Unlike my companion here, I don't have one of those "real" jobs. I work around somewhere between twenty-three to twenty-seven hours a week. And this is not one of those luxury sit-at-your-desk types of jobs either. I'm talking wearing Nike shoes with the little air pockets in them (because that's good for your feet?), walking around in a maze of aisle and racks, and using a walkie talkie job. My schedule is never set either, which maybe exciting to some, but is a pain to all others who pretend to have a life (me). The place I work really isn't important for the post, per se, but I am one of those people dressed in khakis and a red shirt who asks you, "Can I help you find something?" when you just want to be left alone.
The thing that I have been realizing is that most people I have talked to have at one time worked a retail job. That doesn't mean it's not still a source of shame for me, but it helps me be part of the commiserating club of people who have also worn athletic shoes to work and had to climb ladders for people who want eight cases of diapers that are in the back room. These are the people who look at me knowingly when I say I'm "fine" when they ask how my day is going. They are also the people who try their best to fold whatever clothing they were looking at to a shape similar to the pile under it. "Oh yes, I remember when I used to" etc etc. It's like catharsis, to see me sweaty and hanging clothing up. They survived it. Now they can watch me do the monotonous tasks that used to be their own.
Circle of life
I don't get to read Neruda at work, but sometimes I get to walk through the aisles and make sure everything is pulled forward and straightened up. Like last night, I stood in the toothpaste aisle, making sure all the slim boxes of Crest and Colgate where stacked up just so while still being in the right spot. This while a Nigerian man around my age tried to flirt with me.
That's the thing about my job, I get to talk to him and learn who he is all while doing my job well. I can stand and talk to "guests" (that's a better term my work developed instead of customer, because that's so forward, I guess) about products and then to other things as well, and still look busy. I get to talk. Talk all day and night and morning if I feel like it, because as long as I'm fulfilling my tasks, I'm golden. I interact with people and learn about their children, their ex-husbands and wives, and what they had for dinner last night. I experience humanity at it's lowest and finest, whether that's with a co-worker who acts like the queen of the shoe department (probably more on this later), or with the man who grins when I bring the bike out of the backroom that his daughter wanted.
I don't do anything important at my job, and I don't work enough to be "important" either. But at least I see people. That may not be as nice as a snug cubicle, but it's a start.
M&y
(I'm trying to have a cool little signature like Rebekah over here, so bare with me while I try a few things out.)
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