I feel like my mind is empty, or at least hesitant to speak,
so I’m just going to start by opening up my mind and dig into it, letting my
fingers pull out whatever they graze first.
Oh, wait—here we go again.
I have Vanessa Carlton’s song that has the lyrics “just a
day, just an ordinary day…” running through my head (surprise surprise--the song's called "Ordinary Day." Thanks, Google :).
It has been all day. All day I tells ya. Not a bad song—it just keeps persisting—not
the whole song, but those particular words.
A theme song for the day? perhaps.
Today was an ordinary day, I
guess.
I worked at my Farts and Shafts job today.
(Explanation: I work at Michael’s Arts and Crafts—I have no
real problems with them ; I do think the concept of making arts and crafts into
a retail franchise is smart, but it is kind of a corny place, and also, unfortunately, not safe from the woes of capitalizing using low
salaries paired with super idealistic expectations—it’s just that my friend Lis
and I applied a funny alias for the entity during one of our many hilarious, kooky
conversations, and calling my workplace Michael’s Farts and Shafts has been
quite prone to evoke a chuckle from me.
)
I often get songs stuck in my head for days. Lately these have been of the fine collection of Michaels-approved pop
songs that get put onto CD’s and sent probably from Michaels corporate to store locations like mine. The collection changes every once in a while (and only slightly
to include random recent hits) and
reminds me of a mix between Casey Kasem’s "Top 40" and the bottom of a picked-through
bin of old cassette tapes from decades past at a yard sale. This will send me on an (exotic ?) journey,
where any 15 minute slot could include a fairly recent song from Kelly
Clarkson, an ‘80s or ‘90s-era Whitney
Houston dance song, a random Beach Boy’s
song, or an obscure hit like Elton John’s Island Girl (please, look up the lyrics and laugh). It’s not like it’s a terrible mix—it can be
rather amusing at times, and you might catch me dancing or singing by myself as
I fit together a frame order—it is just apparent that it’s one CD that
they put on shuffle mode, and this is obvious if you work there. Repetition can cause those songs to seep into
the psyche and cause me to—out of nowhere even when I’m far away from the ‘shaftiest’
place on Earth—start singing lyrics to a song I didn't even know I knew lyrics
to.
And I’m there right now. I've got
the piano notes from Vanessa’s song playing in my head,
accompanying a voice that sings only the parts that I know—over and over again.
Anyways, I digress.
Ordinary day. I
worked my four hours and earned my 32 bucks (before tax) for the day. I assembled a frame order for a diploma and
joined a gaudy, elaborate champagne-colored frame for an oil painting. I adore working with the tools in the frame
shop, getting to use a power drill and glass cutter, and razor blades and such.
Ah, air compressors! I feel so smart wearing clean white gloves as
people bring in their cherished art or memorable to get put behind archival
mats, glass, and moulding. Framing was
my first job after college, and, has been kind of a go-to when I can't think of anything else to do.
I can apply my creative
skills in the design process and my enjoyment in hands-on, crafty tasks in the
production process. Not to mention, a
mixture of my acquired knowledge of the preservation materials, my appreciation
for art, and my natural “people charm” skills help to make me a pretty good
saleswoman. (thank goodness, ‘cause framin’ ain’t cheap!) I just wish that I could be paid commission
or just MORE in general for what I do.
(I’m not unique—I’m sure most people at some point in their lives feel like they weren't getting compensated properly for their actions). If I didn't need money to eat, live, survive,
and to pay off my debts, I guess I wouldn't complain so much. It’s a fun job.
I suppose I could find a framing position that pays
well. I had an opportunity even at
Michaels to get promoted to Custom Frame Department Manager, but my will is
strong, and it had carried me already through the steps toward teaching abroad
by the time the position came up.
Next week is my last
week of working there after a collective 10 months. I adore framing,
and am pretty good at it both on the design and the production aspect. The crafty environment is comfortable and
good for me right now. Almost as soon as
I moved back to Florida broke and homeless last summer from $an Franci$co, CA, and settled in at my parents' place, I wanted a fun,
no-brainer, easy, and ‘disposable’ job, primarily because I didn’t know what I
wanted to do and needed money.
Eventually, when I got my mind set on teaching abroad, the lack of a ‘serious’ job allowed me to
focus on getting my TESOL certification and getting things in order for my next
adventure. Michaels is walking distance,
so the environment plus the fact that I could walk or ride my bike really appealed
to me.
Now, the practical, money-conscious side of me would look back at myself and
say,” What were you thinking?” In the year that I’ve been in Florida, I haven’t
made really any money at all. I know
what I wasn’t thinking—I wasn’t thinking about my bills when I accepted an
8-dollar-per-hour retail job with no guaranteed set of hours!
Anyways, my
fault, done, lesson learned, and not much I can do about it but move forward.
Well, other than for not making my resume look like a mess
of short/temporary jobs by quitting before I gave them 6 months (which it kind
of already does), and the fact that it was enjoyable work, I stayed also
because I was kind of interested in that management position. I did interview
for the management position when the previous manager moved to a different
job. But this was right about when I was on a time crunch between when I got
accepted into CIEE’s Teach-in-Spain program that I had applied for, and the last date I was able to
acknowledge my acceptance by paying a deposit for the trip.
It was
a really awkward couple of weeks for me, in fact, as I was trying to choose
between a stable, full-time, salaried position (albeit not a high salary, but
higher than the pitiful collection of pay I currently get in a year), and
running away to teach for a short amount of time for way less money and an
out-put of 4-5,000 dollars to prepare for the trip. merr...
Ultimately, the store manager sniffed me out
and figured out that, though a managerial position is probably what a reasonable person my age needs, my heart didn't really want it, and wouldn't necessarily be a great
investment if she did choose me. I’d
probably quit after a year or so if I did get the position to pursue something
else, knowing me. She smelled that on me
like B.O. after deodorant fails and hired someone else.
Do I despise money? Or does money despise me? Good question. Either way, I've made some stooopid money
choices. That said, I think my calling
in life may not be to make money. Cause
why else would I choose fields that don’t make much money?
Adventure? I think
so. Also, I really do think that
Education is where I should be. I feel
very alive and connected when I am helping people and trying to bring about
inspiration. So I have to swallow the
fact that I won’t make a six-figure salary, but maybe eventually something that
will be stable enough and will afford me good vacation time and the ability to
maybe one day start a side business with my art. And that sounds mighty nice to my heart and soul.
I am getting really pumped about my Spain trip. Nine months with my thoughts and the
challenge of teaching and of learning a new language (and hopefully making it stick)
will stimulate me immensely, and, perhaps get me primed for a more ‘serious’
job once I return. I want it to be a job in the educational field, but I am open to the possibilities that my more creative side could offer.
Nonetheless, one more week of listening to that repeating-- “my God, I
want to shoot myself because that song has been playing as the soundtrack for
my dreams” --collection of farts and shafts entertainment.
--and then, on the baby days of September, onward to new
sounds that have yet to get stuck in my mind’s ear.
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