Nebulous Mooch

Once I applied for a job at the gym near my house. It was just a job at the front desk. Anyway, I waited and waited to hear back from them. When I finally received a letter in the mail from them it said something like, “Thank you for applying for the position. We’re sorry to inform you that we have no positions available. We were just trying to gauge the number of applications we’d receive if we did have a position available.”

What the heck is that all about? To this day it baffles me. I don’t think it’s true. I just think they didn’t want to hire me. No big deal, but why not send an average sorry-we’ve-already-filled-the-position letter? Who advertises for a job that doesn’t really exist? Craziness. I thought about it because I walked by that place today.

There’s nothing like quitting a job. The thrill is indescribable. I feel happy and light-hearted. I always feel like it’s okay for me to treat myself when I quit a job. I’ve quit quite a few jobs in my time. So I know what I’m talking about. Telemarketer, front desk clerk, grocery store cashier, inventory clerk, afterschool program counselor, salesperson, preschool teacher’s aide, tutor, adult day care worker, life skills coach, English teacher. I continue to be a massage therapist, but I have left a couple of massage jobs in the dust.

Giving two weeks notice before leaving a job is the good responsible thing to do. Usually I do that. I sit down and write a little letter and give it to my supervisor. That’s good because it gives me something to look forward to, like Christmas. Some supervisors respond by giving me a special treat and calling me the next day to tell me not to bother coming back in. I wonder if that makes them feel good. Maybe it gives them the delusion of having fired me.

There are a couple jobs that I quit over the phone. I called up and said that I wasn’t going to come in that day or ever again. Trolling the halls of Showboat Casino Hotel making sure guests check out in time, indulging the sob stories of people who had just gambled away all of their money and listening to complaining guests was one such job. The morning I called my boss to tell her that I was never coming back in, she seemed genuinely surprised. I guess she didn’t notice my constant eyerolling on the job. She told me the previous day that her favorite singer was Jon Secada. I couldn’t bear taking orders from someone who actually liked Jon Secada. The loss was that I bought a bunch of black pants and brightly colored vests that I would never wear again. Why do some jobs require you to buy ridiculous clothes that you would never wear in real life?

I worked for the Sam Ash catalog for three days. I couldn’t get the phone lines straight. People tended to spell their names too quickly for me to type them into the system. I finally got so tired of saying, “Could you spell that again for me please?” that I started typing any old thing into the computer. They were educated guesses of what someone’s last name or a street name might be spelled like. Granted I’m not the best speller in the world, but close is usually good enough. If you ordered something from Sam Ash in early November of 2001 and didn’t receive it. I’m sorry. I might have misspelled your name or street. My boss there didn’t seem at all shocked when I called in to quit. It just wasn’t my scene. It was one big room with lots of cubicles and no windows. There were too many buttons and flashing lights on the phones.

There is always a reason to quit a job. I’m surprised that people keep jobs as long as they do. I have a friend who has worked at the same telemarketing place since I’ve know him. I interviewed for a job there. After they hired me, I never showed up for training. I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I had just left Sam Ash and knew that their phones would have a lot of buttons and red blinking lights too.

We need to work to survive, but I need change to survive too. I also could do without constant complaining, buttons, flashing red lights and having to spell.

It’s hard for me to resist a help wanted sign. I have this constant need to ask for job applications. I’m not looking for a new job. I’ve been at the same job for almost three years now. That’s a long time for me. I’m always looking for something better. I’m always reaching, hoping, wondering what I could become.

Yesterday, I drove by a local real estate school and found myself thinking that maybe I should get into real estate. I think things like that quite a lot. I ride in a taxi and consider becoming a taxi driver. I buy a new pair of shoes and consider becoming a shoe salesperson. I eat a salad and imagine life as a farmer.

I would not excel at any of these jobs. I’m horrible at sales mainly because I don’t like spending money and can’t understand why anyone else would. When I worked in retail at a Levi’s store, I often found myself directing customers to the Levi’s outlet store in the next town over. In my opinion, forty dollars is just too much to spend on a pair of jeans. I would be a terrible taxi driver because I don’t like to drive. I especially don’t like to drive other people around. The responsibility makes me nervous and so would the small talk and possibility of being robbed. Farming isn’t for me either because I can’t keep a plant alive to save my life.

When I was in college, I used to ask people whether they liked their jobs. Most people lied and told me that they did. When I asked why they liked them, people frequently told me it was because they get to talk to different kinds of people. That’s a good thing, if you like to talk to people. Most of the time, I don’t.

What job is right for me? I don’t know. I’m still looking for the ideal job. Unfortunately, that might not exist. I’ll keep on looking until I’m sure it doesn’t.