Welcome To The Bitchery
Welcome To The Bitchery

I got myself slip-resistant shoes for my birthday, because my life is about to become fodder for Behind Closed Ovens.

For the record, I am over thirty, have a doctorate, and will be waiting tables because I can't secure a full-time position that will pay my bills in the summer. I'm several manatees in debt from "spending money to make money" (read: traveling for much-needed CV building) during the last school year, and have been unable to get that squared away because adjuncts do not have to be paid as they do their work, and then all my summer classes got cancelled. (Except the awful racist essays one that pays the least. Of course that one goes.)

I am ashamed of this debt. It is humiliating. It is ... not good for future maneuvers, but mostly, I am ashamed that I have allowed my parents' drilling about budgeting, spending within your means, etc., to turn into this. I know these things but I had to do something and it seemed like a viable option. I am so beyond desperate to do something to make life less of a struggle. I have done all the things. I'm half-assedly juggling so many CV building projects I don't know which end is up and I see no end in sight.

I left retail two years ago, to move to the Great Nothing, to live with the FluterDude. I swore that would be my last minimum wage job. And tomorrow, on my thirty-somethingth birthday, I'm going to start training as a hostess at a Family Dining Establishment. Because: reasons.

I teach 12+ credit hours a semester, which is fucking full time and I make less than half of what my counterparts make for teaching 12 credit hours per semester, because I have to do it across three colleges. The counterpart who has a job I would very much like to have is on vacation in Florida for the next three weeks. I'm escorting you to your breadsticks at the local chain establishment.

I am tired. I am angry. I am dripping in snotty mascara tears, and I am shopping online for black fucking pants, not because I have an opera gig ... because that's what I need more of to make $7.50 an hour to pursue my fucking dream.

I hope my new job has a discount on shitty house wine.

Share This Story

Get our newsletter