Counting Days

Every day, I have a very big responsibility at my job: changing the company’s time-stamp. For the past ten months, I’ve literally watched day after day after day go by. Each time I turn that little plastic dial, I feel a small piece of me die on the inside. Mostly the part of my body that holds my hopes and dreams. Just kidding. Well, kinda.

For those of you who don’t know – aka strangers on the internet who happen to come upon this blog – I’ve been working as a customer service rep/all around office bitch since last August. I’ve had the opportunity to talk to an amazing array of people, ranging from twang-tongued southerners looking to trade penny stocks to Nigerians looking to trade penny stocks to Indians looking to – yup, you guessed it – haggle with me relentlessly over charges I have no control over. Between these every-day-in-a-lifetime experiences and the endless series of paperwork I process and file, this job satisfies me in a way that could only be compared to licking chalk.

It’s been getting to me, though. My whole life, I’ve been led to believe by a number of sources – my family, good grades and SAT scores, and my own inflated self-image – that I am an exceptional human being. This job is not something an exceptional human being would find themselves in. Yet day after day, month after month of switching that time stamp, here I am still, talking to people betting on get-rich-quick schemes and penny stock dreams.

But what happened to me? The person I’ve been as of late – insecure, distant, impotent (kidding…) – is not the person I saw myself becoming when I left college. I wanted adventure. I wanted to see what the world had to offer. I wanted to help people in real ways, not just updating their account balances. Worst, I’ve been losing sight of my only two real values: that I can always be better than I am, and that I can always help other people better themselves. 45 minute-long commutes on the turnpike followed by standstill traffic outside the Holland tunnel can suck the souls out of even the most resolute.

I’m well aware that people have endured MUCH worse than my current plight, but I’m also realizing more and more that my situation won’t change unless I change it. Despite my thinning hair and excessive body hair, I feel far too young to settle. If I am as pathetic as this job seems to suggest, I will find it out the hard way.

That’s right. You heard it heard first (or I might’ve told you). I’m quitting my job. Shoot off some fireworks. Throw some confetti. Act mildly impressed while fearing for my financial future.

So, what’s the next step? Excellent question! My answer: I’m not sure. I know that I will be teaching geometry at St. Joe’s for four weeks, which will most likely forever be the best job I ever have. After that, we shall find out. All I know is that in the coming days, weeks, months my life will be filled with plenty of writing, humor, job applications, rejection, improv, new faces, and lots of “learning experiences,” aka mistakes. All I know is that it will be an adventure, one more perilous, uncertain and probably idiotic than any before.