If I Had Never Quit My First Job After College

If Present Me could visit Year Ago Me and recount to her all that has happened in the time since then, I think it would be just about enough to send Year Ago Me into a frenzied anxiety attack as she began her last semester of college and approached that daunting period of time known as After Graduation. Year Ago Me was lucky. She didn't know how good she had it, flying by the seat of her pants and figuring it out as she went along. And if Year Ago Me was lucky, then Ten Months Ago Me was whatever is more lucky than lucky. Because she snagged a Job After College just the very day before Graduation. So very typical of all versions of Me.

I was lucky that I got that first Job After College when I did, and I was even more lucky that the boss let me start three weeks later, allowing me two weeks in France as the congratulatory reward I decided I'd earned. Yes, I was lucky. But I wanted more. I had a Job After College, the very thing that had caused me anxiety for many days and nights leading up to the moment I walked across the stage in May. I was supposed to love it, to be grateful, to make money, and to be fulfilled. All the hard work of the previous four years and every single summer course and pre-session I took was supposed to be paying off now. This was the time I had always groaned about to myself as I did all the things I didn't want to do throughout college, every time I told myself, "Someday this will all pay off." This was Someday. But it sure didn't feel like all it was cracked up to be.

Never having been someone to ignore her feelings, not even for a minute, I knew that simply going through the motions with this Job After College just wasn't going to cut it for me. No, I needed something more. Sure, this Job After College was fine; it paid the bills and passed the time. But there are more meaningful things to life. There is fulfillment; there is passion; there is euphoria. And wherever those things were hiding, I didn't know. But I did know one thing at least: it sure wasn't here. So, I quit.

I've looked back at that moment of my life a lot since it happened, in hindsight, and I've gone through feeling many different ways about it. A lot of the time it was the emotion closest to regret as I could really ever describe. Not regret because I quit (I haven't regretted that for a second) but more like regret that what I was seeking when I left was nowhere near what I actually found. I had high hopes for myself, as I have since as long as I can remember. I wanted to move upward and onward, and that's where I envisioned my life and my career heading as I walked out the door on my last day of work. I had no idea just how difficult the next few months would prove to be. So it's only natural, I think, for me to think to myself when times have been tough, "Man, if only I had never quit my first job after college..."

Well, I've heard it from just about everyone close to me in some form or another, and when it started to seep into my own subconscious is the moment when I decided that enough was enough. I am resilient, I am adaptable, and if there is not another good thing to be said about myself, at least let it be said that I learn from my experiences. So, I decided (although not entirely intentionally, I'll admit) that I was done with the wallowing and self-pity. Yes, I lost a reliable income when I quit that job, but I think we are failing to focus on all that I gained.

Life is funny, and hindsight is, in fact, always 20/20. So it was not until just last night, one week before my twenty-third birthday, and eight whole months after I began that first Job After College, that the Nature of the Universe finally revealed itself to me and I was able to see the beauty and purpose in the path that my life has taken since the moment when I quit my first Job After College.

If I Had Never Quit My First Job After College

If I had never quit my first job after college in the beginning of last September, I never would have had my first real experience with presenting an intimidating boss with a letter of resignation.

If I had never quit my first job after college, I never would have met Kendel, or Kara or Joe or Kevin or Wade. I never would have experienced the pure displeasure which is direct selling, or any of the other explicitly pushy techniques I was told to study and master. I never would have learned to avoid the Electronics department of Walmart at certain times of the day on certain days of the week. I never would've had the luxury of starting work at 10:30 in the morning, and therefore had time to run three whole miles before a day spent standing on my feet, improving my stamina and endurance every time. I never would've gained the life experience of defending myself and my relationship against someone who did not have the same standards for himself or his relationship with his pregnant girlfriend at the time. I also never would've learned all that I did about DirecTV and AT&T and the business acquisition which happened between them both, nor any of the technical details I learned about television, Internet, and home phones.

