Over the holiday season, I took temporary employment. Due to a nondisclosure agreement, I am legally not allowed to say where or how I worked.
I know what you are thinking, weird. I must have been doing some top secrete stuff or some illegal stuff, but nope. Instead, I was working a legit job with other college graduates doing some very noninvasive shit.
Since I can not say what my job was, let’s just say I was selling used toenail clippings on the corner. It sounds pretty weird, but honestly, my job was kind of on a corner, more like a parking lot with a lot of corners.
Anyhoo, the point is, while I was working on the corner selling recycled toenail clippings I met some of the most fun, creative and enjoyable crew. I laughed at them. They laughed at me and we all laughed together.
However, one day it was 49 degrees and raining. This sloppy freezing disaster was one big reality check. While my coworkers were pushing through, I was secretly texting the boss.
“I am cold. Can I go home?”
For the first time since basic training, I was freezing my f*cking ass off. I was shocked when the boss called me to discuss my text. It went something like this.
“I’m cold. I want to go home.”
“Well, it’s winter. You know without the cold it wouldn’t be winter. Would it? It would be summer or spring, maybe fall.”
“I can’t do it.”
“Sure you can. This is what you signed up to do. Let’s do this, every 45 minutes take a 15-minute break inside to warm up.”
That’s what happened. It was a big, cold, wet slap of reality. One I really did not expect, but at $15 an hour, it was reality. Temporary jobs are just that, quick shitty slaps of reality with some pretty cool people just trying to make through life.
My temporary employment was fun, hard and a brutal slap of life. I am forever grateful to have had my lazy, worn-out, flaccid body pushed to the limits. Every day I worked, I came home to shove as many pain pills, muscle relaxers, anti-inflammatory pills I could down my throat, without overdosing.
Life is tough, you can’t just lay around and let it pass you by. As years have passed I have turned into a POG. In military terms, POG means the weak, unable to hack it.
Now, two paychecks in and I have finished working at the used toenail clippings sales job on the corner. I have left with a little green to fill up under the Christmas tree and the wisdom to remind myself, it is not over until the big guy, God, says it’s over.
Here’s to a stronger less flaccid me in 2020! Here’s to our fight song of 2020!