It's been awhile, once again.I am plagued with the truth. The reality. I am a twenty-seven year-old female, and as we all like to say, "not getting any younger". My resume indicates that I have worked at many different customer service establishments, whether it be retail, salon services, or restaurants. I have taken longer than necessary to complete a mere four-year degree, my Bachelor of Arts in Communication. What did this shit-your-pants, overly-expensive piece of paper guarantee me? Absolutely nothing.
College does not prepare you for what happens after you hit that glorious milestone of walking across the stage and shaking the uncomfortably sweaty palm of the dean himself. It fails to mention this unbearable and hellish purgatory of interminable waiting and mindless searching you will be faced with, dealing with one door after another either shut, or worse, with no one to answer your knock.
Graduating did not guarantee me a job, much less a fighting chance in the massive pool of other applicants vying for similar positions. My resume shows others that I have had consistent work experience since I was much younger. That I am disciplined. That I can multitask between school and work. That I am willing to learn. That I can adapt. I did not have the opportunity to access a non-existent college fund that allowed
me to attend a prestigious
university of my choice (and let's be honest- didn't have the grades to back it), and furthermore to become a shoe-in at mommy or daddy's law firm. While living on my own, and digging myself out of a self-induced hole, I knew I could not afford to work for free, so scratch any internship-- behind the bar I resided.
Inching closer to six months post graduation, I have to figure out a way to deal with the repayment of loans, doomed to wait tables because any possible leads I had, people who said, "Send me your cover letter and resume," were really nothing but hot air. Hot air that dissipates, much like my hopes in finding an employer to accept my skill set. Although frustrated, I've failed and found myself back at the drawing board countless times, searching for Square One.
I am stuck between a rock and a hard place, staying at a restaurant I am growing to dislike more and more each day. Life is too short to be miserable.
Let me be clear. I am a bartender on paper. Nothing more, nothing less.
You ask, on paper? Yes, on paper. That is my work title. So what do you envision? A girl, behind the bar, pouring drinks. Smiling like an idiot. Serving food. Maintaining tasks. Teamwork.
Ah, but I am much more. I have just grown old of the revolving door and serious lack of growth potential.
My goal is to ride it out. Let it be.
But really,
let's be honest.
When you have been treading water vigorously for quite a while, you become excruciatingly exhausted. The point where your muscles burn, your lungs feel weighted and crushed before you dare to choose to give up. To let your head slip beneath the surface. I'm at that point. I want out. While the service industry has been good, there comes a time where all good things must come to an end.
But that is just it-- where I become painfully aware of the rock and that hard place.
There is no Plan B.
-- Malia Etienette
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