This is my first day off since starting work at the gas station and, having been away from it for 24 hours, the whole idea that I even work there seems surreal.  I really, really, really don’t want to go back.  Of course, I will go back.  I just don’t want to.

People keep saying things to me like “hey, at least you’re working.”  And though I never particularly thought of myself as lacking in work ethic, I can say that frankly, I don’t feel that way at all.  I kind of felt like I paid my dues a while back, in jobs where I cleaned toilets, took out trash, and was treated like something slightly less than human by my supposed “superiors,” who were really nothing but former special ed students who advanced to positions such as “assistant manager” by not quitting.  Not that there’s anything wrong with special ed students at all.  But having worked in a restaurant for eight years and listing “assistant manager” as the pinnacle of your career does not exactly make you superior.

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On the bright side, there is an upward path here, should I opt to pursue it.  Nearly all of my store’s “senior” employees will be gone within a month or so, and that includes all of the full-timers who would otherwise be eligible for the “assistant manager” role.  If I am lucky, it will be eight weeks instead of eight years.  And if it doesn’t work out that way, then hopefully eight weeks is long enough to find a job that doesn’t involve cleaning toilets.

So this is something of a learning period for me.  I’m learning processes and procedures and I’m learning how to operate the lotto machine, which is pretty much the bane of my existence.  I’m learning that expensive insoles, Stackers, and ibuprofen are all worthwhile investments in my personal well-being.

It would be nice to be able to sit back and relax today, but that can’t happen.  Today, I wash away the evidence that the boys were ever here so that I can rent out their rooms.  I grocery shop and do some meal prep for the upcoming work week.  I do the laundry.