********** first posted on my facebook account 3 weeks ago. I was fired not 24 hours after the initial post*************I have a job…a day job. I am a woman in my mid twenties, a college graduate, a well-read individual, and a girl who believes that the world is actually my oyster and I am folding clothes for a living. How’s that for mind numbing, soul sucking hell? At least when you are waiter there’s that camaraderie with all the other waiters that none of us want to be here. Pant folding is another game altogether. I haven’t had a “real” job in over a year. Do you have any idea how amazing that’s been? Waking up when my body says; “good morning Ingrid, do you think now might be a time that you want to get out of bed?” My answer is completely dependant on my mood. Or, in many cases my alarm will wake me up because I have somewhere important to be. Like…an acting job at 6am! When I’m getting paid to do what I love, that alarm ringing in my ear doesn’t sting. It kind of whispers to me like a lover…minus the morning breath and hard on. It’s a sexy alarm and it gets me going. I haven’t even seen 7 am in a long time and now my -folding clothes gig- has me in the store by 8am. They also request you to get there fifteen minutes before each shift. Fucking Cute. I’ve reverted back to that high school stoner that I was ten years ago. The sound of an alarm clock eats away at me like nails to a chalkboard. Prying my eyelids open before sunrise with a silent plea to God to end this hell. Don’t ask me how I got conned into doing this because I really don’t know. But what the shit is busy work??? If there isn’t a customer (oh, excuse, we like to call them “guests”) in the store and all the pants are folded ever so delicately on the shelf why can’t I just CHILL?! Why can’t I just talk to the girl at the cash about nothing? It’s better than folding over priced yoga gear over and over again until my fingers feel like they are sand paper while my soul is being sucked out of me and my mind is racing on over drive about how I can conquer the world after just. One. More. Pay check. Sometimes I will protest the system, standing in my section doing nothing because at 3pm on a Monday….there isn’t anything to do! But then someone will come up to me and remind me that there has to be a sense of urgency in me. URGENCY?!?! Do to what??? I’m an actor, I know…and I can play the part of a salesgirl really well…but there is nothing urgent about this job!You know what she likes to do, when there’s nothing to actually do? She lets me in on her secret. She takes tags and hides them in pockets. “Wwwwhat?” For a split second I’m thinking that this girl is badass and I look at her with some admiration. “See, the clothes are really overpriced- so it’s a great way to tell someone about the item before they get turned off by the price” she says. That’s busy work and it’s a great time waster is what that is. I’m not lazy. In fact, I’ve been described as a “serious go-getter”. I’m goal oriented and ambitious. I have no desire to climb up the corporate ladder. This ladder, by the way, is responsible for dressing woman across North America in spandex pants. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that most of North America doesn’t look like the girls in the ads, or the mannequins in the store. Maybe if more people did climbing of any kind (rock climbing, stair climbing, mountain climbing) instead of the theoretical ladder climb…. then I might not have such an animosity towards this spandex trend pant wave. Honesty and trust are two of my core values and this job has made me a liar. Women with complexes walk in and out of my life asking me, the lycra pant expert, my opinion on what size they are. “What size do you think I am?” They cry out to me. I’ll look them up and down. Think about it for a second and then with all the honesty that I learned to create in theatre school I answer confidently: SIZE 2. Universal answer. Made the honesty is my policy mistake one too many times. So, now we go with the universal answer of SIZE 2. They fucking love me.I can’t say how long I’m going to last. I have no pride attached to this job. I can’t even laugh with my fellow workers about how fat, stupid, arrogant, annoying the “guests” are because this chain has a code of conduct that we all must follow. It’s this weird cult like thing that on some days I find myself really jiving on. “Never allow that which matters least, to give way to that which matters most.” So true, sooo true. Every day I walk in hoping to quit and somehow they either sense it- or actually like me—and finish the day by giving me a present. Free yoga gear! I’m not joking. At least in the service industry we all hate doing it- but it’s a means to an end. Am I right? Any bar or restaurant that I have worked in we can all bitch in unison about how terrible our job is and how much we hate our lives. But with this- I’ve tried. My fellow “educators” (we don’t sell clothes, we educate about the lifestyle) shun me like Demi Moore in the Scarlet Letter. (Or anyone else you can think that that’s been publicly humiliated and shunned simultaneously. A few world leaders come to mind…. let’s not get crazy here.) No bitching. Just folding. 8am till 4pm you can find me, Ingrid Haas, folding pants at the back of a store without a smile except when you ask me what size pant you might wear. It’s our little secret now. There’s no moral to this story. Day jobs suck. Doing what you don’t love to do, everyday, on the daily, really blows. Being surrounded by a corporation that disguises itself as some yogi, Buddhist, oils and spirituality haven is just plain bizarre. I can’t say that it hasn’t forced me to be more creative and light a little fire under my ass in order to get me out here. I can’t say that isn’t true. So what if I’ve been forced out of my premature “lady of luxury” days? Waking up with the sun blaring into my eyes was sometimes annoying too.
Tags: clothing store, funny girl, hell, retail, truth entertainment
