Francesca 711

There might still be a group of people who hadn’t been aware of my career woes since February 2015. The whole thing happened just like this.

B.A., English cum laude (2013) from one of the top 5 liberal arts colleges in the SE.

March 2013: Laid off.

May 2013 to July 2014: Had a great part-time job.

August 2014: Thought I had landed a fabulous full-time job. It lasted two months and

ended badly. Frighteningly badly.

November 2014: Found another “great” job—which turned out to suck. Again.

February 2015: Left the second sucky job.

March 2015: started working at 7-Eleven.

May 2015: Evicted from my house of 3 ½ years. Boarding at someone’s house ever

since, and keeping all my furnishings & everything else in storage.

August 2015: I had three interviews: 1 at one office and 2 at two other offices.

Didn’t get the job.

Didn’t get the job.

Didn’t get the job.

Called an old friend.

She got me a job.

It was meant to be!

I love my new job.

I feel compelled to share the précis on my short-lived career at 7-11.

Saw a help wanted sign and brought a resume the next day, had an interview, and got the job. Minimum wage.

On my first night my supervisor asked me what name to put on my name tag. I told her to put “Francesca,” and when she looked confused, I told her it was my stripper name. Truth is, I didn’t want my real name on the tag because I was going to get a real job soon. The damn uniform shirt was bad enough. Cue first job flashback……a lime green McDonald’s uniform.

I volunteered for the third shift (10 pm to 6 am) because I thought it would be slow and boring. Guess what? It’s not.even.close. I lasted on the third shift for four nights. I started the 6-9 routine, both am and pm.

I got written up a couple of times for not finishing all the tasks on the shift schedule. I got yelled at by rude people and got bossed around by “regulars.” I had a lot of voids on my register, which, even if you fix them and everything balances, is still bad. I avoided people that my kids knew because I didn’t want them to be embarrassed about their mom not being able to get a job anywhere else.

Little by little my hours got reduced to about nine per week. Except for the smaller amount of money, I was glad because I hated it and wanted to quit, but knew I couldn’t. I don’t know how people can do such hard work for so little money. One guy has worked there part time for 11 years; my supervisor, who was less than half my age, has worked there for over five years. She’s a single mom with a little boy. She does get overtime, but that’s more time away from her son. I calculated my wages at 45 hours and cried when I saw the net amount. On the average, I would’ve made less than half of what my net was for a single week. 

Fast forward to the last week of August 2015. I’ve been at my new real job and it suits me. Good people, good teamwork, lots of work, and room to grow. Sweet. I have a name tag there, too, but I only wear it for happy hour with clients.

There is more to the 7-Eleven story, of course, so tomorrow’s #WordlessWednesday will be anything but.