Screw the Desk Job

Well.

Interesting day at work. This morning, the shop foreman made the rounds with a list of names. My name was on the list. The people on the list were to attend a meeting at 9:50 a.m. A meeting. Huh. Last year this time, work was all about meetings. Meetings all day long. But here was a meeting.

There were twelve of us at the meeting. The Vice President (i.e., the Boss's husband) came in and told us what it was all about.

It seems that my employer has an education program in the works. Starting in about six weeks, the twelve of us are invited to attend courses at the local Vo Tech school, which will turn over their facilities to us. And, course by course, we'll all learn the ins and outs of cabinetry. We'll become artisans.

Jiminy crickets.

So, I'm going to learn a trade. Inside and out. And get paid for it. Well, the coursework is free, but we don't get paid for going to class. But there will be on-the-job training, and mentoring.

I, cabinetry maker. Joiner, actually, is the term.

"I'm a joiner. I make high end custom kitchen cabinetry."

Woof!

Another thing that was causing me issues with returning to a desk job is... well... getting laid. When I'm chatting up some man in a bar and he asks what I do, and I say, I do finishing in a woodshop... the sexual tension gets as thick as Betty Crocker Chocolate Frosting.

"I do fundraising for a social services organization."

Puh-LEEEZE.

So I'm not gonna look for another job. No way. And funny thing. I planned to send out resumes on Sunday. But Sunday came and went. And I sent out no resumes. Monday morning I woke up sick. Not, y'know, at death's door or anything. Headachey. Sour stomach. I called in sick, telling myself that I could spend the day perusing the want ads and sending out resumes. I sent out no resumes. I couldn't bring myself to do it. I like my job too much. I don't want to be working behind a desk again.

But, I also don't like this abject poverty thing. I'm really tired of not having enough money.

So... is this an unstoppable force and an immoveable object?

Maybe not. I have a plan. Unfortunately, it will involve a greenlight from both my brother and my father. And the extreme difficulty I have talking about money? Well, I think that's genetic. there's going to be a lot of dry mouths, looking nervously about the room as if trying to find cover, attempts to change the subject. But, it would solve all my problems and do no harm. So we'll see.

But if there's a desk out there with my name on it, it'll have to just gather dust. I'm a cabinet maker, Bay-bee.

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