What I Left My First Job With — Starting A New Chapter

The day's finally come. I'll miss everyone.

Hello, Goodbye

It may sound like corny, corporate jargon. But my first job has truly been an experience. The role and environment I landed transformed me in many ways.

After the lowest of the lows, the most critical of mental health, I found myself in a cashier position. More than two years after graduating from college.

I wasn't even sure I could handle that. I read the list of requirements. I doomscrolled through the horror stories of abuse and danger in retail.

I could hardly speak or emote. I was a loner. I was unwanted. I hardly had a reason to live.

A year and a quarter later, it's astonishing to even myself to see the difference. I got promoted to a shift lead within months. I can make conversation... somewhat. I can enunciate – somewhat. My ability to withstand and traverse adversity has improved greatly.

The little things don't bother me as much. Negative actors don't hold as much power over me. I'm less inclined to let people step all over me. I won't let myself get in my own way either.

It's not all sunshine and rainbows. I've found consequences are sparse in this "real world." You could commit literal theft, disrespect the rules, and still be served in the establishment due to police inaction or company policy.

Bad behavior is often enabled by those meant to stop it. Sometimes the parents are the ones acting like children.

Maybe a redemption story will happen. Maybe karma will take care of that down the line. Or maybe nothing will ever come of it. Regardless, it ain't my problem anymore.

It's not worth focusing on the few people who've been the bane of my existence. I mean, it's fun to imagine their lights being knocked out.

But there's so much good to be found too.

The regulars who come in and are cool. Those little moments of community and mutual help. Like the lady who gives everyone Hershey's Nuggets chocolates. One day, someone decided to buy them the picture book they had walked away from because of the cost.

An older lady had a card decline. I was glad to buy her milk at least. Afterward, another lady thanked me and tried to give me money, but I refused, because I could easily make it back.

She told me that something greater would come from my refusal to take the cash and that I was a good person for doing what I did. Which obviously felt... good. Makes me feel like I'm not too bad.

I do like having the opportunity to help, because it makes me feel good in kind. When there's a genuine problem and the person approaches with consideration, I'm not annoyed at all.

I try my best to instill the same optimism I once had and lost. The pendulum swings again, though. Amidst a sea of uncertainty and negativity, I am reconnecting with that raw feeling – perhaps what they call faith.

I've had two birthdays in this store. I'm 25 now, even if people always say I look younger. It's almost unfathomable to think kids will look up to me as the towering adult I once saw people as.

I sure don't feel grown, though. I'm still meandering through life. Still seeking comfort. But I do my best. I pay their difference if it's small, and tell them the only repayment I want is for them to help someone else in their time of need in the future.

Mentioning this in self-reference might sound superficially magnanimous. I once felt the need to be a "good" person. Or rather, what one would perceive as one. I'd tout that for all to see.

Yet I'm quite flawed. I'm not a good person. I don't see myself as bad either. Things feel different now – I genuinely feel what I do without forcing it.

The truth is, I'm inspired by the kindness of others, just as I'm trying to pass it along. I'm truly starting to believe what comes around, goes around.

My last few days were nice. On Wednesday, I ordered a DoorDash pickup of many pizza boxes, drove to the place, and brought them to work for everyone. Apparently, the pharmacy end was in chaos, and I was told they were happy to be delivered the news.

I strangely felt devoid of much sadness. I feel like, as a coping mechanism, my emotions of an anticipated event get delayed until the last second.

On my final day, with only a few hours left, I was presented with a surprise – a card signed by most people who were there to do so, plus a $100 gift card, which I was later shocked to discover.

I'm not gonna lie, I nearly caved to my urge to tear up when I got that envelope. What makes it even better is that a day before, I'd donated to a disaster relief charity campaign on Twitch for a small streamer.

The sum? Just about $100.
Almost metaphorical.

I've received much support from my environment. My confidence has been boosted to the point where I worry I'm developing an ego again.

Once, I thought I couldn't handle anything. Now, I'm told I'm the fastest at totes my manager's seen in 20 years and have defined many aspects of the store. I'm told I will succeed no matter where I go.

I was once mute and invisible. Now, I'm being told I'll be missed by everyone I've worked with. I have a network of people to keep in touch with, even now that my time's come to an end.

I got a new job after one interview. Maybe it's demand outweighing supply again. But I'd like to think the progress I've made had something to do with it.

I had to take a physical test and pass it, too. I managed to lift 165 pounds. During my time in retail, I've literally grown a whole new part to my arm muscles. These new inches of swollen, fleshy mass are so strange to look at.

I think I'm even willing to give Twitch streaming a shot with my new free time. I'm no longer the sensitive, abrasive teen I once was. I can probably handle social media better now for good causes.

The fear, the assumptions, everything that was uncertain. I've discovered how they play out in my story. I have the confidence and experience to move forward with my own knowledge – not by proxy.

I'll certainly miss the people I've interacted with. Perhaps distance and time will erode my connections. But I will always remember the kindness extended to me, and the time my childhood light was rekindled.

It's been a good run. Onto the next big thing.