to hear the epilogue of "How I Lost One Job and Found Another," so I won't waste any time apologizing for my lateness. And sorry to be late posting this, by the way - by the time I got home, I was about ready to fall over, and Mr. was waiting to tuck me in before staying up too late studying for his exams. So, without further ado, onto today's topic: what's it like to be a shopgirl?
My first thought, given the infamous nature of the holiday shopping season, was that it would be like this:
Luckily, it wasn't a mad rush at all - I got to keep my coat, and there was even enough downtime for me to get a tour of the counter and see where everything's kept. Which was good - because up until that point, I had been almost entirely useless at the counter and felt constantly underfoot. Yet that's the learning curve, as they say, and if I'm honest with myself, starting this position is not nearly as terrifying as starting my last position - I have a better idea of what to expect, at least as far as being the "new girl," and that helps a lot. I even made a decent-sized sale, all on my own, without knowing a damn thing about what I was doing. A good way to start my first day, I will admit.
So if it wasn't a mad rush, what did it look like? As suggested by my previous post comparing my experience to Maribelle's in "Shopgirl," my second thought was that it would be like this:
Apparently
with plenty of snobby customers judging you and white haired men
leaving you in awe of their footsteps . . . though mostly what I saw was
little old ladies stocking up on makeup and confused men trying to find
the store's exit. There was plenty of standing around, trying to stay busy, and waiting for a customer, though -- which brings me to what I have concluded is the most accurate representation of working in a department store:
With wacky shenanigans and double entendres for all!
In all seriousness, being a shopgirl does not seem to be that far off from how pop culture's portrayed it - with one important exception. I wore flats yesterday, thinking I was being sensible and planning ahead, but after spending eight hours on my feet, the pain in my heels was so bad that I was standing on my tiptoes just to give my heels a break. I'm desperate to avoid repeating that experience. Keeping in mind that my uniform requires I wear "simple, fashionable black shoes," I am using my time off to go shoe shopping.
These are fashionable, right?
Tune in Wednesday to see the shoes, track Mrs.' decorating progress and examine the first batch of holiday cookies. Recipes will be included!
I've been thinking a lot about this song this week.
One week ago, I received some unexpected and rather shocking news - I was fired from the full-time position with benefits that I took five months ago, after I graduated with two degrees that I had always assumed consigned me to either a life in retail or food service until I "made it big." To have actually found gainful employment and a steady, good-sized paycheck was a source of tremendous pride for me, even as I struggled to find a balance between my job and my ultimate career as a writer and artist, and to lose that job meant a major blow to both my self-esteem and my sense of self-sufficiency. As I try to keep the job-hunting blues at bay, I've started counting my own blessings:
1) My long-time weekend job has graciously allowed me to pick up some extra hours to help fill in the gaps until I find a new job.
2) My family and friends have been nothing but supportive, and I can't stress enough how great it's been to have such a solid backing, especially when I have trouble hearing anything beyond that inner voice shouting, "You suck! You suck, you're never going to get another job, especially during this recession. You might as well sign up for unemployment now and just give up."
3) I have a partner who still has a great job, and although it's not enough income to support us both comfortably, it's a lot of more than many people in my situation can count on.
4) I've turned in five applications to places that are hiring over the past three days, and just had my first interview today.
Ultimately, I tell myself that Mr. is right, that things are going to work out, and that I'm not going to be unemployed forever. That, and counting the blessings I do have in my life, is helping me sleep at night -- but I am not going to feel at ease until I've signed a hiring offer along that dotted line.
First, a note from Mrs.: I know, you're probably thinking: "Wait, another downer post about not getting into grad school or something? Geez, what's with this broad?" You're probably right to question my choice -- after months of publishing silence, I really shouldn't kick this off with the kind of post with "rejection" anywhere in the title. But, I started this blog with the intention of writing from my heart, and that's what I'm going to do. Thank you for being willing to walk alongside me.
Coming to theaters everywhere.
Losing a job feels a lot like getting dumped. Sorry, not losing a job - getting fired from a job. Getting fired from a job feels a lot like getting dumped. There's the desperate need for closure, the endless loop of wondering, 'What did I do? How could I have made it last? What's wrong with me?' Because of course something must be wrong, if I didn't even see it coming.
Then there's the anger, the accusatory thoughts and sharp-edged feelings, the glancing around for something - anything - to blame. Outside the self, inside the self, everything becomes shattered glass. And then there's me, stuck in the middle and trying to find a way out without getting cut.
