Skip to main content

OhJeezOhJeezOhJeez.

What a waste of a good title. Oh well, can you tell I'm nervous?

I have an interview at Starbucks this afternoon (in under four hours from now, to be exact). Funnily enough, I'm somewhat less worried about the interview itself as what might happen when I get the job.




See, the company profile emphasizes customer service and quality or some such. American Eagle is kinda nuts about customer service. Like, being friendly and real, helping customers find what they'd actually like to wear and getting them the sizes they need and outfitting them basically before they even needa ask for anything, and so on. And, given how small, low volume, and otherwise handicapped my store is, we need amazing customer service to survive. Fantastic training, really.

This also isn't my first coffee shop job. I used to work at The Gryphon Coffee Co. in Wayne, PA. When I worked there we still hand-tamped each shot of espresso and emphasized quality somewhat nuttily. Like, I once had to remake a cappuccino 3 times (for a regular, ultraloyal customer, fear not) until I got the milk foamed just right (it should look like white paint not tapioca pudding).

Also, apparently, due to manager drama/madness, this store is really really shortstaffed. "Desperate" might even be a good word here, apparently. So I should be pretty well qualified at a store that could really use some extra hands.


So what's got me scared is my usual anxiety about job-ness. That I'll fail. That I'll let them down. That I will disappoint my manager, whose esteem apparently determines my entire self-worth.

This store's downtown; it's a bit of a hike on the metro. They're opening shifts are at like 4:45am and the metro doesn't even open until 5:00 and I couldn't hope to get there before 5:40.

But even with that aside--I don't know if I trust myself enough with getting up that early to be able to make any promises. Like, I wake up at 6:30am every morning to take my meds, but usually go back to sleep until 8:30am. I've been known to wake up to 4am alarms when needed, but how certain can I be??

Do you see what I'm doing here? I'm psyching myself out. I don't even have the job yet, and I don't even know if they'll need--nay, demand--me to open, even. For all I know they'll be understanding and schedule me mostly for later in the day. For all I know I won't even get the job at this store.

Who knows! And yet I'm already freaking myself out. Over nothing. Over unestablished events and possibilities.


This is how I con myself into avoiding stuff. My terrible habits of avoidance are already fairly well documented here, I believe, but this is how it can often start. Worry, plain and simple. I'll end up skipping class for months, but start off scared of some tiny uncertainty or hesitating pathologically because of it.

It's so stupid. And it almost always turns out to be nothing--and even when the worry is fulfilled in some way I survive it, as it turns out.

So I'm going to go get ready and head out early. At the least I won't be late today and I can get a feel for the area and store and stuff. Maybe even write or pray some to distract myself.

Everything's gonna be okay. I just gotta let it.

Comments

Other things that might interest you...

This moment: A tattoo.

So I read Mrs. Dalloway in high school, and it was perhaps the most beautiful thing I'd ever read. One passage in particular, very early in the book, hit me hard with my first experience of the sublime, and stayed with me—and led at last to my first tattoo.
In people’s eyes, in the swing, tramp, and trudge; in the bellow and the uproar; the carriages, motor cars, omnibuses, vans, sandwich men shuffling and swinging; brass bands; barrel organs; in the triumph and the jingle and the strange high singing of some aeroplane overhead was what she loved; life; London; this moment of June.  (Emphasis added; full paragraph included below. From the full text of the novel as made available by the University of Adelaide.)

The paragraph this is from, the 4th paragraph of the novel, is the 1st passage with the stream of consciousness the book is famous for; although self-limited here, the flow is no less gorgeous. In the passage, Clarissa is walking on a street to get those famous flowers herse…

Losing Doolittle.

I recently got to spend a few days at the lake house my family used to visit through most of my childhood; we no longer own it, and it turns out I missed it more deeply than I realized.

Anthony and I both got the week before NYC Pride off this year, so I contrived to get us a little time there. The cousins who own Greenshore gave Anthony and me permission to relax there for several days rather than just the 1 or 2 I had expected. Good god, I'm grateful for that.

I missed this place. Standing on the balcony, the porch, or the dock and looking out over the lake, I was reminded of the beauty and tranquility this lake represents for me. The meaning and memories, too.

This was always a place of solace and stability for me. We moved around a lot when I was a kid, but we always came back to this place. It had been in our family for generations before I was even born—if we'd been able to keep it, it would have been a solid 4 generations including mine. This was where I figured out I w…

Gardenzia carnivorus.

I recently got back into horticulture after a bad moment of burnout, and wouldn't ya know it, I'm back at it with carnivorous plants! Despite tweeting about it endlessly, I haven't actually explained how or why this started.

Back in middle school, I helped my science teacher set up a carnivorous plant display. Nothing elaborate, mind you; a terrarium with a bunch of sphagnum moss and some pitcher plants, a sundew or two, maybe a Venus flytrap? Didn't leave much of an impression, except maybe that they died and that sucked. shrug.
A couple years later, I was in a bog near my grandmother's lake house, when things changed forever. I was in the back end of the canoe, and as my dad pulled the front end out of the water, I glanced to my right and spied, on a stump with some moss, sundews (Drosera rotundifolia, to be precise).
Of course I recognized therm instantly—they're hard to mistake, with those the sparkling tentacles and all. I gathered 3 or so of them (I know