May I take your order?

May 2000...I had finally graduated high school and started a job at a new sports bar and grill. I was really excited about finally getting to wait tables and make some tips, but now for entirely different reasons. Starting college that fall meant I was going to be a whole new kind of broke.
This was an ideal job, especially in a small town and I was fortunate to get it. I had friends, family and good owners all around me. I left after that summer and moved to campus for a semester. When I decided to move back home and make the commute to school, they gave me my job back, no questions asked. It was the best college job I could have hoped for. I spent a lot of years at the place and watched a lot of employees come and go.
One of the girls that we hired was one of my best friends and she had to be the laziest worker I have ever met in my life. She would sit in front of the big screen TV and roll silverware for four solid hours. It was amazing to come in for the dinner shift and have absolutely nothing done and ready but for silverware. If I were not constantly irritated with her, I would have made room to be impressed by how much work it takes to do that little. It almost ruined our friendship.
Turning 21 and getting to bartend was awesome - for about 6 months. I sometimes wish that I had taken better notes during the years I spent behind the bar there. I could fill several books with the various locals making great characters. Bartenders know WAY too much. I must admit I turned pretty bitchy towards the end of my five year stint. Weekdays were rough towards the end, seeing the same drunks every night, hearing the same sob stories month after month...my sympathy was very limited. Plus I am pretty sure the place was haunted. Being there all alone until the wee morning hours got kind of crazy; those stories could fill their own book! I lived for weekends and holidays that brought in a big, fresh crowd.
Graduating college was my saving grace. I left the job, moved away and was sad to hear that less than a year later, the place closed down. It was onto Wisconsin, and what I had hoped would be an opportunity to start a career. Boy was I in for a rude awakening...so until next time!

On a side note: my last year in college, I actually had three jobs. Aside from the newspaper and the bar, I worked at a pizza joint one night a week, for some extra cash. Just to add to my career as a "Jane of all trades," I learned how to make pizza dough there. It was one of the most laid back jobs I have ever had!

compulsive behavior

Taking a moment for my unemployed, present-day life:

I am walking down the street, my latest job application having been turned in, soy latte in hand, and Stevie Wonder in my ears, when I am seized by desire to do something completely reckless. 

Reckless, NOT self destructive...at least not in the middle of the day....

So after seconds of careful thought, I duck into the nearest salon and have them cut off all my hair. Now for those of you that know me well, this was the epitome of compulsive behavior. I can't help but thinking whether or not I have lost my mind as I watch the inches fall to the ground. 

Fortunately, these thoughts are quickly replaced by the fact that hair does grow back.

This helps ease the initial anxiety, I take a few deep breaths and finally return to a calm state of mind. I think this is the quietest I have ever been in a salon. I am grateful the stylist does not know me well enough to see this as a problem. 

As I watch her work, I begin to realize that I may actually like myself with short hair. By the time I pay the girl and walk back to my truck with the last dregs of my latte to keep me company, I can't help but run my fingers through the haircut with a grin. I must admit that this is one of the first times an uncontrollable act has left me not regretting my decision.

What I never expected was to figure out a life-lesson from being unemployed. It has only been a week, after all, but the violent fits of desperation have already started haunting me. 


I know I am being dramatic.

What I was able to reconcile is that not all good change has to be a carefully thought out process. Thinking too much can sometimes do more harm than good and acting on impulse is ok, as long as we exercise caution. 

Hard to believe I got all of that from a haircut...

I believe it was around November of 1999 when my next job kind of fell in my lap. I was approached and offered a job at the local newspaper, writing stories from time to time. At least it appeared to have fallen into my lap...I later learned that my mom had gone in and asked them they had any work to send my way, since I liked to write. 
If I had known this at the time, I am willing to bet teenage defiance would have led me to turn down the offer, but ignorance really can be bliss. I happily accepted the apprenticeship that would shape the course of my future years.
I had always enjoyed writing, but until this opportunity, I had never thought of trying to make a career out of it. 


(I say "trying" because I am still presently working on doing this)


This was a job I enjoyed off and on for the next five years or so. I picked up stories as often as I could for the rest of my senior year of high school, and tried to keep it up while I was going to college. With the help of some excellent mentors (cheers, Bob and Tom) I graduated with a decent GPA, a degree in journalism, and a paid internship under my belt.
It was this job that has taught me the most about myself.
I found out how much I love talking to people that are passionate about the things they do. It not only inspires me to want to better myself, it gives me hope of maybe one day, being able to find a job I love as much. 

(while still paying the bills)

I learned that, even though I procrastinate like crazy, I love sitting at the computer, watching a story take shape; then seeing it laid out in final print.

I learned that if you ask the right questions, nearly everyone has a great story. 

I eventually understood that I had already found something that I love to do.

