Tuesday, October 20, 2015

Deluxe Apartment In the Sky

The upper-middle class is an odd species to say the least. I currently work in a high-end luggage store and I feel like Jane Goodall. America's caste system has never been so apparent to me. I sit back and watch them as they run their fingers across the leathers, nylons, and lightweight canvasses. They frown and humph, upset that the bag is missing their exact, weirdly precise specifications. Why has no one built me a custom bag already?! When I have the audacity to suggest something different than what they chose (or, the European God forbid, something out of their price range but they don't want to tell me that) they scoff and get angry that I even deigned to assist them in their impossible search. I never have the gumption to tell them that if they don't find it here, they won't find it anywhere. This store (shop? Though, "shop" makes me sound like a skilled artisan with actual goods and talent to offer. Instead, I'm standing in a sea of self-healing zippers and unnatural fabrics, not knowing what to say or do at all. At least my "guests" are interesting.

These people generally have the world. They have multiple cars, multiple houses, and take more vacations per year than I will take in my life time. They come in and boast about their child at some ivy league or equivalent, puffing out their chest and beaming with undeserved pride. I mean, toot toot for your kid. But I'm sure growing up in a gorgeous, gated golf community and attending cotillion had a lot to do with their success. I'm not trying to diminish anyone's achievements. I just wish those who are so deeply ensconced in the upper earning percentiles they can't see us little people on the ground could wake up and realize that they sit on pedestals made of down pillows and expect all of us to plump them.

My favorite (and most recent) story is one of a lady and her husband came in. She had the air of "you're all below me," while he had a fairly amicable smile and was at least attempting to make normal human contact. The woman came to me and in the voice of Lucille Bluth herself says, "This is a Prada bag. I don't know if you're aware, buy this bag is very expensive and very special. I need a tag that won't distract from the bag so if someone finds it they'll be able to return it to me."

Oh. Honey.

You naive little nouveau-riche idiot.

It was everything I could do to withhold a laugh. Not to mention this woman's assumption that I needed Prada explained to me. I know luxury fashion brands better than Lagerfeld himself, thankyouverymuch. Just because I'm broke with student loans darkening my horizons doesn't mean I don't appreciate a well-constructed accessory. Geez.

Anyways. She was just really excited to brag. So I let her. As a rule, I don't encourage boasting. I refuse to sit there with feigned awe as you go all "rambler without a cause" on me. But, in the name of getting her out of the store quickly, I stared blankly, inserting a complacent. "oh okay," and a "wow" or two. She seemed placated.


I recently got my first big sale. I will say, I have never been treated quite like this woman treated me. Every other sentence was something passive-aggressive and condescending. She would ask me a question and then interject my answer with a completely unrelated, oddly specific question that I never knew the answer to (and when I didn't, she would get this smug, I knew it look on her face). She treated me like I imagine she treats everyone- like I would be lucky if my IQ were to exceed 50. I let her. For some reason I viewed taking oodles of her money would somehow make me feel better.

It did.

She wanted me to help her walk the luggage out to her car. I explained that I was the only person in the store and couldn't just leave it for her. This was apparently the very wrongest thing I could have possibly said. She looked at a group of African American people shopping in the store and then looked back at me, lowered her voice and said, "I don't feel comfortable leaving with this stuff alone. You'll have to take me to my car."

Some people just think the world should stop for them. Too bad once you prove to be a racist piece of crap, I no longer give any more fucks about you.

When Security showed up, it was a tall, African American woman and gentleman (she was training him). The lady shouted, "ARE YOU SECURITY?!" and the security guard looked down at her (very obvious) security uniform and looked back as if to say, "Uh. Yeah." I didn't know whether to laugh or sink to the floor to resign myself to two more hours of berating. Because obviously everything was my fault.


Long story short, the lady got her expensive luggage. It wasn't all in the box, like she demanded 18 times, even though I explained EVERY TIME that it would take a YEAR to order a brand new bag. And even though she threatened multiple times to buy online, she purchased in-store. So I got abused and humiliated- to be honest, I could use the ego deflation. What matters is I got a big sale and feel overall okay about it.

My life is so exciting.

Thursday, August 14, 2014

Sail, Fly, Float, and Dissolve

Would anyone notice my absence? I mean, really? Outside of being spared my constant and unpredictable mood swings- each one worse than the last, my hyper-critical nature stemming from long-standing OCD which used to make me scrub my skin until it bled, and my childish abandonment issues there's really no other qualities of mine that stick out.

This isn't chemical.
Maybe it is.
But that doesn't mean it's not "real" and that these emotions don't have some solid, inherent basis.