If I had never quit my first job after college, I never would've gone to work for a travel agency and learned all that I did about the travel industry as a whole, which remains something very interesting to me. I never would've learned the main hub airports for Southwest, American, United, or Delta. I never would've helped so many people create memories in cities all over the country, and I never would've learned all that I did about transit visas and passports. I never would've met Genesis and eaten dinner with her in my home, spending hours catching up. I never would've met Daniel or Sophie or Robin, who reminds me so much of my mother. I never would've gained their friendship and heard the reverberation of my own soul in theirs. And I never would've experienced such a horrible boss as I did during my time there, or known what it felt like to cry in the bathroom at work. I never would have learned so much about the dirty secrets of one of Wichita's most prolific business families. I never would have momentarily forgotten my worth and accepted being paid minimum wage and belittled everyday. I never would have been so physically stressed out and tense because of a minimum wage job that I decided to take up YouTube Yoga every morning before going in to work. And because of that, I never would have made so much progress on my shoulder stand pose; ironically, my mind and body would not have improved as much as they did once I was pushed to finally mandate time for myself. And I never would've gained the strength and courage I did when I walked into his office for the final time to tell him I was done being mistreated, nor would I have felt the rush of true liberating relief that I did as I drove out of the parking lot for the last time.

If I had never quit my first job after college, I never would have needed to make more money and driven for Uber using Elle's car for three weeks. I never would've had so many great conversations with strangers in Wichita or told my story of working to buy a plane ticket to go visit my boyfriend for Christmas so many times. I never would have picked up so many passengers from all around the world, or felt the common thread of our collective humanity. I never would've experienced rolling around in Elle's vibrantly-decorated LGBT-mobile and felt how differently I was treated because of it, especially as it sat in the parking lot of my apartment the morning after Trump was elected.

If I had never quit my first job after college, I never would've driven downtown on that first Uber night, and seen my friend Kate's coffee bus parked at the Pop Up Park on a Friday night. I never would've stopped the car and gotten out to say hi, and I never would've told her that I was doing Uber because my crappy boss at my day job paid me minimum wage and I needed to take up a side hustle if I ever planned on boarding a plane to France in December. Kate never would've pointed to the food truck set up right next to hers and suggested I introduce myself to the owner because she was looking for someone to cashier part time and Kate thought we'd get along. I never would've walked right over to the window of that truck and asked for Lisa. I never would have met Lisa, or Eddi, or Kimber, Alex, or Christian. I never would've bonded with Lisa over our the dysfunction of our families, or thought of my own mother every time she said, "groovy". My path never would have gotten around to any of the other food truckers, either, and I never would've met Greg or Manu or Lauren or Jeff. I never would've gone to work for Jeff either, when he needed a shift covered last minute. I never would have forged those bonds with Wichita roots, or known regular faces at local places like CSB or Aero Plains. I never would've even known what Kimchi is, or cared about the presence of high fructose corn syrup in what I eat. I never would've carried that knowledge and awareness into an organic health foods store with me today. And I certainly never would've come to appreciate just how hard it is to work for tips, or how helpful a little lipstick and a nice smile can be for that. I never would have known the truly old-fashioned feeling that is stuffing a wad of cash into an envelope and mailing it home to your Momma at the end of the week, so she can maneuver it into your online bank account for you.

If I had never quit my first job after college, I never would have quit my second job, or my third. I never would have returned to the RSC after having finally walking away from Brad, to go plop down in Rich's office and chat openly with him about how much I appreciated him as a boss, and more importantly, as a friend, now that I did not have him anymore. I never would've known what it felt like to dislike one boss so much, in order to love and truly appreciate another even more. I never would have sat at a bar and drank beer with a former boss and discussed the legality of the actions of my current one. I never would have had such an experience.

If I had never quit my first job after college, I never in a million years would have been able to just drop everything and jet-set to Europe for nineteen days. I probably would not have been able to work my magic and charm any employer into justifying that absence, so I never would have arrived in Orly Airport in Paris, exhausted and smelly, with ripped jeans and unbrushed teeth, early in the morning in the middle of December. For that matter, I would still yet to have ever experienced the sheer luxury that is a bilingual British Airways international flight. I most likely never would have successfully pulled off going to France for Christmas with David, which means I would not as of yet had met his family; his parents, his sister, his brother-in-law, aunt, uncle, and cousins. I still would not know what la raclette is, and that would be a crying shame. I would not have the nineteen extra days of cultural immersion under my belt that I do, and however many countless vocabulary words I learned that trip would not yet be in my cerebral possession. I would not have spent a day in Paris at Christmas with Justine, laughing the whole time. I would not have really, truly, physically seen what my life might look like in France, if I actually got accepted into the TAPIF, and I would not have gone from about 80% sure to the full 100, that I absolutely wanted to live there someday very soon.

