Recently (because honestly what else am I supposed to do), I have started to notice a little trend when I am at work.
Besides the fact I have noticed which managers will confine me to
the fitting room to the cave for hours on end and which allow me to see the light of day, and also which ones willingly allow me the basic human rights of a ten minute break and which ones make me feel like I am shoplifting seventeen purses for asking.. I have also noticed another pattern in my working hours.
I’ll be standing in the fitting room or at the register and women will either come to try things on or be checking out and they will say something to me that’s so much more than your average small talk. It’s usually only a sentence or two but it’s something that if I were to remark on, I know they’d latch on to my comment and jump onto my neck with a lengthy monologue about their little lives. And it’s usually a snide remark against themselves.
About their appearance.
About their weight.
About their husbands.
About their boyfriends.
A little tidbit of their daily misery shared with the anonymous checkout girl over a pair of pants.
And it’s making me start to wonder why a psychology degree is not a requirement in the retail business. Honestly, I feel like a miniature therapist. Don’t get me wrong, I WANT to comfort these women. To tell them that that dress probably is not going to make their husband notice them for as long as they’d like (which I’m going to take a wild guess is probably forever) and that no amount of cute little trinkets will help them lose weight because they couldn’t find anything that fit them. And it’s such an awkward fine line between wanting to reach out and hug them or just remain silent. Mostly, I guess I just can’t believe I have all this compassion for these lonely unhappy perfect strangers. Just call me Mother Meg, patron saint of the rich, the caffeinated, the huddled masses yearning to blow mad cash..
And you know what else it made me think? We are all settling. Yup. We are all settling on something to temporarily make us happy in hopes that eventually it will bring us peace long term. Yeah, in this particular instance these women aren’t shopping for a perfect outfit.. they are looking for acceptance. Which just honestly makes me even more frustrated about my job. I am selling superficial temporary happiness and I am doing it with a stupid fake tacky smile. I kick myself!
But it also makes me think about the ways that I am settling. I am settling in a job I dislike so strongly that I wake up and dread going to work a good 8 hours before I get there. I have settled in relationships that I knew were on the road to ruin before they even got out of the starting gate. I have settled on toxic friendships and evanescent highs because guess what? They made me temporarily happy. Like a plate of DANK brownies ingested all in one sitting and twenty minutes later you want to die and you hate your life, and you are in the fetal position holding your stomach in catastrophic pain (totally guessing on this.. obviously I would never attempt this )
My point is such.. I feel bad for these women- yes. But EARTH TO MEG.. these women are you!
Because everyone is settling. Including yes, even myself (hard to believe when I have so much going for me!?)
And it makes me realize that patience is a virtue I sadly do not possess. But if I have to find a meaning in my current life predicament… that would probably be my answer.
Anything worth having..is worth waiting for.
And that means everything.
Whether it’s a guy.
Or a girl.
Or a job.
Or a shirt that’s so freaking cute, oh my god if you don’t get it
.. you will die.
(spoiler: you aren’t going to die… but I do know that feeling).
So… a little call to action from the girl who needs one too. Stop settling. Stop giving in to second best just because it’s (or they) are going to make you temporarily happy. Stop being the silly woman who shares her sadness with the random fitting room girl (it’s a metaphor people.. come on.)
Everyone has something. Stop doing it.
You only deserve better when you decide you deserve better. It’s up to you. But until then, be my guest and keep buying shit you sort of want to fill the hole of something you actually need.
…And in the meantime,
I’ll be the girl behind the counter.