Sometimes I find myself thinking about death, what it feels like. Maybe it's like warm, thick velvet, enveloping you until you can no longer breathe. It wraps you up like a soft, unventilated cocoon; then you're reborn in this new place where you feel beautiful and necessary.

Or maybe it's like an enormous bucket filling the room you're in with turpentine. The unavoidable sticky, sickly-smelling blackness swells upward and you're struggling to escape it. Until you just finally accept it.

They say that animals (and humans) are frantic until they've resigned themselves to death. When they realize they're going to die, they grow calm. They stop fighting. Maybe they get this faraway look in their eyes, showing that they've already made the choice to float away before the final, fatal blow has been delivered.

Saturday, November 30, 2013

Well, well, well....what do we have here.

I put far more effort into avoiding work than I do actually working. It amazes me that I will expend so much planning and energy into calculating the least amount of effort I can put forth and get the most out of it. This is how I know I'm a true capitalist. I know that if an economist were to follow me around for a few days (or better yet, a semester; then he or she could really get a feel for the ebb and flow of my market gains and losses) they would learn enough to get our nation back in the black. I'm not sure who said it - Bill Gates, I think - and going with the theme of this post, I'm too lazy to Google it, but someone famous once said to give a hard job to a lazy person, he'll find an easy way to do it.

That. Is. So true.

I will expend enormous amounts of time and energy on calculations- "how many times can I hit 'snooze'? Do I really need to shower? How many pairs of underwear until I'm out and simply MUST do laundry? If I make my punctuation marks one size bigger, and adjust the spacing after a period, I can stretch this to a whole extra half a page!"...when I really think about it, it seems exhausting.

I always get to this point in the semester. I woefully look backwards and think- "If I would have started outlining and reading supplements in October, this week would be a breeze." But no, in October I was agonizing over what I would be for Halloween and whether they were going to add another season of Pretty Little Liars to Netflix.

Priorities. I have them.

This all eventually leads me down a rabbit hole of despair; I start thinking about all of the trips I haven't taken, the friends I haven't had coffee with, the deep cleaning that needs to be done, and how I stopped working out in September. It all starts to engulf me and I feel like I'm wearing a really heavy, wet wool sweater. An ugly one, at that.

I don't know why I do this. Maybe I'm a masochist. Maybe I get a rush by 'winging it' and hoping that yet again, I'll get pretty high marks and think to myself "Muahahaha. I didn't even WORK for these!" But still. If I DID work...if I WERE to put in the effort that I should be- not even the effort that I COULD be putting in- what would I be capable of?? The thought kind of scares me.

I could sit here and BS a resolution, "I'm never procrastinating again. Next semester, I'm designing a study plan and I'm going to study every day for 8 hours...." No. That's not going to happen. But I'm seriously at a crossroads with myself. I'm realizing that I'm my own worst enemy. I have kept myself from countless opportunities only because I didn't feel like working for them. I mean, what is that? Next semester, I am going to try harder. I'm going to create structure for myself. I'm not going to beat myself up for the stuff I haven't done, but I'm going to applaud myself for the stuff I have. I'm going to say 'no' more- no, I can't help you with your test, I have my own to study for. No, I'm not buying that wine tonight. I have 125 pages of reading. No, I will NOT watch 'just one more episode' of whatever on Netflix tonight. Mostly, my problem is telling myself no, but if someone I care about needs help or attention, I'm not going to turn them down.

Basically, I need to teach myself willpower. I need to be strict with myself and create an actual, structured study plan. I need to work out more and drink less wine. Basically, I need to grow up.

That was really hard to write. It's really hard to face yourself and admit that you're 25 and it's time. You look around at other young professionals owning houses, getting married, losing weight, learning new languages and you realize that they've started to do something that you just refuse to get on the bandwagon for- growing up. But it's time. It's time that I start accepting myself for who I am and loving myself for it. It's time I start planning for the future- physically, emotionally, and mentally. I need to start laying a professional groundwork for the future. I need a freaking savings account.

But I think I'm ready. I'm done creating hell for myself and then feeling sorry for myself when that hell sucks. I'm done beating myself up and hating myself for things that I could easily change. I'm done casting blame on myself and others. And finally, I'm done holding myself back. I won't change overnight, I can't. But I'm sure as hell ready to get started.

Tuesday, November 12, 2013

I like knowing I have public anonymity

I wish I could run away and write.
                                             I wish I could find a cute cottage next to a beach that I could put a big barnwood desk in, right by the front window, facing the ocean.

         I would put frothy white curtains at the window, and I would light sandalwood incense at night.

