279 Days

First of all, Kudos to Stacey for knowing who Lady Yuna is. I honestly wasn't expecting that ;)

I have good news. (imagine that) Stay tuned.....

So. The deadline I've been dreading for a while now has begun to rear it's sparkly little head. My 25th birthday.

25 has always been a big deal to me. Never mind I'm halfway to fifty, inching older every year has never bothered me. Back in the day, of my nine year old mind, 25 was how old Barbie was; with her shiny plastic heels to match her pink corvette, her rock star boyfriend, her glamorous job as a flight attendant, and of course, her magical endless closet. That is what 25 was to me.

Now a days, 25 has brought me the hot blonde guy, a cute car, and a pretty sweet closet and the boobs to go with it. Frankly, I have the most glamorous job you can have while wearing sweatpants and a babydoll tee. But in all honesty, the Barbie in me blossomed a little early.

I remember my 22nd birthday vividly: Lounging in my walk in closet, bare legs flung against the angel wing mural I painted myself. Admiring the way my tan ankles looked in my gold glitter peeped toed heels as I gabbed to my bff, absentmindedly twirling a blonde lock through my fingers. I was telling her how stoked I was that the cute blue eyed boy I hadn't seen since highschool called to wish me a happy birthday. <----guess who) The birthday card and rose from my disposable crush tossed aside on the floor beside me. All the while, my roommate waiting impatiently for me to hurry up and get ready so he could take me out for a drink.

So I've had my fun. And I kept what was important from those experiences. The blue eyed boy, and the gold glitter shoes. (I took a picture of the mural and then reluctantly painted over it when I moved out.)

The thing is, when I pictured my life at 25, I never imagined I would be working a crap job at a place I hate. I didn't know how, but I always thought I would amount to something better than that. sigh.

I'm a gym coach through the week, and only work there on the weekends to supplement hours, I know. I do realize this. But I'm just not sure the parents of my students do....Don't, for one second, think I don't notice the slight frown in their scrutinizing eyebrows after they say, "Oh, you *work* here." Yes. Sadly, I do. The job, itself, I don't mind. I fold clothes. I answer the phones. whatev. The other five and a half hours of the day, I go bother Matt, browse the magazines, and take power naps in the bathroom. If it weren't for the costumers, it would be a pretty fun job. I don't even mind the mindless questions. But there is no end to the amount of disrespect I have to grin and bear through. And so it was last weekend that I reached my breaking point.

Observe:

I was sniffing the candles and testing the new throw pillows, minding my own business, when they called me up to "people greet". I politely declined. I told them I didn't do that, but it turns out I was the only one in the entire store who was available. Still, I refused, pointing out that "people greeting" is a useless job and was not the best use of my time. Do you know what the manger's insistent excuse was? Do you???? And I qoute, "It's store policy. You have to do it, or you will be coached." Coached is the ninny pants way of saying "written up". I had no problem with being handed a pink piece of paper I could crumple up and toss away, but I figured my husband might be upset.

Long story short, I swallowed the last few ounces of my dignity, gazed into the eyes of strangers and uttered muted hellos. It was terrifying, I assure you. As the nightmare unfolded, I began to remember all my high school teachers threatening us with this very experience. Stay in school, or all you will amount to is a people greeter at walmart. I began to think back and reflect on the decisions of my life that had lead me to that moment. Matt must have noticed the tears beginning to well up in my eyes because he came over and heroicly took my place. I heart him.

He didn't mind it, he said. It reminded him of being on his mission.

It was after that I decided that I had the ability to decide this was going to be over. I wanted a light at the end of the humiliating tunnel. That's why I chose Black Friday. 279 days from now. To support Matt on the one day of the year hell breaks loose on earth, I will fight honorably beside him. Then I will hang up my name badge forever, and together we will celebrate with a long nap and chinese food. Matt graduates a few months after that anyway. We'll live...one way or another.


Later I'll post about my trip home. It was a good one :)