today

In the middle of my fourth hour of my work day, I can't help but think about how much I miss them. Sure, he's only miles away making sandwiches for the good people of Idaho, and she's less than seven minutes away undoubtedly shrieking for god knows what reason. But still, I miss them. It's not that I'm lonely. Being out of work for months as I'd been prior to February, I relish the time to myself and with the public. But still.
Maybe it's that I want to do. For them. Anything and everything they desire. He wants to change the world with a computer company armoured and powered by ethics and innovation. She, on the other hand just wants to be mobile. But what about for me? What is my plan for myself?
I grew up think I wanted to be a hairstylist and master the beauty industry with my skill and passion. But after a retrospectively short stint submerged in the business, I quickly learned that my head and my heart were in two very different places and the market of hair and skin and beauty and perfection and bitches was not for me. That is definitely not say that I am not a Bitch. I sure am. But in a two-edged sword kind of way. One side is a sleek, smooth, so-sharp-you-don't-feel-it-open-you-up razor. The flip, however, is a jagged, serrated, dulling edge I reflexively lash about.
Which perhaps provides the reason I wasn't cut out for such an industry after all. It takes patience. Patience to get through school (which, in itself, was a whole new and separate level of Hell), patience to find a job in one of the worst markets (for businesses providing an unnecessary service) since the Great Depression, patience to serve the ever-intelligent and demanding customer base which would have composed my group of "regulars". It's the "regulars" you need as reliable sources of income, those whose return patterns mirror the most precise intervals. But here's the thing: the more stylists I spent time with on or off the salon service floor, I discovered hated their clients. Hated them. They had a horror story for every one of them. And still, to the client's face laughed their fake laughs and smiled their fake smiles and handed out their fake compliments while they put fake color in their (only sometimes) fake hair.
Again, parts of me are fake. I color my hair and tan in a bed and get acrylic pasted on my nails just as much as then next girl. But one thing I cannot fake is pleasure where there is none. I can keep my cool for a relatively long period of time before I explode wrath all over everything within a hundred mile radius, but as far as faking things, I'm just not good at it. So there you have it. I can't be fake to people who are annoying the fuck out of me. Props to anyone who can. As I've always thought to myself, (sure, it'd be much cooler had I actually said it to someone, but I haven't...yet) a clown can rock a better painted on smile than any human I've come across.
Aside fromt hat fact, the entire salon experience, from the viewpoint of the professional (which according to the state of Idaho, I am) has been pretty uncomfortable. Women in numbers in a small building with chemical fumes lingering in the air is just not a good idea. You'd think the fumes would at least aid the situation, elevating the girls to such a degree they'd take on a cool, chill stooper and soft, monotone voices but, no. I think it intensifies bitch rage.
But enough, that is no longer a part of my life or career. I forwent another hair gig in my employment search for something I have always found to be a pleasureable topic. Sex. And no, I'm not a hooker, whore, slut, escort, or even a stripper. I work in an adult toy store, which has solved one of my main problems with the beauty industry: feigning pleasure where there is none. With vibrators and anal beads linign the walls with the choice of every clitoral stimulating gel and lube to help me along...no need to fake it.
No, but in all seriousness, I of course don't use the merchandise for self-pleasure. But there is a degree of joy that comes with knowing EXACTLY what my patrons are going to do once they leave the store. They all leave happy, and I don't have to push them to do or buy anything they don't want when they come in. Plus, I adore the conversational factor of it. It's like a sanctuary for everything taboo and forbidden by societal standards. Just where I want to be. I also work all alone during my shifts. Nobody to compete with, nobody to get my goat, just me. And the customers. And the hilariously dirty and sometimes unacceptable phone calls I get.
So, my first two hiccups in career decision have been solved. I've surrounded myself with pleasure and eliminated the "speak to please" problem. But how can I make this MINE?