Unfortunately, as the years passed, I also learned that making a career of writing human interest pieces and personal columns is a really tough path.

So in the meantime, I will write for coffee...or wine...

Job number two came a bit sooner than the 9 months I had originally anticipated. I'd discovered that I enjoyed having my own money to spend for many reasons, mainly because my meager allowance barely covered gas for my spiffy new ride. And, since I was no longer in cross country training, it certainly was not going to cover beer money needed for my weekend outings. I had also found that being able to buy  myself all kinds of junk food that my health-food-obsessed parents never bought, gave me great pleasure. My conclusion was pretty scientific:


no job + no money = very long winter


So I applied at one of the "it" places to work in my little town...at the local grocery store. I had quite a few friends that were already working there, so my hopes were high. I was not disappointed, and started working as a part-time cashier in the fall of my sophomore year. I around spent two years there, in what was officially the most boring job I have ever experienced. My tasks were simply to stand there and scan groceries. That was pretty much it. It really is amazing how you can stand in one place for six to eight hours and be physically sore when you are done.
If I was lucky, I would be the one chosen to go and face aisles during slow times. And this was only fortunate if you did not have to face the Jell-O aisle. One of the wonderful bag boys was always bound to walk by the Jell-O boxes, just as I would be finishing, and poke in a few rows of my tedious, hard work...then it was down-like-dominoes. 
It really was a great high school job though. I worked with a lot of my friends, and made some new ones. We had a lot of fun, got into some trouble (more than I care to share publicly) and made some memories. Unfortunately, some of this fun and trouble caught up with me my senior year, and I was "let go." 
Ok, ok...I was totally fired. It was an utterly humiliating experience and, having no desire to repeat this mistake, I made damn sure that I learned something from it!
So in reference to the point of my whole blog, it was just another experience along the path to becoming...

Sweet 16

At the not so wise age of 16, I decided I wanted a car badly enough to give up some of my free summer time. Before making the decision official, I went to battle for money with the parental units. I pled my case in what I thought was a convincing manner, only to be shot down, owing to my "need to take certain responsibilities in my life."  I thank them now for this belief, but at the time "taking responsibility" was right up there with "make good choices" and other annoying phrases my mom often quoted.
So I found a job working in the kitchen of a hotel restaurant. I washed dishes. bused tables, prepped salad bar items and made other side dishes. Not very glamourous, but a decent first job. What I really wanted to do was to wait tables. Ok, scratch that...what I really wanted was the tips!
It was during my attempts to make this move that I ran into my first clash with a manager. If you really can call her a manager...We'll just call her She, for these purposes.
She was a relative of the owner and unfortunately in charge of the restaurant. For reasons I never figured out, this woman really did not like me, and didn't try to hide it.
I have always thought of myself  as a pretty happy-go-lucky person and it was unusual for me to not get along with someone. I can recall thinking that at least the feeling was mutual. She had about as much personality as bare drywall, a seriously pessimistic attitude about life, and one hell of a power complex; running around, barking orders and acting like She owned the whole place.
I ended up spending the summer avoiding her, picking up odd shifts when her presence was scarce. If She was around during my shifts, I was apt to get blamed for little things that went out of order. She gradually became openly hostile, sending condescending comments in my general direction, while I happily envisioned scenarios of ramming salad tongs down her throat.
If i am recalling correctly, it was the last few weeks of the summer when She was moved off to the side and a new manager was brought into the restaurant. I seized the opportunity and was able to start working a few shifts in the little pizza division of the restaurant. I don't remember loving or hating the work, but I do remember a sense of accomplishment!
After the summer was over, I had managed to hang onto enough money to buy myself a little Dodge Omni. This thing was a total piece of junk, which I fondly referred to as The Bomb (waiting to explode). I quit my job in exchange for cross country practices, taking about a 9 month hiatus from the working world.
Little did I know, I had not met my last (or my worst) adversary of the employment world. I am presently holding to the firm belief that there are good, decent people to work for out there...I have even been fortunate enough to run into a few...So until next time...

Hello my name is...

I once read that almost anyone can write a beginning, but it takes a real writer to make the perfect end. While I agree with this thought to a certain point, I am more of an advocate for the middle. That is where the meat of the story is. It's what shapes the story to prepare for the conclusion. If the middles is no good, you may not even want to reach the end. Despite my personal feelings, I should still start at the beginning...
Hello, my name is Lindsay. I grew up in a small Wyoming town with a pretty normal childhood. I say normal, but what is normal, really, when people are all so different. I have always been pretty comfortable in my own skin. I like to think that all of my past choices and decisions (the good and the bad) have shaped me into the person that I am today; and for the most part, I like that person. I am 28 years old and my present employment situation has caused me to wonder what it is I really want to do with the professional part of my life. I guess this means that my story really starts with my employment history; my journey into becoming Lindsay.