The Part-Time and the Freelancer
Recently I found a gig freelancing my time and my services to a transcribing company. Freelancing is fabulous. You get to work wherever the wi-fi is—I could displace myself to anywhere in the world (as long as it has Internet).
It’s a romantic idea of work. There’s a certain whimsy in having the ability to fly off at any given moment with your work in tow, not needing to ask for personal days off. It’s a charming notion really.
But the thing is I don’t often fly around the world, much less across the country. How does anybody even have the funds to do that? And I don’t often leave the comfort (or the confines) of my bedroom.
So what’s the point in this perk? I’m not sure. I’m beginning to think it’s something I just say to convince myself that this job is okay. Which it is. For now. However, the pay doesn’t seem like it’s quite worth the amount of time it takes to do the job. But any money coming into my bank account is better than no money at all.
Well, once I realized this job wasn’t paying out that well, I decided to go hunting for a part-time position. In retail. Something every young teenager has experience in.
Except that when I was a teenager I never had to work retail. Nope. I have always worked in some type of office job oddly enough because I never saw myself as the type to be an office employee.
But there I was. In my pencil skirts and buttoned downs.
So, when I went to interview at this retailer, my nerves were taking over. One look at my resume and whoever was reading it would know that I am over qualified and yet not qualified at all. Drat.
Even though I’m 24 and a few years older than all the other applicants that were at the group interview that day, can I say that I was slightly intimidated? Let me just share that this store sells things that I would never be able to purchase. I could maybe afford a pair of socks. But with the money I spent on the socks, I could have bought a week’s worth of groceries.
It’s not even couture or anything. Insane, no? Well, despite my poverty, I adore everything they offer—the environment is cozy and unique. It’s a dream.
I dressed my casual best to try to look as if I wasn’t trying too hard, but that I wasn’t being nonchalant about the position either. I wanted it. I wanted it more than the other girls. (Maybe not). But I needed it more. Some of these girls were still students for heaven’s sake. I haven’t been a student for two years now.
Prior to the interview I Googled all I could about the company. I Googled what to wear, what kind of questions might be asked, what type of personality they look for—everything and anything. I asked my magic genie, Google.
I did so much research on this company that it made me fall even more in love with it. But it also desperately made me want to fit the mold of their employees. This is probably basic knowledge of “how to get a job.”
Even though I was prepared for the questions I’d have to answer. I found myself mentally slapping my forehead. These other girls seemed to have amazing answers, and all I could do was try turning up my smile and my charm factor. In all honesty, these girls really knew their retail. And what do I know? I only know how to write.
Hey, but something must have worked. I got the job after all. Sure, it’s just part-time but that allows me to keep working on my writing as well as feeding my hungry, hungry bank account. It’s a win-win situation, the way I see it.