When I was a kid, I wanted to be a veterinarian. No “princess” or “firefighter” for me; nope, I wanted to play with kittens and puppies all day long. I gave up on that dream in high school, although I took four years of Ag in part because of the vet dream (and in part because my Dad started the program.) My college major was speech communications, mostly because I didn’t know what else to choose. Didn’t finish college (can anyone else say they dropped out of college because 1) they owed $300, 2) they didn’t do very well in two classes (not very well being C’s), and 3) they were embarrassed to face the secret admirer that had been sending letter for the last two months of the previous year? Seriously, I had a secret admirer. That’s how he signed the cards. It was all very sweet and innocent, nothing creepy and stalker-y. Still, I knew who it was from the very first card because I recognized the handwriting, and, well, I didn’t particularly think of the guy that way. I liked him well enough and if he’d just asked me out I suppose I would have said yes. But this secret admirer thing was kind of weird. He sent me about a dozen cards and letters all together, each one giving more and more information about him. He finally told me his name. He wanted me to write back, but I didn’t. I ran into him in the cafeteria on the second to last day of school, politely said “hi,” then ignored him. I was such an idiot, but I was terribly embarrassed. How I handled my secret admirer is one of my top five “if I could go back and change…” moments.
So what prompted this? Well, I’ve decided that when I grow up (I’m forty, you’d think it had already happened, but apparently not), I do NOT want to be an assembler. Assembly work, while it pays relatively well, is not for me. I’m more the 90% mental, 10% physical work kind of person. This 90% physical, 10% mental stuff – no thank you. Today will be my fourth day and my hands are gray with embedded grease that not even Goop will take out, I have about 40 small scratches and pokes from aluminum wire all over my hands and arms, my fingers are stiff, my back is sore, my feet hurt, and I’m tired and grumpy. I never thought it would be easy – in fact, I thought it would be pretty much exactly like it is – but I told myself it was temporary and I’d just do it until I found an office job. And I will, but I can’t find an office job soon enough. To add insult to injury (literally), I have to drive two hours every day. If I worked closer to home, I could make $1.50 an hour less and still bring home more money because of the gas. That isn’t even figuring the cost of my time – add that in and I could make $4 an hour less and still be compensated more for my time.
Okay, I’m done whining now.
And Sheila, if you’re reading this, thanks for the heads up about the job, it’s a great company, but assembly work – blech!