Talk That Talk

Work Work Work Work Work Work

And I thought my last job was as far from glamorous as you could get!

Goodbye heavy shoes, painted hair and heat waves, hello wet feet, runny nose and frozen hands.

We all know why students settle for the jobs that everybody can do but yet nobody wants to do: we need the money! If you need it bad enough, you wouldn’t even have time to be picky. Like I said before, when I think student job I imagine myself, looking not too shabby (red lipstick on fleek), at the entrance of some touristic destination (or maybe a hotel), welcoming guests, answering questions and sipping offering fresh cocktails. So what do you think you get when you put slow old me in a closed up butchery?

Now little old me is not one to complain. She saw this as a new adventure and a opportunity to learn and thus grow, but little did she know that the world isn’t that cute.

My first day was not too bad. It was a test and since they chose to keep me, I supposed that I was good enough. The second day was the beginning of the real deal. That’s when I started realising what I was getting myself into but nothing that scared me. The work was pretty repetitive. I had to cut peppers: in half – empty – by three vertically – by three horizontally, I had to make meat kebabs: skewer – pepper – meat – pepper – meat – pepper – meat – pepper – meat- pepper – meat – pepper, I had to pack  what I made,… I’ll spare you of more repetition. Everything goes in a fridge that’s almost as big as my bedroom. I have to remember where everything goes cause they don’t bother putting names on the products, oh no, we all know the difference between chicken and turkey kebabs just by looking at them and don’t you dare mix them up!

When you’re a student, everybody is kind of your boss. The women I work with get a kick out of bossing me around. The men aren’t too worried about that, they’re too busy hollering. I don’t blame them, it must be weird seeing a woman under forty at their work place. At least their funny pick up lines make time go by faster. They ask me my age every time as if they hope that I’ve reached majority overnight.

It’s not just packaging meat with a sweet little jingle playing in the background. There’s a pace to keep up. When you’re slow as a blind turtle and you’re working with people that have been cutting and packing meat for so long that it demands as much thought as brushing their teeth, you better hold on tight.

I’m slow. That’s just the way it is and that’s not going to change but I won’t give up. I need to show that at least I’m trying to make a change even though everything inside of me wants to give up. I need to develop new skills! Why? Because a girl needs to get her life and food is expensive, makeup is expensive, traveling is expensive, tech gear is expensive and life is expensive. So I need to get it together and put in the work.

Oh and the skills could come in handy later in life.

Another ‘diary’ type post





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