This past spring semester I decided to take a break from school. The general reason why I went home to Chicago was because of depression. I was really sad for a while. I moped around quite a bit, and eventually I came to the conclusion that I needed to do something with my time instead of wasting it. So what did I do? I got a job, and a few months later I became a mentor.
The funny thing about depression is that it makes you one horribly self-involved person. My problems were so consuming to me that basically I would tune-out other people or start a running dialogue in my head ("I really couldn't give a rat's ass about how your stupid, banal day went. If you feel fat, don't go to Wendy's drive through and eat a lonely meal of your feelings and fries. Screw your boyfriend; I would be better in bed with you anyway." Things like that.). I really just didn't care about anyone else. What mentoring did for me was it forced me out of (at least temporarily) that loop for a little bit each day because I had to actively put someone else's needs above my own.
I also realized that I needed a job. I hated feeling like I was completely dependent on other people to get me along. I get a job! I get two offers!! What to do? Well I could either work at this 4 star restaurant and have to buy clothes just so I can keep the job, or I can work at the Starbuck's down the street and go work not having showered for 4 days and walk out smelling the same as if I had showered and went to work. Starbucks it was. From the first day I knew I wouldn't get along with my head manager. What a foul human being! I feel pretty confident that he resented me because I didn't exactly hide the fact that Starbuck's isn't the end all, be all of my life, nor would I sweat this guy because he was my dipshit manager. He would do things like cut me off mid-sentence, or make a phone call in the middle of me trying to address something with him. I was never properly dressed and I was constantly reminded that I was lucky that this guy was kind enough not to write me up for everything wrong with my approach and execution as a barista. Wow, I was lucky to have such a great manager! Every single time I would show up for work and he was there, I would come up with new and exciting ways of offing myself because I wanted to get out of that building so bad. I began to obsess over the way I smelled. I would come home reeking of the smell of burning. It was like coffee only much more industrial, coupled also with the funk that you get when you work hard, too. It made me feel common and like other people looked down at me. Working at Starbucks has given me a whole new appreciation for the working force that makes this country run. There is little respect for our workers and laborers. The people that come into Starbucks could use a reminder.
I hated the customers almost as much as I hated my manager. Living in Chicago we have a unique kind of yuppie. It's an exclusively Midwestern thing, but you can see the type very clearly. It's the post-college, post-Greek system, young professional that lacks a certain sophistication because of this Midwestern quality. Seriously, the Midwest is totally trashy. We call the ladies "Trixies" and the fellows "Chads." They come from University of Illinois, Michigan, Ohio, Indiana, and Wisconsin. They go to the meet-markets Thursday through Saturday, and the gym daily. They're in marketing and real estate. They want to pair off and make babies and move to the suburbs. I was so close to being one of these people that I thank whatever power that is in control of these things daily that I'm not. These were the people I dutifully served. I would sling my lattes and americanos. I'd chitchat and make these already pretty people feel that much more important. I'd coo at the babies. I'd complement women on their tragic and upsetting accessory choices. I would flirt with these future balding, overweight leaders of America just so I could get that dollar tip. I was a whore for Starbucks. Oh, was I ever.
I had a job, so that got the ball rolling, and yet I felt extremely unfulfilled. I came home from work one night and I found a note from my mom. She had gotten a message through the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation (which my mom is president of the Chicago board) that the Jewish Children's Bureau needed a mentor for a 10 year old diabetic boy. I sprang at this opportunity as soon as I heard it. It wasn't necessarily fun as much as it was so deeply rewarding. But it was the most frustrating reward ever. Half the time I wanted to rip my hair out and slap a leash on this boy. Cody is his name. He's sweet, so gentle and so deeply kind; and yet completely off the walls and without any focus at all. ADD/ADHD is a typical byproduct of neglect and abuse.
My relationship with Cody was not so much about our shared diabetes connection so much as it was about how he needed someone to tell him that he was cared for and that he was protected and that he could trust me. It had been the most intense interaction I've ever had in my life. I found myself crying after my visits with him. I cried so hard I couldn't move or drive. I was so angry and saddened that this is a taste of peoples' lives. I was so angry that this sweet, loving, empathetic, and gentle little person could have gone through such horrific things. I became angry with myself and the fact that I hate who I am as a diabetic. I hate it and I don't talk about it. I hate my disease so much that I somehow rationalize it in my head that if I ignore it maybe eventually I won't have to deal with diabetes. Working with Cody demanded that I get over my own self-loathing of diabetes, and help him try and become a functioning person despite of all the abuse he's suffered.
It was heavy.
This whole time off taught me a lot of things. I made a lot of mistakes. I learned that to achieve contentment you have to work at it. Hard. When you become so used to feeling miserable, it becomes very easy to find comfort in it because it's so familiar. To find happiness within myself was/is hard. It's hard for everyone. But if you really want to become happy and live the life you want to live, you need to face who you are head on, fall apart completely, build yourself back up again having learned from your past. It really does take that much fucking work.
I wouldn't work for Starbucks again. I am addicted to their coffee, but I cannot stand the people in upper management. The last shift I had was the best ever. I was so happy that I never actually had to use one of the very creative and entertaining ways of trying to kill oneself while at work. My summer was boring. My semester was boring. I made a fool of myself a lot. I grew up and I feel have completely lost my innocence and naiveté of childhood and adolescence. I mourn it. But I became who I want to be. I like me. You like me. I worked my ass off, but things are going swimmingly and are continuing to be so. It just takes work. Work. Work. WORK. So I guess it didn't quite suck. By the end it wasn't so bad. But shit. I needed to have a break from the monotony and get away for a while. And now I need to be a student - be at Whitman.... Land of Frats, Liberal Arts bullshit, beer, crunchy hippies, great parties, and some of the most wonderful and beautiful people I've met in my life.