So here we sit, in the midst of an ugly economic crisis. Jobs are being slashed, prices are being hiked, banks that have been around since the Depression are closing their doors or being "rescued" by other banks. Manufactures not given enough time to prepare find themselves with overwhelming surplus of products. Houses newly built stand empty and alone. Circuit City and Mervyns, both around since we were kids, declared bankruptcy and closed their doors. My industry, so deeply tied to the stagnating housing market, hovers on the brink of ruin. Those aforementioned empty homes? If no one's buying them, they sure as shit aren't buying blinds to go with them.
It's terrifying, depressing, ugly and dark. Hope is minimal, relief seems far, far away. Strangest of the effects of this bitter recession, is the lessening of traffic on the much hated 91 Freeway. Where once my seven mile commute would take me 20-30 minutes every morning, it now takes me ten. It took me a week of enjoying it to figure out why...my commute is easier because thousands of jobs have been cut in the Inland Empire, and those people aren't snarling my trip because they're all at home desperately perusing the job ads. I've always longed for relief from the traffic, but I always wanted it to be because we were all being more responsible, carpooling, using the Metro Trains, taking buses, etc, NOT because everyone got laid off. It's wretched to be sad that traffic is down, but there you have it.
But I have to say, one thing I'm getting really, really tired of, is hearing every single day, how lucky I am to still have a job.
People, I know this. I know this every day of my life. I've become grateful to have to get up every single fucking morning, and head off to work with my Thermos of hot coffee to get me going.
I don't need constant reminding. It's not making me remember to be grateful. I was doing that before you opened your damned mouth.
All your harping is just making me more tense, stressed, and anxious than I already was. All you have managed to accomplish is that I'm now reminded, yet again, that tomorrow I could be jobless, and with little hope of finding another job to take its place. You tried to inspire me, and instead you've lodged another little Whatif into my ear, who crawls out in the dark when I'm trying to sleep, keeping me awake and nervous, wondering if the next day at Century might in fact be my last.
So, please, stop telling me how lucky I am. Please stop pointing out the homeless woman who lives in front of the Goodyear tire store down the street. Lay off me about the soup kitchen around the corner. I don't care any more how many of our competitors have closed up shop. (Because secretly, I'm glad it's them and not me, even while feeling guilty for that) I don't want to hear about a sales being down. I already know. I can't do anything about any of this, other than to keep doing my job the best I can, hoping that it'll keep the customers so that they come back to us when the blinds begin to sell again.
Tell me instead this will all get better someday, lie to me and tell me this won't last. Give me hope instead of an ulcer.
Or just give me the damn lottery numbers!