My title is a pretty classic saying but while it describes the tediousness of retail work it doesn’t describe the everyday terror of my job becoming my future.
I work serving people and responding to their personal (and ridiculous) demands. It’s a job I didn’t imagine doing when I was a child. I definitely didn’t think; “While I study the intricacies of the human brain and behaviour, I will serve people sliced ham and be harassed by old women”.
Some of the other poor people who work with me probably once had bright ideas of becoming nurses or librarians, or other equally stereotypical jobs. Now they’re celebrating their thirtieth year of making sure the chicken doesn’t have one discoloured spot or that the ham looks especially shiny today.
I know that this is a job that needs to be filled but I can never stop myself thinking; “If this was my last day, my last couple of hours, I would kick myself for spending them here”.
Dreams don’t ever seem to turn out the way you want them to. Working hard towards your goals doesn’t always work either but I’m going to make sure it does for me.
This is the reality that I accept; I just wish little old women remembered their old school etiquette classes.
selfconfessedromantique 