Thursday, December 27, 2007
Too Short is an Understatement
They snuck up on me. Those little bastards. One day, I'm minding my own business; the next, BAM! Grey hair. Not just one, but several at my temples. Aging me from my consistant feeling of still being 15 to the out-of-left-field realization that I turn 30 next year.
My friends all say that grey hair is distinguished; my family says its better than having my hair fall out. But for someone who has always been the youngest of his adult social circles, I have mixed feelings.
I'm amazed at how those mis-colored hairs tend to shine light on the other gradual signs that I'm growing out of the important 18-34 year-old advertising demographic. The small lines at my eyes, the slight ones around my mouth, a line or two permanently in my forehead. What once was a fru-fru activity of giving myself facials, has now become a needed every-four-day regimen.
I don't feel almost-30. I still wake up to the thoughts of a 15 year old. My leisure time rivals that of most teenagers I knew when I was one and those I know now. TV, gym, iPod, Wii are all recreational ways I pass the time. They all feed the part of me that has that Peter Pan "I don't wanna wear a tie, or a serious expression in the middle of July" complex.
But then I grew out of being eligible to ever apply for an MTV show (a blessing in disguise), and watched on VH1 as they treated the decade I came of age in - the 90's as nothing more than ten years of flannel shirts, boy bands and the crash of Michael Jackson's career and reputation. MySpace "is for kids," YouTube is a waste of time, I have no idea who's on the top 40 of the Bilboard charts, what albums are coming out soon and why a T-Mobile sidekick is the must have phone -IM-internet-waste time at work-gadget everyone seems to have. And what is even weirder, I don't seem to want to care. I know what I like, what helps me manage my life, what I feel comfortable in and what I enjoy for entertainment without needing a media-princess or pop-tart mess tell me or show me what is "in." I don't have time, and none of that makes me happy, just exhausted from trying to keep up.
Which brings me to the only thing that tops my priority list. To be happy. To enjoy the time I'm awake. To feel like I'm productive and to like what earns my money.
I quit my job. Yup, that one with the smoothie company I was all excited over four months ago. First - to go from always busy 52 weeks a year to only doing a third of that same business drove me insane. It felt like jail. Second, I felt like an asshole 5 days a week selling 35 degree frozen smoothies to people out walking the windy winter streets of NYC, and felt even worse when I had to open the store before the sun came up, and then sit there for 90 minutes without a single customer.
My employees were not what I was used to, and to be frank, not a group of people I wanted to get used to. They didn't care, they just wanted more money for doing less work. I was the only forward moving person there, while everyone else "BFF"ed and "OMG"ed on their sidekicks.
My manager took for granted my years of experience through Starbucks. My ability to manage people and deliver good customer service was incorrectly equated to a perceived ability to navigate through the company's reporting, scheduling and ordering systems.
The last straw came on the day no one but me showed up to open the store on a day I am supposed to only do paperwork. I told my boss that my stuff would be late due to letting both openers go (yup, FIRED) and that I was stuck on the floor. Did he offer assistance? Did he even do his usual passive agressive managing through my peers (essentially sending in people to spy on me and report back to him.)? Nope, he just started calling again right in the middle of my rush to ask me why I'm not done yet and ended the call with "It has to be done by 2p" as I'm asking him to call someone else into my store.
So I left. I finished out the day. Tied up all the loose ends. Payed all the invoices, left what few files I was able to create in a short time (since there were none to greet me upon begining the job) in order, drafted my immediate resignation, unhooked my key from my ring, sent the email and walked away.
Freaking out? Not really. Happy I did it? Absolutely. None of it was worth it. Not the empty promises they fed me, not the extra $10k a year, and definately not the blame for things going wrong that I had been asking for help on from day one.
So, playing the total victim here, right? Yeah, I know you're rolling your eyes. But I ask, how many times have you felt even a sliver of this same frustration? Or daydreamed about what you really wanted to do with your life? Or just wanted some extra time to clear your head and make a rational and well thought through career choice? I was done playing the victim. I was done talking about it, complaining about it, crying about it, bitching about it, etc.
It all works out, it always does. I'm not going to die from a slightly pass-due bill, or immediately become an "undesireable candidate" due to a two week self imposed hiatus from the rat race. I know my strengths, my weaknesses, my interests, and what motivates me to do a better job every day. Mandatory 10 hour work days during the winter when I could give my extra hours to a deserving employee does not motivate. It makes me stew.
This is why I'll be writing in here more often. I'm rediscovering my passion for writing. Also, as I enter my third decade, I find myself wanting to document more. I hate pictures, as they tend to be more of a redundant and tedious reminder of those rolls undeveloped or those prints never placed in albums (I mean, who really needs a photo of EVERY present opened on Christmas morning, when they are all sitting under my tree at this moment?) And it really fascinates me that there are people out there scouring blogs every day looking for the next New York Times columnist or critic or copywriter (if you're one of those people - MESSAGE ME! LOL).
So I'll be bringing in 2008 actually happy for once. The pieces may not all be in place, but I feel more in control with a few missing than I did with them all in place. At least an unfinished puzzle is a work in progress. The only thing left to do to a puzzle once its done is to break it apart and start all over again.
