The People We Become For Money
Even in the most meaningless of jobs, our coworkers can be our classmates and our co-conspirators.
I’m not supposed to like the service industry. I went to college and should want more. My family and I imagine big things when speaking of the future. But survival is now. And survival jobs count as real life, I think.
Truthfully, I don’t like the job. I like my coworkers. I know I’m being a good employee if I’m making my coworkers laugh. They know only what I tell them, so they don’t know me. The idea they have of me in their heads is a fantastical lie. I like this girl more than I like the person writing this sentence.
Lately, I have been money’s dog. Months of double shifts. I make very little hourly, but the sum in my bank account is the most I have ever had. The value of money never seems to correspond to the value of me.
I volunteered to work a promotional stand for the store at a festival. The company incentivized the opportunity by paying time and a half. My coworker, we’ll call her W, worked it with me. I first met W during training at the company’s headquarters. She ate a sack lunch alone on the roof. When I heard it was W who volunteered to join me, I didn’t feel a lot of emotion. Working is more fun when you don’t care. On the clock, I crack jokes, dance spontaneously, and speak in bizarre voices even I didn’t know I could do.
W settled into the folding chair next to me. She took in our set-up: two chairs, a fold-out table, jugs of coffee, and a tower of plastic cups. Then W started shaking. She shook so hard I thought it may have been a medical situation. W wears glasses that are an exact replica of Daniel Radcliffe’s glasses in the Harry Potter movies, and I feared they would fly off and break. I hovered my hands two feet from her face, just in case. But when a sound finally came out of her mouth, I realized W was laughing.
“I’m so glad it’s you! They didn’t tell me who else was working this,” she said.
I hadn’t realized my company made W happy. My chest began to buzz in a way I've always imagined fulfilling my life purpose would feel. W and I spent the next seven hours at the stand, revealing our personal lives to each other. When the shift was over, we high-fived and then walked in opposite directions.
Meaningless jobs make up the bulk of my life. I always promise myself a job is a pit stop on the grand journey. I say this so the little pains do not stick.
A writer I know once repaired televisions across the South for money. He told me working a job clarifies his thoughts and desires. He said, “The shittier the job, the clearer my own discovered identity.” I agreed with him. I added, “Jobs challenge us to find joy.”
Nearly every person is open to playing with you if you invite it. Though my coworkers are only passing marvels on this road trip, we make each other laugh! The time we surrender to The Man brings out our inner children. Despite the odds (or because of them), my coworkers remind me how good it is to stand in the same room as another person.
Sometimes, a coworker acts emotionally withdrawn or makes a mistake. I don't take it personally. I say, “Don’t worry, this happens all the time.” It's helpful to remember that coworkers are just people who happen to be driving the same road as you.
My coworker, X, moved here from Ohio to work as a cinematographer. The writer’s strike forced him to take a job making coffee. Lately, X has been sad. I caught him smoking a cigarette in the parking lot. Usually, X is a giggly teddy bear. He does a great impression of Scarlett Johansson dancing in The Marriage Story. I am not by nature a generous person, but X is. He performs the hardest tasks so others don’t have to. This week, when I asked X how he was, he answered, “I have been better.” I asked him to go to the movies, but he declined. I do not know what X does when he goes home. Since he is someone from work, I leave him be.
An apron separates my coworkers and me from our “real” selves. This uniform is a costume enabling us to play pretend. Wearing it, we transform into characters strong enough to battle mundanity. And humiliation. We share every obstacle and triumph. But when this uniform comes off, I struggle to find common ground. I don’t know what to expect from my coworkers when we aren't being paid for the time we spend together. Off the clock, individuality halts our conversation.
The people we become for money are real people. They have to be; we spend so much time as them. Some jobs try to reduce you to the role you play in making them a profit, but in my experience, these jobs heighten my contact with other people. To be a part of a larger entity comforts me. But the feeling doesn't last. The need for more money wins every time. Last night, I walked through the front door and said aloud, “I am alone.” Standing in the hallway of my empty apartment, I felt like such a body: small and searching.
Today marks the last day of my two-week notice. I will miss my coworkers, the best I have known, but it is time. W left to manage an ice cream parlor. X talks about moving back to Ohio.
Tomorrow I start a new job.
It pays better.
The uniform includes a hat.
I hate hats.