labor in vain

10:27 p.m. - 2002-12-09

Those who have been reading me long enough (we're talking the original D-land place here) may recall that I actually used to Work for a living (or at least bookstore money). One of the best part-time cashier/fitting room attendants the place ever had... ah, the glamor of retail. At any rate, I took up the practice again over the weekend, this time in the children's department. Brought back a slew of sensations, that did (not the least of which was the "next semester I will get a job without mooching off my mother, honest" sensation, but that's another story). The sensation of earning one's own money through honest labor, of performing a good capitalistic duty for the service of the Empire, of the pride felt upon learning to swear in Swahili, of the triumph one acquires by valiantly prevailing when faced with gypsies who wheedle, "Aw, honey, make a deal with me."

Also the sensation that I like working during the holidays. Abnormal, yes, and I'm sure other retail slaves are glaring at me for it. The strangest things can give me a feeling of accomplishment; the more muddle there is for me to navigate through, the more efficient I feel. (This might also explain how I managed to get through the IB program.) It's far more pleasant than feeling overwhelmed, anyway, and it gives my mind something to focus on aside from my feet.

The place itself has changed, even if my reactions haven't. Aure's still there, but the firing squad has been liberal in the past few months. Sweeps were done for green cards, which resulted in Carol and Ytes being deported to Ghana. Linda and Laila have been shifted, Galice has moved up, departments have rotated, and the sweatshop factor has shot up in the back. Celna, at least, is still skittering around and grinning like her life depends on it. Thank heaven for constants.

And it all gets to happen in earnest after this week. Till then, finals have first priority.

Will now proceed to read excruciatingly dry soc excerpts.

Adieu.

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