A Musing: Meet Your New Blog Contributor Who Talks About His Feelings
I work at a fancy country club in addition to my internship at Stand Up NY. On the first day, my boss took me to a garage where I was told to clean golf carts.
“You know, we usually hire, like, 16 year olds to do your job,” he said. “I’m used to telling these kids over and over again how to do everything. You seem to be picking it up pretty well, though.”
I was flabbergasted. This man was genuinely trying to compliment my work ethic by telling me I’m better than high schoolers. It made me feel like the smartest kid on the short bus.
What do I even say to that besides, “yeah, no shit?” I settled with giving him the same kind of “thanks” you give to someone that hands you a flyer on the street.
But what my boss said also made me think: Is this really where I want to be?
I just moved to New York after living in my parents’ apartment as a post-grad with a creative writing degree. During that time with my parents, I slowly rotted from the inside out as I tried and failed to get entry-level jobs at hip startup companies in Boston. These are the kind of places with ping-pong tables and free beer in the break room to help you forget about that client who told you to go fuck yourself.
I realized that if my job involves being glued to a phone attempting to upsell clients all day, I’d hate my life. So I moved to New York. And now I clean golf carts.
But I also stumbled upon this opportunity to intern at Stand Up NY. For the first time, I get to see what it’s like to work for a company that promotes something deeply important to me: creativity.
In college, the only thing I was truly passionate about was my own writing. I enjoyed sitting down to craft poems, stories, and essays. I did it as much as I could, because I knew that once I graduate, I’d have a real job doing real work for a real company. I never had faith that I’d find something I enjoy doing.
But here I am, writing on a blog that maybe 12 people skim. I may be on the very bottom rung of the ladder for now, but it’s a start. So yes, I really am where I want to be and I’m willing to do worse things than clean golf carts to make sure I am here for a while.
In the golf cart garage, my boss told me he was leaving me alone for a minute. He said to clean a couple golf carts while he was gone. He left me for an hour. When he came back, I had every golf cart cleaned.
“Wow. You definitely aren’t a 16 year old,” he said.
Yeah, no shit. What else do you need me to do?
Article written by Will Flaherty