Meeting People Is Easy

I was working at The Buckle and as some may know, work is all I talk about these days. But I promise you one thing, I will not blab on and on about work once again. No, this is about something very different, but it all started to come to light working at The Buckle. My job basically consists of talking to people I have never met. I don't know anything beyond their sex, general age, and what style of clothes they wear. But yet still, I have to talk to these people and strike up conversations on a regular basis. And it has made me ponder on how it is I can do this time and time again. The job's main idea is to get rejected. You have to show everyone our clothes and basically have them tell you no, and for you to try again. See though, the weird part is....I don't mind it. I like the job, I love it in fact. And mainly it's for one reason. When I get rejected this much everyday, 40 hours a week, getting rejected in real life isn't that bad. I'm not just talking about women, as much as that is really quite applicable. I'm talking about everything in life. I find myself taking chances I wouldn't before, putting myself out there. I'll talk to everyone and if they don't like me...I'm used to it. It's works for job interviews, or rushing or whatever situation I find myself in. It's a very freeing feeling. I have no fear for what is coming, and that's pretty rare. So I urge, faithful readers, to do the same. Do not fear rejection, do not fear hatred, just fear fear itself. Ok, I do like JFK a little too much, but you get the idea.

Blue Collar Blues

So I was having one of those "cigarette conversation", as I've so cleverly dubbed them, with Matt, the new kid that lives with us. And he was telling me about this job he had over the summer where he made cartons for food, laundry detergent, and anything you could imagine. And it got me to think, everything we use, everything that we see had to be made by someone. There are millions of people out there that have these shit jobs of making stuff for people, that are completely oblivious to there existance. You know all those books you read for class, you don't think about it but those are refurbished. And who does that? Why I used to, and hundreds of others in a warehouse in Woodridge, IL. It's just odd that we don't ever think of how something got to us. Your cell phone, TV, febreeze, cologne, pepsi, cigarettes, your CD, that condom that you needed oh so much. It's all made by people, people that had hopes and dreams of something better. A life where they go to work happy, fufilled. I suppose it's good that they actually have a job. I just couldn't imagine doing that with my life. I couldn't go in everyday and do a job like that. In a way, with some jobs, there's a lot of honor. The construction workers that built the Sears Tower still hang out, they have a little club that meets and everything. And because of these workers, we have a beautiful skyline to look at. I just don't think I could ever be one of those people. I have this idea in my head of something better, where I could help people, where I could affect lives. I hope I get to do that. If not, Follett is always accepting people.

Family Matters

There are pros and cons to everything, but perhaps the most complicated is the friendship/aquaintance pro/con study. Every friendship has peeks and valleys, but when do you cut one off completly? And some still, you can never cut off. Being in a fraternity adds to this. Any family situation makes it hard. What do you do when you have to see someone everyday, but you really don't want to? These are the people that know all these secrets about you, they know who you truly are and they have this special inside look. They can use this power to tell all your friends, the ones that you can keep secrets from. And then this protective wall is down, without your consent. It's hard to mantain the "badass" rep, when someone has seen you cry over a girl. Or it's hard to be "the sensitive guy" when you didn't care about a friend in need in the past. All these faults, these mistakes are put front and center in your life. And all those people you wouldn't let in, are suddenly asking personal questions, the answers already swirling around in their head. It's frustrating. I'd like to think it's helpful, but there's got to be order to these things. I can't just meet someone and tell them that I had this horrible childhood and all the details. It just doesn't work, but somehow I'm here...dealing with it.
Next Post: Less character study, more talk of love and life