If I had never quit my first job after college, I would not know quite so well the misery that is even worse than the Minimum Wage Blues, but rather what followed: The Unemployment Blues. I would not have faced repeated employment rejection so many times from the very University I just contributed so much money to for more than four years. I would not have rallied my energy and persistence immediately after I received that rejection email while I was in France, my very own Happy Place. I would not have crashed down quite so hard to Rock Bottom and felt the ache in my bones as I collided simultaneously with the cold, hard earth and bitter reality. I would not have spent that time in Europe with very little spending money, and I would not have returned home flat broke. That would not have, in turn, inspired me to wipe my brow and work harder than ever to find something, anything, to pay the bills. I would never have spent a weeknight sitting crouched in front of this very computer, applying to job after job on site after site, as I polished off the last of David's disgusting Scotch in one night. I would never have marathoned more than 100 applications in one sitting as I did that evening. I never would have tasted such panicked desperation, and I never would have wanted it even more. I never would have jumped through so many hoops and gone to so many first-round interviews, only to not be invited back for the second-round afterward. I never would have been nearly as creative as I was with selling my resume to employers, skills which I no doubt retained from my second job after college. I never would've cried as much as I did and felt the true pang of sadness that was failure and rejection, or realized just how hard it really is to get back up that eighth time after you have fallen down seven.

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If I had never quit my first job after college, I never would have accepted a position at a hoity-toity health foods store twenty-five minutes across Wichita from my apartment, with mere thirty minute lunch breaks, where my cell phone is considered the purest of contraband. I never would have accepted it as a viable option because I never would have admitted to myself that perhaps I did not have any other realistic options at this moment in time. I never would have considered that maybe living solely off of wages earned on the food truck in the coldest months of the year were not going to afford my rent for me next month. I never would have acted out of necessity, rather than my usual condition of privilege and pleasure. And I never would have come to realize that, along with making the highest hourly wage I've ever made in my life, I now actually enjoy my work and genuinely kind co-workers. But on the way to where I am now, I never would have had to ask so many of my family members if I could borrow money; and my relationships with my relatives would not have been so strained because of it, but they would not have grown and flourished as they have, either. If I had not taken this path in my life, I never would have been so truly humbled. I would not have appreciated my landlord's kindness and understanding quite so much. My heart would not have come to so warmly feel the true meaning of gratitude to all those who have helped me through my struggle in some way.

If I had never quit my first job after college, I would have remained complacent, resenting myself for settling for such a miserable feeling, until I eventually became numb. I would have significantly fewer friends and experiences, and I would have driven the same ten-minute drive to work every single day for the past eight months. I would have health insurance and a significant allowance of PTO by now, but my life never would have twisted and turned in this way. Neither my stubborn heart nor determined mind would not have been so violently pried open by change and forced to adapt in order for me to survive. I would have had only two W-2s to file last month and I am sure that the last three-quarters of a year would have gone a little more smoothly for me - financially, emotionally, and otherwise. I would have a much greater wealth of money, but I would be so much poorer in life experience, sorrow, and joy. I would not be better off, if I had never quit my first job after college.

If I had never quit my first job after college, I never would have learned so many things, many of which I can't remember now, and probably more still that I am not even consciously aware of yet. If I had never taken my foot off of that first stepping stone, I never would have arrived on the second, or third, or fourth, as far as that goes. I never would have honestly felt like I was pushing myself to really do more than what I knew I was settling for at the moment. And that would have eaten me up inside, because I would have known that I was not truly dreaming to my full potential. I was dumb, but I was brave. I was an idiot, but I was absolutely fearless about it. I made mistakes, but I owned them. And I know now, if I didn't before, that there really is no better way for me to learn. Life is about trial and error, and I am so proud of myself now, knowing that I was not afraid for a moment to try and fail, just to see what I could learn through the experience. I threw caution and safety to the wind, and I followed my heart. It was a long way down, but it didn't lead me astray. Every time we don't succeed, we learn one more way that does not achieve our goal. And we learn a whole heck of a lot about ourselves in the process.

If I had never quit my first job after college, I would have so many fewer bumps and bruises to my name, but I'd have a whole lot less character because of it, too; and not nearly as many stories.Every next level of your life demands a new version of yourself. Maybe I wasn't ready for whatever I went through on my path before I eventually got to it. But I had to go down the very path I did, in order to finally arrive. And from where I'm standing now, looking back at the many places I've been, I can see it all beginning to finally make sense. And it's happening just in time, too, as I turn my head to face the future and continue on down my path, lugging along all the lessons of the past with me as I go. I don't know what exactly it is that I may meet in the future, but just imagine how much more unprepared for it I would be, if I had never quit my first job after college.

