Work- the Good Stuff

Originally posted July 16/2007 on "Allison Wonderland"


I know that I spend an excessive amount of time (and space) bitching about work- the overworked, underpaid, Stinkwater parts. Sometimes, though, I go in for a shift and I'm reminded of why I'm still there. It's not the job- it's the people.

Friday was a bad day. Friday was a spent the day crying, thought AJ was going to have to take me to the emergency room*, feeling guilty for crying in front of Simon day. Most days right now I'm ok, but once in a while my hormones do something that makes it feel like I've never been treated for depression- I'm back in the whirlpool again. Simon was so good about it- I was trying not to cry in front of him (I never want him to wonder if it's his fault), but he's not stupid. He knew what was up. So he took care of me; he tried to feed me his lunch, and he kept running over to give me more hugs and kisses than I usually get in a week. They say toddlers don't understand that other people have feelings, but I'm not so sure about that.

In any case, I went to work that night. I had calmed down; I was exhausted, I looked like shit, but I was there. The first person I saw was was the Spookster- he was on the phone in the back. "I gotta call you back," he said, and hung up. I was back to being a little weepy by then, so he came into the break room to see what was up. Everyone there knows I'm pregnant, so they're quite understanding. I got a big, comforting hugm and cried all over him- I think I cried as much because he cared that much as because I was crying anyway. Like I said- crying at everything. And then C. came in.

"EEEEEEEEEK!"

C. likes to squeal, especially every time she looks at my belly, which doesn't even look pregnant yet. She gives good hugs, too. "I so wish I was pregnant," she said. I laughed. There I was, crying for no reason, no make-up on my pale, blotchy face, wanting to barf every 5 seconds, in desperate need of about 12 hours' sleep... and people want to be pregnant. Oh, it's magical, alright. Yeah, it's worth it in the end, and I know most people don't get it as bad as I do (I think my mom did, in fact, have magical pregnancies), but it's still funny to hear people say that.

Down on the floor, T. (the most overworked and underpaid of the lot of us) asked how I was doing, let me do my thing at the fitting rooms and wouldn't let me do any heavy lifting.

The point is, the people I work with are great. The ones who stick around for a while are the ones who take care of each other. We're all in it together, up to our armpits in mess, working our asses off (most of us) for $7.50 an hour... or less. But we have fun. I don't hang out with anyone from work in my non-working hours, but I consider many of them my friends. I don't want to get sappy or anything... they're just great people to have around when you need comfort... or a laugh... or timbits (thanks, Spookerooni).

That's why I'm still there.





*This is what you're supposed to do. Even if your emergency is of the mental health variety, go to the emergency room. They have people who will help you (and not look at you like you're crazy).