How to drive someone crazy from 1100 miles away

28 September 2008

The wind up and the pitch

Man, I hated that insurance job.

Let me correct myself: I loved, loved, most of the people I worked with. I tried to do the best job I could with the resources I found, and a job well done is always enjoyable.

But it did not stimulate me. It did not send me home with a sense of accomplishment. Why not? It was a reasonable job, a job for adults, a job with special requirements. I gave people what they really needed. I did it with good cheer. Why did I come home every night with this lurking sense of panic and depression and a need for escape?

I tell people that it was a growed-up job and I'm not interested in being a growed-up. I tell people it was a bad fit. I tell people a lot of things.

I don't know one hundred percent why I could not do that job anymore. It may have something to do with my boss, my need for movement (I don't belong at a desk, is another thing I tell people), my liberal ideals, the more than $10,000 per year pay cut. But I could simply not be there anymore.

So, in this economy, I quit. In a town where many national chains have closed the doors on their corporate-owned restaurants and competition for servers is a total bitch, I went looking for a serving job. And I landed the first one I tried for, thanks to connections and being flippin' awesome. I start tomorrow at the one of the highest grossing restaurants in the area. It may be the only restaurant in town that is not down for it's second- and third-quarter sales this year. I'm pretty excited.

I've received worse news than finding out all I want to do is be a waitress. And this may actually be a gateway; working less hours for better money may mean I would have time to open an Etsy shop. Or go back to school. Or buy a home. Or have time to go vote, see a dentist, or get my drivers' license updated. Or buy groceries. You know, the extras in life.

Wish me luck. I'll probably be here more often now that I won't wish I was dearGodanywhere else.