What I Learned From Working in a Toxic Work Environment (And Quitting)

I quit my job yesterday. And I don't have another one lined up yet. I know how that sounds, and I promise you, there is not a person on this earth more aware of the urgency of the situation than I am. But enough was enough.

I stayed at my job for eight weeks. It only took me about three days to realize what a mess I had gotten myself into. I guess it took that much longer for my patience to finally wear thin. It paid my rent for two months, so it was not an entire waste of my time. And of course, being the comprehensive learner, evolution-of-character believer that I am, I know that no time is wasted if it taught you a lesson. And boy, did it.

First of all, you should know, that my intent in writing this piece is not to bash or demean anyone in any way, especially because a large part of why I finally quit was because I was demeaned and berated myself, so I know how it feels. My objective is never to hate. It is simply therapeutic for me to cut the jumbled mess of thoughts and feelings loose from my mind and my heart, so that's what I'm doing. And of course, to paraphrase my homegirl T-Swift, "If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better."

So. I've had a rough time of it since graduation (see previous blog post). I have landed and consequently quit three jobs. Three is the number of people required for a person to murder before they are technically classified as a serial killer. I guess it follows that I would be a serial employee, in that case. It isn't like me. The last job I consider to be a "real job" (and a much more worthwhile investment of my time and energy) lasted me three years in college. Now I've gone through three in six months. It's depressing. But it's also been necessary. Because as we all know very well by now, I refuse to settle for mediocre. I won't do it. Even if that means making things extremely difficult for myself in the process. I know. Sometimes I am even too stubborn for myself. But you know what? I always thank myself in the end for standing up for what I deserve and loving and respecting myself enough to do what needs to be done. And I have absolutely no trouble sleeping at night. (Mostly because I'm exhausted.) So I guess it's not all that bad.

I can tolerate a lot of crap. I grew up learning how to keep my mouth closed and my thoughts to myself, as a survival mechanism when necessary. I am a lover and a giver, not a fighter nor a taker. I naturally try to keep the peace. Whether to blame my aversion to drama or my hippie mother, I don't know. The point is I prefer not to fight. However, I equally refuse to be used or abused. For that, we can blame my Irish heritage or my older sister's bullying, either one. Point being: I can take a lot. But when I've had enough, I've had enough. I reached "enough" this week.

Throughout the course of my two-month employment, I witnessed and experienced many things which, at the very least annoyed me, and at most, simply felt wrong in the pit of my stomach. Either way, I don't like to be annoyed, nor do I like my conscience bothering me. So my attitude, my demeanor, my entire personality began to change. It didn't take long for me to notice it, and it took even shorter for me to want to change the situation I found myself in. But I had bills to pay. So I waited. As a human being, my tendency to gravitate toward becoming complacent was growing. But as someone who respects herself and expects respect from others in return, I was growing ever more restless against the metaphorical chains I found myself writhing against. It was all becoming too much for me to handle. Something had to change.

At this job, I was mistreated. But not just me. Every single employee in the office was subject to abuse in the form of verbal assaults, sudden mood swings, subtle misogyny and elitism, denied bonus checks for our hard work, and just about any other shady way that a sleazeball on a power trip could think of to manipulate or control his employees to remind them of their place under his greasy thumb. Now, I can tell you, I don't know which parent I inherited this trait from, maybe 50% from both, but I do not like to be controlled. (Just ask Mom or Dad, and they'll tell you.) I need freedom, I need trust, I need to be allowed to be human and have space to make mistakes and forgiveness for when I inevitably do. I need for my employer to recognize our common humanity and, at the very least, to respect it. The most fundamental misunderstanding between my former employer and myself was that I mistakenly assumed that all people regarded such things like respect as a given. I should've known better than to assume.

To add insult to injury, over the course of the 39 days that I dragged myself out of bed in the morning to suffer through yet another shift, I was paid minimum wage. It's one thing to be treated like dirt and at least make good money tolerating it. People do that all the time. (Not that I recommend it either, but that's beside the point.) But not me, oh no. When I do things, I like to do them big. So when I make a misstep in my career path, I like to get a two-fer and make sure I'm spat on everyday and paid the lowest amount of money that I am legally entitled to earn. Good grief, Alyssa.

