A few weeks ago I was offered an esthetician job, but I declined it.
I know, pretty bold of me in this day and age given the economy, lack of jobs and, given
, my continuous frustration with job search. Especially when I had a thousand connections to various people at this certain salon who vowed to help me (and did), where the salon needed two estheticians and my chances of getting a job there were doubled.
As for me, I went above and beyond in other ways to snag this job and, in the end, did eventually earn the prize. But when I did, I felt less than satisfied.
If anything, I felt confused.
None of this feels totally right,
I thought to myself over and over again. I would change my mind every day on whether or not I would actually take the job. There were a lot of sketchy things about it.
I often had to stop at the salon to fix things or to bring back papers that went missing due to the lack of organization on their part. I volunteered two (unpaid) hours of my own time after my two interviews to visit the salon, all just “to see if this was really where I wanted to work,” as per the manager’s request.
Once I had the job, I endured the six-hour (unpaid, and probably illegal) orientation. Through it all, I remained patient with a smile on my face. It was still a job possibility, and a job was the goal.
I thought of taking the job, mainly for the chance to
become one of my current elderly co-workers who turned careers out of our jobs for the awesome benefits. I thought about willingly becoming a slave to this new job, and being trapped in a place that seemed disorganized and so adamant about things being done
way, that I would grow to hate.
Nothing seemed to clear the cloud of indecisiveness.
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