And for a moment, I felt like an adult.
When I got to work last night for a meeting, I had no idea that a simple hour and a half could raise my expectations so high. Maybe it was because I had worn my luck bracelet, maybe it was because I had managed to get a good night's rest, Maybe I'm just THAT LUCKY, but somehow, that night, everything seemed to go my way. First, I won a 20% off coupon for the store I work in. Then I won NOT ONLY a pen, BUT ALSO a water canister. With these three simple acts, I was easily able to forget any worries and enjoy the night in an absolutely spaz-tastic way, which included but was not limited to random dancing and laughing fits. By the time everyone was beginning to wind down, I was still in my happy place.First, I won a 20% off coupon for the store I work in. Then I won NOT ONLY a pen, BUT ALSO a water canister. With these three simple acts, I was easily able to forget any worries and enjoy the night in an absolutely spaz-tastic way, which included but was not limited to random dancing and laughing fits. By the time everyone was beginning to wind down, I was still in my happy place.
I really didn't see any way the night could get any better.
AND THEN IT DID.
Finally, as we approached the 10pm mark, our manager, my boss, asked everyone to settle down, informing us in his gravest tone that there would be some changes to the uniform, effective immediately. Now, where I work does not have the strictest dress code, so everyone that night was a bit confused about what we could have possibly done to bring about such a sudden change. Our manager sighed and rolled his sleeves up past his elbows. To me, he seemed more like a father preparing himself for "the talk" than a boss, and I could feel the atmosphere grow heavy and awkward as everyone else felt it, too.
"Y'all," he said slowly, looking us in the eye. "We've all been neglecting a bit of the uniform. I mean, even I'm guilty. But starting tomorrow, things are going to change. We're bringing back the radios."
The group groaned as one as I sat, confused. I leaned over to a coworker. "Radios?" I asked quietly as my boss continued talking. "What radios?"
The young woman looked at me incredulously, as if she didn't believe my ignorance. Finally, she answered me. "They're small radios we're supposed to wear. They're like walkie-talkies. I'm sure you've seen them."
As I sat back in my chair, I realized she was right. I had seen them before, on all of the managers at least. They had always looked so official, I had only assumed they were privileges reserved for those of higher standing within the company. That is, of course, until I heard my boss announce that we would all be required to wear one, ear-piece and all.
When the realization hit me that I would be included in that circle of professionalism that is the radio-holder, I'm pretty sure my face twisted into some sort of misshapen and strange excitement, but I didn't care if others saw me. I was getting a radio.
The next day, I was just as excited walking into work as I had been the night before, anxious for my secret charm that would make everyone take me seriously as an employee. I walked into the dressing room and took my post as the greeter, a job I have learned to take very seriously. I was told that there would be a radio in the dressing room at all times, but it just wasn't there. I must have checked every shelf and dressing room twice before forcing myself to give up my pathetic, futile search. I sighed and began hanging clothes up, when I realized one didn't have a size ring, so I opened the drawer with the rings and there it was. Duh.
With excited, trembling hands I picked of the glorious little device, stuck the ear piece in my ear and hung the radio from my pants pocket. I didn't need a mirror to know I looked official.
I looked GROWN-UP.
And the feeling lasted for a good ten minutes.
Eventually, though, a short, robust woman walked up and invaded my private little corner in the store, just silently staring at me while I counted her pieces and then reached across the counter for a 'four' card, her face never cracking a smile. She began toward the dressing rooms and ignored my "have a nice day" that I said as cheerfully as possible. But, as she turned the corner I could hear her muttering to herself, her tone full of bitterness and hate. Although I couldn't hear everything she said, I managed to catch the end.
"...Looks like a whore with her low-cut shirt."
I could feel the blood rush from face as I looked down and realized she was talking about me. It's not that I was wearing a low-cut shirt, but the top button of my favorite black top had come undone without me realizing it (as it sometimes does). Despite the name tag around my neck and the radio in my ear, I just looked like a whore.
As I put away the radio in its rightful place in the drawer, my emotions got the best of me and tears fell freely as I laughed to myself. I wasn't a professional. I was a seventeen-year-old girl with an open shirt. Still, my brief encounter with the feeling of adulthood was the closest I had ever come to the real deal.
Even if I looked like a fool.
Even if I looked unprofessional.
Even if I the woman saw my tears as she left, it was worth it.
On the drive home, bits and pieces of a quote I had once heard in a movie kept coming to mind, and when I got home, I looked it up to be sure I could get it right.
"Do you remember? When you came back from your assistant's job in July?
Back then you asked us, 'what is freedom?'
I remember telling you, 'Freedom is doing what you want when you please. Eisuke does manga, Ryuzo does novels, Shoichi does pop songs, I do oil paintings.'
Now that summer is over, I quit painting, just like Ryuzo has quit writing.
How ironic that our season of doing what we please has caused us to abandon just that.
We can't live life for paintings and novels.
If someone is there, we cannot help but do something for them.
If we are lonely, we step out to find company.
We are just weak-willed, ordinary human beings.
We were just weak-willed human beings.
There will never be a summer like this.
