The first thing I did when I got out of college was to apply for a bunch of
jobs at warehouses. I didn’t even bother trying to leverage my degree into
something “better” because if there’s one thing my entire education career
taught me, it’s that even when I work hard at something, I only ever barely
make it. So I really needed something entry level, and there were a few
other jobs that were off the table. I don’t do cleaning, and I don’t do food
services. Cleaning—ironically, but not surprisingly—makes you dirty. And I
don’t want to see how the sausage is made. Warehouse work seemed like the
ideal environment. If I could just find something lowkey and small, I
wouldn’t have to deal with all the stresses of other jobs, or bring my work
home with me. I could just sit around and wait for item requests, and then
fulfill them. Well, I severely overestimated the number of opportunities
like that. They were all busy, busy, busy. We weren’t running, or anything,
because that was dangerous, but I wasn’t ever not filling an order. But I
didn’t bother looking for anything better, because that sounded like a lot
of work. As always, I was an average worker. I was at no risk of getting
fired, and at no risk of being promoted. Those guys got paid more, but they
also had much more of that stress I was telling you about, because they were
responsible for other guys. I just wanted to stay in my lane, and make
enough money to afford my not quite rent-controlled apartment. That’s what
did me in decades later. I never earned enough to do any significant saving,
and when my rent went up, I got out. I realized, though, that I had a backup
place to live. There was a nearly secret room in the warehouse on the upper
level, which they didn’t use for anything anymore. Always at a comfortable
temperature, and big enough to fit a mattress, a hotplate, and some safe
space between the mattress and the hotplate. You know where I’m going with
this, don’t you? No. You don’t.
I spent about a week looking for a new place, all the while trying to make
my living space as nice as possible. I put up some decorations; I like
lemurs, so I had a lot of pictures of lemurs. I learned some clever recipes.
I even bought a few new things to be more efficient with what little space I
had available. Mostly what it did was get me to reassess my needs. I hadn’t
watched TV that whole time, and I didn’t miss it. I spent a lot of time
reading, which was not a hobby I enjoyed before. See my earlier statements
about school. I decided to stop looking for a new apartment, because this
was doing me just fine. I had a nice routine, which allowed me to sneak up
there without anyone noticing. The perfect thing is that it wasn’t just any
room. It was, like, an industrial shower, or something. I don’t know what
they designed it to clean, but I don’t think it was people, yet the plumbing
was still on, and I found it worked just fine. There was a less secret
toilet down the hall that I just couldn’t use until I was sure the place was
completely empty. With all that nearby, it was months before I felt bold
enough to loosen up a bit. I stopped tiptoeing around, and being careful
with the sounds I made. I even ended up venturing downstairs once, curious
what the warehouse looked like without lights. I found a bunch of my
coworkers down there, playing cards in their pajamas. They greeted me
warmly, like they knew I was there the entire time. They said they did know,
and then they took me down to a secret section of the basement that was
totally finished, where they all lived in more luxury then I ever had in my
apartment. So I moved again.
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