Saturdays really clip along at the hobby shop. There's people pouring in and trickling out slowly, wandering through the ailes for hour after hour. Today, one woman approached the cash register and announced rather fecklessly that she had lost her husband.
"Caboose Hobbies: Stealing Husbands since 1938."
It's strange to be the one behind the counter for once. Strange to be the one counting the money out, worrying about giving back the incorrect amount of change rather than getting it. Strange to be the one fumbling with the bag while they stand there, holding the credit card. It's strange to be the one who has to have all the answers, and difficult to not have any.
The strangest part though, by far, is to be the 'new kid.' I've always been so comfortable with where I am and who I'm with, it's difficult for me to be in a learning situation, especially when no one is learning along side me. I can't help feel embarassed when I make a mistake or I have to ask my coworkers to explain something--again.However, I like to feel that I'm a fast learner, so I convince myself that I'm doing well. I've memorized most of my coworker's names, and I have the art of cashiering pretty well covered.
There are still a lot of bugs to work out of my not-so-skilled technique, but there's time to learn them.
Plenty of time.
Paul has worked at the hobby store for four years, Mara for five, Antje for God knows how long. I hopefully won't be there for more than two.Just two more. Two more to scan and smile, even when I don't want to. To scan and wish strangers a nice day, like a robot. Two years before I graduate and go away.
This is not my career. This is just my job.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Friday, February 26, 2010
Tales from the Institute Pt. 1
Welcome to my blog.
I don't need another website to manage--I can barely keep up with facebook and deviantart. And I don't even like the internet. Really. I hate wasting time on the internet; and yet here I am. Brilliant.
It's not like I need practice writing--I write enough as it is, and it's not as if I need someone's approval or their affirmation. Maybe I'm attention deprived.
It's more likely that I'm bored. This room is freezing. It's always freezing here. Except in the summer, when the AC stops working and the heat suddenly kicks in. It's impossible to sleep when it's so cold, so I surf the net. I should be paying attention, but I can't. So I surf the net. And I wind up making new accounts for sites like this one, looking at the clock and sighing, wishing 11:30 would come.
An hour and a half left. God, it feels like forever. But I think this place has changed my perception of time... I'm not sure how. I guess when you sit for four hours at a time, in one place, day after day, hours don't feel the same. They become minutes instead. Then the waiting is easier, the day is too short, and life itself seems like it's moving too quickly.
I've been here for almost two years now--two years in August--and I can't decide if I love it or hate it. I suppose I love parts of it. And they can help me. Still, it's so much money, and half the time I wind up not feeling good enough.
Regardless, in less than two years, I'll be leaving this place. Out into the proverbial "real world."
I'm not sure what the real world is anymore. My whole life people have been talking about the real world, but no one's clear about when it begins. I used to think that after I graduated high school I'd be in the real world. Or when I got a job. I've done both now, and still people tell me I have yet to get into the real world.
If this world is not real, then what is it?
I don't need another website to manage--I can barely keep up with facebook and deviantart. And I don't even like the internet. Really. I hate wasting time on the internet; and yet here I am. Brilliant.
It's not like I need practice writing--I write enough as it is, and it's not as if I need someone's approval or their affirmation. Maybe I'm attention deprived.
It's more likely that I'm bored. This room is freezing. It's always freezing here. Except in the summer, when the AC stops working and the heat suddenly kicks in. It's impossible to sleep when it's so cold, so I surf the net. I should be paying attention, but I can't. So I surf the net. And I wind up making new accounts for sites like this one, looking at the clock and sighing, wishing 11:30 would come.
An hour and a half left. God, it feels like forever. But I think this place has changed my perception of time... I'm not sure how. I guess when you sit for four hours at a time, in one place, day after day, hours don't feel the same. They become minutes instead. Then the waiting is easier, the day is too short, and life itself seems like it's moving too quickly.
I've been here for almost two years now--two years in August--and I can't decide if I love it or hate it. I suppose I love parts of it. And they can help me. Still, it's so much money, and half the time I wind up not feeling good enough.
Regardless, in less than two years, I'll be leaving this place. Out into the proverbial "real world."
I'm not sure what the real world is anymore. My whole life people have been talking about the real world, but no one's clear about when it begins. I used to think that after I graduated high school I'd be in the real world. Or when I got a job. I've done both now, and still people tell me I have yet to get into the real world.
If this world is not real, then what is it?
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