Never again will we shed the tears we cried this summer.
Never again."
Of course, it seems so obvious to me now. There will never be another summer like this, and because of this, I know that wasting my time dwelling on the past is time I can never get back. I want to be a person who can keep going forward with a smile no matter what. There will be bad times, but there will be good times, too. That's what I believe, anyway.
Lately, I've thought, "maybe, being an adult isn't how you look, but how you think," but I could be wrong.
Either way, when I get to work tomorrow, I will proudly wear that radio and continue on as best I can.
I really didn't see any way the night could get any better.
AND THEN IT DID.
Finally, as we approached the 10pm mark, our manager, my boss, asked everyone to settle down, informing us in his gravest tone that there would be some changes to the uniform, effective immediately. Now, where I work does not have the strictest dress code, so everyone that night was a bit confused about what we could have possibly done to bring about such a sudden change. Our manager sighed and rolled his sleeves up past his elbows. To me, he seemed more like a father preparing himself for "the talk" than a boss, and I could feel the atmosphere grow heavy and awkward as everyone else felt it, too.
"Y'all," he said slowly, looking us in the eye. "We've all been neglecting a bit of the uniform. I mean, even I'm guilty. But starting tomorrow, things are going to change. We're bringing back the radios."
The group groaned as one as I sat, confused. I leaned over to a coworker. "Radios?" I asked quietly as my boss continued talking. "What radios?"
The young woman looked at me incredulously, as if she didn't believe my ignorance. Finally, she answered me. "They're small radios we're supposed to wear. They're like walkie-talkies. I'm sure you've seen them."
As I sat back in my chair, I realized she was right. I had seen them before, on all of the managers at least. They had always looked so official, I had only assumed they were privileges reserved for those of higher standing within the company. That is, of course, until I heard my boss announce that we would all be required to wear one, ear-piece and all.
When the realization hit me that I would be included in that circle of professionalism that is the radio-holder, I'm pretty sure my face twisted into some sort of misshapen and strange excitement, but I didn't care if others saw me. I was getting a radio.
The next day, I was just as excited walking into work as I had been the night before, anxious for my secret charm that would make everyone take me seriously as an employee. I walked into the dressing room and took my post as the greeter, a job I have learned to take very seriously. I was told that there would be a radio in the dressing room at all times, but it just wasn't there. I must have checked every shelf and dressing room twice before forcing myself to give up my pathetic, futile search. I sighed and began hanging clothes up, when I realized one didn't have a size ring, so I opened the drawer with the rings and there it was. Duh.
With excited, trembling hands I picked of the glorious little device, stuck the ear piece in my ear and hung the radio from my pants pocket. I didn't need a mirror to know I looked official.
I looked GROWN-UP.
And the feeling lasted for a good ten minutes.
Eventually, though, a short, robust woman walked up and invaded my private little corner in the store, just silently staring at me while I counted her pieces and then reached across the counter for a 'four' card, her face never cracking a smile. She began toward the dressing rooms and ignored my "have a nice day" that I said as cheerfully as possible. But, as she turned the corner I could hear her muttering to herself, her tone full of bitterness and hate. Although I couldn't hear everything she said, I managed to catch the end.
"...Looks like a whore with her low-cut shirt."
I could feel the blood rush from face as I looked down and realized she was talking about me. It's not that I was wearing a low-cut shirt, but the top button of my favorite black top had come undone without me realizing it (as it sometimes does). Despite the name tag around my neck and the radio in my ear, I just looked like a whore.
As I put away the radio in its rightful place in the drawer, my emotions got the best of me and tears fell freely as I laughed to myself. I wasn't a professional. I was a seventeen-year-old girl with an open shirt. Still, my brief encounter with the feeling of adulthood was the closest I had ever come to the real deal.
Even if I looked like a fool.
Even if I looked unprofessional.
Even if I the woman saw my tears as she left, it was worth it.
On the drive home, bits and pieces of a quote I had once heard in a movie kept coming to mind, and when I got home, I looked it up to be sure I could get it right.
"Do you remember? When you came back from your assistant's job in July?
Back then you asked us, 'what is freedom?'
I remember telling you, 'Freedom is doing what you want when you please. Eisuke does manga, Ryuzo does novels, Shoichi does pop songs, I do oil paintings.'
Now that summer is over, I quit painting, just like Ryuzo has quit writing.
How ironic that our season of doing what we please has caused us to abandon just that.
We can't live life for paintings and novels.
If someone is there, we cannot help but do something for them.
If we are lonely, we step out to find company.
We are just weak-willed, ordinary human beings.
We were just weak-willed human beings.
There will never be a summer like this.
Never again will we shed the tears we cried this summer.
Never again."
Of course, it seems so obvious to me now. There will never be another summer like this, and because of this, I know that wasting my time dwelling on the past is time I can never get back. I want to be a person who can keep going forward with a smile no matter what. There will be bad times, but there will be good times, too. That's what I believe, anyway.
Lately, I've thought, "maybe, being an adult isn't how you look, but how you think," but I could be wrong.
Either way, when I get to work tomorrow, I will proudly wear that radio and continue on as best I can.