My friends all say that grey hair is distinguished; my family says its better than having my hair fall out. But for someone who has always been the youngest of his adult social circles, I have mixed feelings.
I'm amazed at how those mis-colored hairs tend to shine light on the other gradual signs that I'm growing out of the important 18-34 year-old advertising demographic. The small lines at my eyes, the slight ones around my mouth, a line or two permanently in my forehead. What once was a fru-fru activity of giving myself facials, has now become a needed every-four-day regimen.
I don't feel almost-30. I still wake up to the thoughts of a 15 year old. My leisure time rivals that of most teenagers I knew when I was one and those I know now. TV, gym, iPod, Wii are all recreational ways I pass the time. They all feed the part of me that has that Peter Pan "I don't wanna wear a tie, or a serious expression in the middle of July" complex.
But then I grew out of being eligible to ever apply for an MTV show (a blessing in disguise), and watched on VH1 as they treated the decade I came of age in - the 90's as nothing more than ten years of flannel shirts, boy bands and the crash of Michael Jackson's career and reputation. MySpace "is for kids," YouTube is a waste of time, I have no idea who's on the top 40 of the Bilboard charts, what albums are coming out soon and why a T-Mobile sidekick is the must have phone -IM-internet-waste time at work-gadget everyone seems to have. And what is even weirder, I don't seem to want to care. I know what I like, what helps me manage my life, what I feel comfortable in and what I enjoy for entertainment without needing a media-princess or pop-tart mess tell me or show me what is "in." I don't have time, and none of that makes me happy, just exhausted from trying to keep up.
Which brings me to the only thing that tops my priority list. To be happy. To enjoy the time I'm awake. To feel like I'm productive and to like what earns my money.
I quit my job. Yup, that one with the smoothie company I was all excited over four months ago. First - to go from always busy 52 weeks a year to only doing a third of that same business drove me insane. It felt like jail. Second, I felt like an asshole 5 days a week selling 35 degree frozen smoothies to people out walking the windy winter streets of NYC, and felt even worse when I had to open the store before the sun came up, and then sit there for 90 minutes without a single customer.
My employees were not what I was used to, and to be frank, not a group of people I wanted to get used to. They didn't care, they just wanted more money for doing less work. I was the only forward moving person there, while everyone else "BFF"ed and "OMG"ed on their sidekicks.
My manager took for granted my years of experience through Starbucks. My ability to manage people and deliver good customer service was incorrectly equated to a perceived ability to navigate through the company's reporting, scheduling and ordering systems.
The last straw came on the day no one but me showed up to open the store on a day I am supposed to only do paperwork. I told my boss that my stuff would be late due to letting both openers go (yup, FIRED) and that I was stuck on the floor. Did he offer assistance? Did he even do his usual passive agressive managing through my peers (essentially sending in people to spy on me and report back to him.)? Nope, he just started calling again right in the middle of my rush to ask me why I'm not done yet and ended the call with "It has to be done by 2p" as I'm asking him to call someone else into my store.
So I left. I finished out the day. Tied up all the loose ends. Payed all the invoices, left what few files I was able to create in a short time (since there were none to greet me upon begining the job) in order, drafted my immediate resignation, unhooked my key from my ring, sent the email and walked away.
Freaking out? Not really. Happy I did it? Absolutely. None of it was worth it. Not the empty promises they fed me, not the extra $10k a year, and definately not the blame for things going wrong that I had been asking for help on from day one.
So, playing the total victim here, right? Yeah, I know you're rolling your eyes. But I ask, how many times have you felt even a sliver of this same frustration? Or daydreamed about what you really wanted to do with your life? Or just wanted some extra time to clear your head and make a rational and well thought through career choice? I was done playing the victim. I was done talking about it, complaining about it, crying about it, bitching about it, etc.
It all works out, it always does. I'm not going to die from a slightly pass-due bill, or immediately become an "undesireable candidate" due to a two week self imposed hiatus from the rat race. I know my strengths, my weaknesses, my interests, and what motivates me to do a better job every day. Mandatory 10 hour work days during the winter when I could give my extra hours to a deserving employee does not motivate. It makes me stew.
This is why I'll be writing in here more often. I'm rediscovering my passion for writing. Also, as I enter my third decade, I find myself wanting to document more. I hate pictures, as they tend to be more of a redundant and tedious reminder of those rolls undeveloped or those prints never placed in albums (I mean, who really needs a photo of EVERY present opened on Christmas morning, when they are all sitting under my tree at this moment?) And it really fascinates me that there are people out there scouring blogs every day looking for the next New York Times columnist or critic or copywriter (if you're one of those people - MESSAGE ME! LOL).
So I'll be bringing in 2008 actually happy for once. The pieces may not all be in place, but I feel more in control with a few missing than I did with them all in place. At least an unfinished puzzle is a work in progress. The only thing left to do to a puzzle once its done is to break it apart and start all over again.
// posted by ProudJock Matt @ 12:37 PM 
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