Recently I received a text message from a life long friend telling me that she put my name down as a reference for a new job. Naturally, I was flattered that she thought of me because I love to boast about how great my friends are in a work, home, school, mother, wife, etc environment. She then called me and told me about her new job she has and am I interested in learning about it? Of course I told her yes and went to a neighboring city to attend an orientation.
First off, I am not very good at dressing professionally. Growing up I some how missed that “dress cute and stylish” gene and would show up to school in stripes, plaid and polka dots. Oh wait, that was just the other day… Anyway, I thought long and hard about what to wear to this orientation. I decided on tights (to cover up my knee to ankle full color leg tattoo), a pencil skirt (Hustler pink plaid skirts are not acceptable I would guess), and this blue sparkly (SHINY!) soft shirt and a belt to add “fashion” and flats because I fell off my high heels a few weeks back and my ankle is still swollen. Upon further investigation, my tights had a run in them and I had make-up under my eyes. Classssy!
I show up at the fancy office building and everyone is in suits and dressed as if they are going to a huge powerful meeting on how to take over the world. I realize my error (forgetting a jacket to cover my arm tattoos) when the (older) lady at the front desk’s eyes glaze over my arms and hover on my pretty ink. Her attitude, once friendly and welcoming shifted a bit once she realized I may be a hooligan. I asked her, “Do I need to get a jacket? To cover my tattoos?” Realistically I realize I should have done this in the first place, but honestly, I did not really think about it. After being confronted in such a manner she said, “No,” but I didn’t really trust her answer. I accepted it and sat down. I was wearing an ankle brace over my tights and how it happened (Melbourne Shuffle in High Heels. Error). This sparked a new conversation of the pros and cons between wedges, heels and Toms. For a minute I thought I could definitely work in an environment that has such animated discussions about shoes.
Mr. Big Wig came in the room and gave us a tour of the office. He pointed out glossy photos of people who married within the company and boasted about their achievements’ and how much money they made. He also showed us pictures of “Football Rings” we can earn when we reach so much money per year as income. I could care less about what other people have done, who they have married or how much money they make. I don’t envy people who make more than I do (probably because everyone makes more than I do) and I don’t like gaudy rings that remind me of the ring from Ace Ventura.
By this point, the burrito I had for dinner started to upset my stomach and I suddenly looked 3 months pregnant. The newbie’s and I had to go mingle with the people who make more money than we do and those people proceeded to tell me how much better they are than me and mock my earning potential and encourage me to be self employed and my own boss. I am pretty sure that isn’t what they said exactly, but that is how I took it. Everyone was slightly shifty and maintaining eye contact was a task that should have been easy. One lady, who advanced crazy fast in the business tried to lure me back by giving the company business. I saw through her little ploy. She only wanted my work number if I came back again. Uh-huh. If you really wanted cabinets, you would have taken down the number. Networking is key, but she didn’t fully understand the whole networking process. For example, if she chose to get her cabinets done by us then she would have access to everyone at the office plus who ever else to try to sell insurance packages too. No, she wanted my number only IF I came back. She asked if I had any questions and I promptly asked for the bathroom. I had sweat trickling down my back and my hair was sticking to my neck. I felt light headed and dizzy and was ready to pass out or throw up at any moment.
Eventually after coming out of the bathroom, sitting through a painfully long orientation complete with slides, three speakers and the torture of breathing in cologne that somebody insisted on taking a bird bath in; I realized that I am happy being broke. I didn’t care for their pushy behavior, them attempting to make me feel inferior because I don’t make $25.00/hour and the promise of making 6 figures a year. I heard something once upon a time… “If it sounds too good to be true, it usually is.”
That is my motto and I’m sticking to it.