Queen of the (Vanilla-Scented) Castle
Yesterday while working one of my final shifts at Gift Shop, I had a stunning revelation. It began when a customer strolled by the front counter carrying one of our pastel-painted wooden picture-frames in the shape of a baby-t-shirt with a little hanger on top. I intercepted her with a "Do you need that gift-wrapped?" And when she said, "Why, yes," I took the monstrosit—err, frame, from her. And at this exchange, the old Feelings-O-Meter actually tipped to the "Yay!"- End.
No dread.
Instead I actually felt a little thrill at making this the best damn-wrapped pink and blue wood baby frame that ever there was. She would sigh with admiration upon coming back to the counter: The silver "Wrapphia"-brand bow! The shiny-smooth paper! How could anyone even think to Un-wrap such a treasure to expose the tackiness that lay within?

Those who’ve been reading this little blog for a few months will recall that I do not like wrapping strangers’ presents, pretty much as a rule. I can wrap things just fine at home, on my own, but it’s not something I would ever call a talent, so usually it’s not the neatest wrapping-papered confection once I’m through. Basically, it's not bad, for a ten-year old.

And when there’s some lady breathing her heavily Estee-Laudered pheromones down my neck, ordering me to Make It Pretty; It’s for a Wedding, dammit; while glancing frequently at her Rolex and heaving great stage-sighs because the wedding starts in like, five minutes; well, that just takes any enjoyment that might have been there, straight out.

Or so I thought. Because I actually have gotten better at wrapping gifts, and now I even um, actually enjoy it. A little speed-origami to brighten up the old day.

In my book, it’s all about that Something that happens when you make the transition from New Employee to Seasoned one. You start feeling like you own the place.

The fact of two or three people standing around waiting for me to find boxes for their rainbow windchimes is no longer nerve-wracking. They can wait all they want. Or they can go home. I don’t care. I won’t be rude to anyone, but with a feeling of ownership comes the conviction that this is My place. I was here before you got here and I’ll be here when you’re gone, and you can choose to make this a pleasant exchange or not, but it won’t stick with me, either way. Fuck; it’s not my wedding.

Yes, I am more bored than ever with my weekend job, but I also only have one week left until the place goes out of business. After that, I start at Small Publication full time. Yes, they hired me for real. I am happy about this, although a part of me wonders if maybe I need a crappy weekend job to make myself enjoy working at Small Publication so much, by comparison. Will I get bored there next? Frankly, the place certainly has its own share of jaded employees. Until now, I've navigated my way around their negative-nellydom every day like the chipper hero in the video-game Frogger. We’ll just see, I guess. If an unusual amount of time goes by between postings, you'll know I've gotten squashed.