The Mega Post (Part 2: Birthday Week Continues and Work Goes Berserk)

The last week in June was a - you guessed it - busy one with little time to relax, which is what I'm mostly trying to do now while I write. This also goes a long way to explain why I haven't posted before now. Oops, sorry about that. But between birthday events, impromptu celebrations, and crazy historical events disrupting my standard routine (so much as I have one these days), the previous week hasn't allowed much time for sitting down and spilling thoughts and happenings down on the web.

The Mega Post (Part 1: Old Friends and New)

I've been lax in updating again, which means that in between watching the Euro Cup Final, I'm going to try to crank out three parts to a Mega Post that picks up from where I left off last time. Oh, and that promised Friday mini-update never happened because... well... I was tired. That week was long, damn it. Without further ado, let's launch into the first part of the Mega Post.

My Type of Time

In high school, I played soccer, and I had this Australian soccer coach. He was gruff, pear-shaped, and not a particularly effective coach -- largely due to his embitterment at having been a former Australian minor league player and all the inferiority complex that implies. When I say I played soccer, I should qualify: I attempted to play soccer. I gave it my best shot. I showed up to practice every day, ran on the field, and intellectually knew the sport; but I wasn't particularly good at it. As a former Captain on the Junior Varsity team (due to my natural inclination to impose order on chaos, and what is more chaotic than 11 sixteen-year-olds chasing 11 other sixteen-year-olds and one uncooperative ball?), I was determined to get better. So one day, at the end of practice, I asked Coach Grubba, "Coach, how do I improve?"

He turned to me, swelled up his Australian beer gut, and blessed me with a remarkably smug and disdainful smirk, "You're a very Type A person, aren't you, Josh?"

Not knowing what the hell he was going on about or what crazy Australian classification system he was using, I followed up in the Socratic way with what I felt was a very apropos and striking question, "What?"

"Everything has to go a certain way. If you just know steps 2 and 3, you can get to step 4," he said, shoving his hands in his pockets and continuing to look down at me like a particularly amusing but ineffectual yappy dog jumping at knees. "There's Type A -- you -- and Type B -- me. Type B is relaxed. Type B goes with the flow and things happen as they happen. Type A plans and plots and imagines that they can hold the universe and all its doings like a cowboy wrangling a particularly nasty steer. When something doesn't go 'according to plan,' all hell breaks loose." I may be paraphrasing here. He was a former Australian minor league player with no doubt a few soccer balls to the head.

"I don't understand how this applies," I said, somewhat perturbed now and beginning to expect the helpful advice was not forthcoming.

Grubba placed his meaty hand on my shoulder and said in his best impression of fatherly charm, "Josh, you're never going to be our star defensive back. You try hard, and I like you, but there's no step 2 or step 3 for you to get to step 4 here. Just enjoy what you're doing and don't worry about it. You'll see play time."

I did not go out for soccer again the next year.

Insert The Lazy Song Lyrics Here

For fun today, I tried to think of the last time I had a quiet weekend at home to relax and unwind from the week. I thought about it. I thought about it some more. I paused to check my e-mail. Then I thought about it some more, and you know what? It's been a DAMN long time. Consequently, I have to say that the previous weekend was a rather enjoyable big ball of nada. A lovely little vacation from the otherwise oh-so-amazing busy-fest I've been treated to since... February? February. And now it's June. Huh.

My Friends: Awful Awesome Assholes

If there is a theme that ties together the last week or so, it would be that I have found some great people here in D.C., and that all of them are just as horrible as I am. Since last Wednesday night, I have been home two nights. Thursday and right now. And even tonight I ran back over to Steph's to get her dad's old cat stuff to keep Harper fat, happy, and brushed. Granted, now I'm doing laundry and dishes, and I still need to shovel catshit before I fall asleep in my continuing quest to outsleep the PLAGUE I have contracted, so I'm not really all that relaxed this evening -- aside from the bottle of wine I decided was lonely. Poor lonely cab-sav. I will comfort you.

An End to My Year of Weddings

I have recently been poked at, prodded, cajoled, and downright shoved headfirst into blogging again. The primary reason seems to be that I am "hilarious." I fail to see how my writing will make people laugh when unaccompanied by pictures of me, but I leave that to whoever wants to read this. After experimenting in "what the fuck should I write about today?" earlier in the year (which is in full evidence further down the blog), I've decided to go with a more straightforward approach. Like when that quirky indie group writes a song for a commercial, then sells out and goes mainstream. Oh yeah, this is going to be THAT good.

A Brave New World

Goodbye. So long. Farewell.

After graduating college, being both terrified of the working world as a liberal arts degree holder in the midst of a recession and too poor to launch into a doctorate program that might drive me into debt so deep I couldn't say daylight, I spent a year on a decent scholarship getting my Master's Degree in Commerce. It was supposedly a program meant for the average liberal arts degree holder. It was instead a crash course in business doubletalk and the positives of becoming a yuppie accountant or market analyst for enormous faceless firms.

For the last year nearly to the day, I have been employed part time (and one week full time!) at Target in the Manassas Mall on Sudley Road. For the most part, my co-workers and employers have treated me with kindness and respect. While they may not have understood my educational background or aided significantly in my wishes to advance both in pay and status during my admittedly short tenure, they universally praised my work and we typically enjoyed each other's company.

Thank heavens that's over. I'd like to take this time then to make a few reaffirmations that I feel have been a long time coming.

• I was not a "team member." I was an employee with co-workers.
• Customers are not "guests." Any guest I know who royally screws up my home would never set foot in the house again.
• Weaknesses don't need to be dressed up verbally as "opportunities." If you're weak in something, it's a weakness. As in the opposite of a strength.
• If I want to look into something, I refuse to "drill down."
• Clothes are no longer "softlines." Not clothes are no longer "hardlines."
• No, I can't help you find diddly. Don't ask me.
• Do NOT get a Red Card. Horrible interest rates. 5% is a crappy discount.
• The customer is so rarely right it hurts.
• No, it is not in the backroom.
• Yes, thank you. I appreciate you thought I "managed execution" by actually doing my damn job and "strove for results" by actually working.

I could make a whole lot more statements about the importance of flexibility when it comes to corporate entities' interaction and guiding of their local storefronts. I could comment on the broken promises that turned full-time into part-time again in 7 days. I could remark on the fact that cutting payroll and wondering why guest service suffers is ridiculous.

But you know what? It's over. It's done. I have a whole week of self-imposed vacation now to relax, decompress, and gear up for a job that I actually hope to make a career of - a career that is academic in nature, collegial in atmosphere, and one that aligns perfectly with the subjects I studied for four years.

And you know what I'm going to do during this week? I'm going to watch football, read a few books, sleep in, visit family, visit friends, eat amazing food, and generally be content.

It's a brave new world without that red and khaki and all those meaningless buzz words to try and reshape my mindset. I'm gonna jump right in.