Today is my last day of work at the Writing Center, until next fall. It's been a crazy, hectic, frazzling day, but I really do love this place. The Writing Center is everything that Burger King wasn't. It's the anti-Burger King. It's the anti-gift shop. The anti-department store.
Even when people are really stupid here, they still leave me a little bit of room for hope for humanity... It's pleasant, you know? Allow me to offer you an example... When I worked at Burger King, there were customers who didn't know what hamburgers were. I had to explain what onion rings where. I had people who couldn't count change, who didn't know they were supposed to pay for food (and who would invariably get offended when I'd ask them for their money), people who would point and grunt for their food because they apparently did not speak any discernible human language... No, no, no... I'm not talking about the mentally retarded people who occasionally came in. The handicapped people were always at least nice, and often spoke more clearly, and seemed more intelligent than the businessmen and the blue-collar workers who would come in... I'm talking about people who were dumbasses because they enjoyed being dumbasses. People who pretended (they MUST have been pretending!) to be fucking morons because they knew it would piss me off.
I don't get that here.
Don't get me wrong; there are still some people who come into this room who are just barely functioning. But somehow, they're just not as cruelly irritating as the Burger King folks. Allow me to offer you an example: a girl comes in and asks how late we're open. I tell her we're open from nine in the morning until six. She asks for the seven o'clock appointment. I have to tell her we're not open past six, so the latest she can make an appointment is at 5:30. If this was Burger King, she'd probably throw something at me. But she says, "uh... okay." And makes the appointment for 5:30.
Most clients of the Writing Center can correctly use a three (sometimes four!) syllable word. Admittedly, this doesn't exactly impress me, unless it's a particularly cool word, but it's still SO many steps up from any other job I've had... Furthermore, I'm allowed to read any old book I want, written by any old author I like, and I don't have to fear getting fired for it. I don't have to suck up to nasty old ladies (the like of whom might hit you with a handbag in a television show). I don't have to apologize for anything. I don't have to wear black pants and a white shirt. Or a stupid grey t'shirt so coarse that it makes my nipples feel like they've been through a grater. Or "classic casual." *SHUDDER!*
Now, I am a rather critical person. Not a MEAN person exactly, but I do tend to see plenty of negative things about the world around me. Well guess what?! My job description includes telling people what's wrong with their papers! I'm GOOD at that! ...And I'm getting better at telling people what's GOOD about their papers, too. I get to meet people, sometimes even befriend people. Sometimes I feel like this room is some great source of camaraderie.
Lastly, the pay isn't too bad either.
This message is brought to you by Helena who, for lack of anything better to do, was gleefully examining reasons she's glad she's no longer living in Binghamton.
~Helena*