On working a retail job because there are no fucking jobs anywhere

I don’t know where I thought I was going to be at twenty-five, but it certainly wasn’t working a retail job.

At university they manage to convince you that a graduate certificate will help you get a job in the field you study. That you’re the future. One of the minds that will shape tomorrow’s future. But then you graduate and you realize everyone else is studying business while you study the floor1.

Where did I went wrong? When did life become this? How can I change it?

I never had a five year plan. All I wanted was to graduate, find a job at a company I didn’t hate, work there for a couple years, and then go to grad school. I feel stupid now because I know the universe doesn’t give a fuck about plans.

After months of trying to find a job on something related to my career without any success I had to reassess what I was going to do with my life. Right now, that means working a retail job because there are no fucking jobs anywhere.

I am grateful, don’t get me wrong. I have no experience in anything related to sales. I know the people who hired me are taking a bet on me, but this is not what I wanted. It’s what I was forced to do.

There is something very depressing about working in retail. In my experience is less about the clients and more about the how the system works. The way my bosses speak about selling clothes is extremely uninspiring. They talk about creating memorable experiences for costumers. I find the whole thing ridiculous. Not because I find fashion, or clothes in this case, to be unimportant, but because my disdain for retail therapy makes me a horrible seller. I am not interested in making people spend more money than they have. If they only want to buy a pair of jeans, I don’t really care to convince them a shirt, a hat, and shoes to pair it with, are the missing piece to their puzzle.

I also hate how I feel about myself. Being surrounded by mirrors all the time is not great for my sense of self. Neither is being expected to be a vessel and a machine. The other day, one of my bosses came to the store to talk about protocols. She started by talking about all the things we needed to do when a client enters the store. Then she talked about personal presentation. She looked up and down at me and said something along the lines of “apply a little makeup so you look a bit more alive.” I stared at her with an unmoving face. Said nothing. As someone who has issues with authoritative figures I immediately felt my skin crawling. I can’t stand to be told what to do in any situation. Especially not when it comes to my physical appearance. But I knew better than to say anything. This didn’t felt like helpful feedback. It didn’t have to do with my performance. It was just mean. At the end of the day, why does it even matter?

I try not to care about how I look. But then I see the beautiful girls with beautiful clothes who enter the store and I feel both embarrassed and jealous. Embarrassed because while they’re parading their boho chic outfits, vintage style glasses and designer baguettes, my work uniform is a men’s shirt two sizes big that looks deeply unflattering on me. Jealous because I too want to be a beautiful girl shopping beautiful clothes.