I have a really weird job.

The long and short of it is, I'm a music store clerk.

Who works full-time.

I've been there a shade over two weeks, and I'm already tallying up overtime hours doing every odd job the rest of the employees are too busy to do.

I'm not sure how, especially in this economy, a company can grab a guy fresh from the university scene and, at the peak of their annual business cycle (6th grade band instrument rental) expect him to function identically to the full-time employee next to him with a year's experience.

And when I applied, it was for a position I wouldn't accept in a million years: answering a barrage of phone calls eight hours a day.

It's a weird paradigm shift from months of unemployment to full-time employeeship. Over the summer, certain habits are formed that will be dearly missed once work starts up. But a lackluster employment market can thoroughly discourage job hunter into not bothering with filling out applications.

So I'm doing 9-6 hours six days a week until school is in full swing for the entire metro area. The other folks up front make it bearable, as we are all former band nerds with the requisite sense of humour. Even so, my only day off is Sunday, whose morning is spent at church playing for the services, and whose afternoon is spent rehearsing with another ensemble across town.

I need a nap. I need a day off. I need to breathe without somebody demanding services rendered of me.

I'm sure my attitude will be slightly altered once I lay eyes on the paycheck that awaits me next Tuesday, but my feet really miss my old lab job.

Teaching people how to right-click was easy.

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