 I could focus on  my thoughts; I would paint pictures with words and my sentences would be so poignant, their literary lattice work would curl around the smoke emanating from my incense sticks.

                            It's not about being on vacation or escaping having to work and be part of the real world. It's about wanting to be part of my own universe- apart from this twisted world we live in.

Friday, April 27, 2012

Maybe It's Best You Leave Me Alone

Melancholy music. That's the type of mood I'm in. Melancholy music and 2:30 am don't mix well. This is where overdoses and random property damage are born.

 This Monday a friend of mine from high school passed away. After wallowing in misery for a week, completely focused on how horrible of a week it was for ME, I'm starting to realize my own self-centeredness (is that a word?). The problem is, the little five-year-old egoist is clinging to my heart and brain, unyielding in its control. I WANT to learn a lesson from this, but I can't pull myself from the mire that is self-pity.

 I need one of those slaps.

 You know the ones. They're in movies and shows, one semi-major character is having a freak out about something arbitrary- a test, money problems, a pregnancy scare (okay, I haven't seen that one, yet, but it made for a good progression) and the other character, usually one of the main, beloved ones hauls off and SLAPS THE CRAP OUT OF THE OTHER.

 And no one gets mad. The slapee holds their cheek, looks offended for a moment, and then realizes 'Hey, I NEEDED that!' and the other character comically over-shrugs and they calm down and get down to the business of figuring out how to move forward. I need that. I keep saying 'My life is falling apart. My life is falling APART. MY life is FALLING apart.' and all other variations of emphasis. I feel like I'm on a runaway train heading for a broken trestle (for those of you that don't know or didn't read Water For Elephants that's a bridge over a ravine of sorts).

 Thus, I am forced to make a list.
 I'm employed.
I have a car.
I have a home.
I have a phone.
I'm getting a degree in a matter of days.
I'm heading to law school in a matter of weeks.
I'm finally having a successful love life.
 I have the best group of friends anyone could ever ask for.
I have a family. And while I'm the Black Sheep, they still care.
 And best of all? I have a LOT of fun. A lot.

 For the first time in my life, I'm pretty much happy or content with every aspect of it. So why is it when I think of the future I can't breathe and I get tunnel vision? Am I that terrified of the unknown? I mean, I've always hated surprises and lacking control, and don't get me started on how much I despise change. As I focus in on each little thing, I have countless blessings in my life. I'm grateful for these, but I'm still confused as to why when I look to the big picture everything gets all fuzzy and impossible. Blerrrrrrrrrrrrghhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 Okay, I feel better.

See, I would attempt the 'Pull yourself together!' slap, but I'm hesitant for many reasons.
 1) I don't the pain that goes with the slap, regardless of who gave it to me
2) The lack of surprise would greatly reduce the effectiveness of the slap, I daresay it would render it pointless
3) Crazy people hit themselves. I'm not crazy, I'm eccentric. There's a difference. I swear.

 I digress.

 I'm currently having a territory war with a gnat. I do believe this is where I cross over from eccentric to crazy. As we cross into 3 am, I'm debating just staying up all night, though I think that would prove to be disastrous.

Yeah...I think it's time to turn in. I just downloaded an entire Otis Redding anthology with some Monkees and Garth Brooks. I'm totes going for a country drive tomorrow. Warm, sunny, windows down, soda in hand with Otis Redding's raspy, magical voice floating out of my cute little jalopy's speakers. That sounds perfect.


Thursday, November 17, 2011

An Update of Sorts...

Well, as these things go, I am not graduating in December of this year as previously thought. I had a very wise professor explain to me that law schools do not begin until September; if I were to wait and not go to school within those few months I would be unable to defer my loans for that period of time.

Oh. Well then.

Somehow I doubt I could have afforded paying those back on minimum wage. Alas. It's ok, though. I'm taking it slowly and pacing my classes so I don't get too overwhelmed. Plus, as long as I'm a student I can work at the NPR station on campus, and I kinda like this gig.

Harumph. Yes, I said harumph. I feel like you don't have to be an octogenarian male to be able to pull it off. In other news, I'm in a cantankerous mood and it's boiling in this production room. I feel a little bit like a lab rat under heat lamps. It's a matter of time before they start rewarding me with cheese for pressing differently-colored buttons.

First Thought: ADD really helps with the whole 'blogging' thing. Keeps a nice, jumpy pace. Who likes flow? Not this girl!

Second Thought: Bronchitis sucks. I feel like it's not fair for a sickness to last two to three weeks (according to WebMD).

Third Thought: Standardized tests. Uber blah.(Dingdingding we have a topic for me to rant about!)

Next time :)