Artwork by Viv Le
Welcome to Anonymous Job Confessions where writers peel back the curtain from their day jobs. This is a space for talking about bad (or misguided) bosses, cringeworthy clients or customers, out of touch board members and more. We’re speaking on work crushes, failure, pettiness, success against all odds (and also redefining success because we’re queer and we can do that), doing something not because you are passionate about it but because groceries don’t buy themselves and all things surviving in late-stage capitalism. Honestly, if there’s a perfect thing to read when you’re on your break, this might be it.
Like most people, I’ve had quite a few jobs that have really sucked. In fact, I don’t really dream of labor in general so there was rarely anything I could get paid to do that I enjoyed beyond writing poetry and my silly little stories. Ironically, dear reader, as you’re reading this article, I’m finally enjoying what I do as work—even though it’s only a side gig until the day I can turn it into a job that’ll pay all my bills. For those creatives who have had to and still have to monetize their skills to make rent and pay utilities, you’ll know that twisting your creativity to serve corporate jobs—even partially—is something that might be necessary to jumpstart the shit show that is a working career. At least in my case.
I graduated college a few years back in a city where tech is king and you can’t go one neighborhood over without seeing some bro in a Patagonia jacket and some Allbirds talking about Adderall and exchange rates. I had just made it out of undergrad with an arts degree and had no idea what to do next. I couch surfed for some months with different friends around the city before I finally landed a position as an intern at a fairly new tech company. The commute wasn’t too bad and this was pre-pandemic so I could supplement my shorter intern hours with looking for a full-time position around the city. I was lucky enough that the gig was a paid position, but I still wouldn’t have taken an intern role if I hadn’t been so desperate to start making money again. I was racking up a decent amount of debt to both credit cards and friends, so I needed a quick fix to what felt like my own impending financial demise.
It was a nice change from the demeaning hours surfing LinkedIn for jobs only to be emailed four months later with a rejection. The so-called benefits were nice initially. There was kombucha and cold brew on tap, snacks I could fill my backpack to the brim with, and desks that could change height. The team that I worked with was small and consisted mainly of older millennials who spoke to me in a way that was cordial, yet always slightly condescending. They’d tell me that they were glad to have such a young, fresh voice on the team—a real life Gen Z’er—but would never take my ideas to heart for campaigns. I rarely felt that I fit in, but it didn’t seem to matter at the time because I was leaving the office before anyone else and looking for roles in the side.
As the months went on, I convinced myself that I’d be able to move up the chain at this internship. I was convinced that they’d eventually promote me from an intern to a full-time role and I’d be able to reap all the benefits that I’d seen bestowed upon other coworkers. However, with more time passing I saw contractors become full-time employees, full-time employees take on higher paying roles, and other interns come and go. The interns usually came in for the summer and had a couple projects. I was always sort of paired up with them and I felt like I had to give them my own perspective. I’d tell them that maybe there was a chance to extend their jobs, but would stay vague because I didn’t even know about my own future there. At that point, I became less obsessed with moving up and more focused on keeping the position I had since nothing else was coming up the pipeline and no one seemed to want to provide me with basic healthcare.
That’s when I met the barista.
With my hope and interest in my job decreasing on a daily basis, I found myself forming a small crush on the barista that worked down the street from my office building. On the days I’d go to the office, I’d always stop in for a coffee and some prolonged eye contact with them. The queers truly do love a hot bladder irritant and non-platonic staring, don’t we?
Through the gay network of being gay, I figured out that a friend of mine actually knew Barista. It became what I thought was just a one-sided crush — a nice thing to daydream about while I was filling out the most horrendous, huge spreadsheets I had ever seen. Details about campaigns and content were unorganized, meaning I had to individually email or meet up with people in the office just so I could fill in one cell of a spreadsheet. There’s also nothing I hated more than being passive-aggressively micromanaged by people who weren’t even my boss. I really hated when random people would pop into a spreadsheet and just sit there, waiting.
Most mornings I stopped in for coffee, thinking nothing would come of it and then would drag myself to work. Compliment their jewelry or hair one day, say nothing the next. True [redacted zodiac sign] behavior.
One morning as I was headed to work, I popped in to get my usual. That day instead of looking up when I came to the register, it seemed like their eyes were following me from the minute I walked in. I couldn’t really pinpoint why that would happen, but after I ordered they told me that I didn’t have to pay. I was mainly confused. Did they want me to pay cash? Was there something wrong with my order? But then I slowly began to realize that they might be interested in me as well.
And wow. I really didn’t know how to process that at the time. My work was unfulfilling and I wasn’t making enough to fully support myself, but this hot barista wants to pay for my drink and ask me for my number? Truly it was the highlight of working at that company. Which is sad, but also extremely on brand. I gave them my number, we met up a couple times, did the things that people do, and now it’s a nice, fleeting memory from my first months in tech. I’ve since moved on from that place and am happy to have met a few nice people from that time who’ve helped me continue my career. If there’s one thing that I’ve learned since that place in my life is that you are worth more than the bare minimum.
Completely respecting and grateful for the real-life accounts presented… I would read the crap out of this if it were turned into a HEA (or even HFN) romance novel.
pardon, sorry, i think this cuts off in the middle..? ;)
I appreciate this: the mundane stuff, the ways you assess things in retrospect, etc.