So, for the folks keeping score at home: I was verbally abused on a daily basis, when co-workers who were long since desensitized to such flagrant language dismissed it as simply "his personality," I feared the man because of his well-practiced intimidating physical stance, I was the only person in the place besides this woman-hating narcissist who held a college degree, I was also one of only three employees who has never seen the inside of a penitentiary, and I was being paid $7.25 per hour! Glad we're all caught up.

Due to the fact that I was earning incredibly less than I had any business earning, it was necessary for me to start looking elsewhere for other various forms of employment. Because regardless of income, monthly bills do not change. I started Uber driving for a few weeks. A friend of a friend hired me to help out on her food truck a few days a week. I sold some things I had sitting in my closet. And I was completely demoralized because of my work environment. I could feel myself changing, and not in a good way. It was a rough time to be Alyssa.

Oh, and about picking up shifts on the food truck: most of those shifts were during lunch, which required me to ask my boss for extended lunch breaks a total of FOUR times. Jesus Christ, you'd think I was asking him if I could borrow his Ferrari. Anyway, asking for time off that equaled a grand total of five hours over two pay periods is what resulted in me leaving his office crying the first time. That really should have been the moment I quit. But as one of my former co-workers at this establishment said numerous times after she left the job and returned twice, "I'm a glutton for punishment." I guess.

Then I told him that I would be going to France for about two and a half weeks over Christmas. Now, granted, that is not something that any employer wants to hear. No duh. But it is still something that happens in life occasionally, and it's not exactly like at $7.25 an hour where I am talked down to every single day, I'm risking losing a high-paying corporate job with benefits and paid holiday. Not exactly a hard decision to make. When I left his office crying that time, it was pretty much the moment I had decided my fate and my "goals with the company," as I was later interrogated about and expected to valiantly defend. (To which I replied that I would love to keep the job if I know I'm not going to be verbally abused, by the way.)

Then there was yesterday. I finally did it. I'd had enough, well before he told me that I had "an attitude" yesterday morning, so I decided to quit. Because nobody gets to talk to me like that and think it's okay. Because what we allow to happen in our interpersonal relationships is what will continue. Because what we accept is what we are conveying to others we are comfortable being treated like. And because if nothing else, I should not leave my employer's office in tears three times in the span of two months of employment.

After being told three days previously that if I am going to expect to be able to be gone for three weeks in December, that I "might as well pack up and go home," I was met with a much different tune when I actually said the words,"I quit." This time I was told that he wished I would "reconsider" because he had "such high hopes for me". Yeah, right. When I am consistently treated like crap for eight weeks straight, that pretty much tells me where I lie in your priorities and what my value is to you. And when I am continually pushed away, and I finally decide to accept this fact and turn my back to walk away, don't ask me back. Once I have decided it's time for me to leave, I'm not coming back. I've been witness to far too many abusive relationships to fall for that lame power move from an insecure old man. I sound like I think I'm better than him, and that's because I do.

Immediately following his plea for reconsideration came his guilt tripping and reassuring me that it "will be interesting" if I think I have any chance of finding another employer who will treat me better than him and this company. The he lectured me that "in the business world" I need to work a full 40 hours a week, as if I am some kind of newbie teenager quitting her first job, or if I were someone who has been handed a single thing in her life. And let's not forget his repeatedly demanding to know exactly why I am quitting, and if he is solely responsible for it; as if his little power trips and temper of a two-year-old being the straw that broke my back was somehow going to satisfy his sick craving to feel accomplished in his 70+ years of life, verbally abusing a 22-year-old girl. What a man.

So I did it. I quit. I left. I spent the day cleaning up my drawers and my computer, I clocked out, and I never looked back. I flipped the place off later that night when I drove by on my way to work the food truck, because we're all a little petty at times and the emotions were still fresh in my mind. But you get the idea. Adios. Sayonara. Adieu.

The title of this post is "What I Learned From Working in a Toxic Work Environment (And Quitting)," so I guess I had better tell you what exactly that is, instead of just using it as a metaphorical punching bag for my emotions and a word vomit receptacle. What I learned is this: never again. Never, ever again, will I settle for less than I deserve. Never, ever again, will I allow myself to be treated like dog poop scraped off the bottom of some rich man's knockoff Italian leather shoe. Never, ever again, will I accept working for a wage so low that I have to seek supplemental work elsewhere, then get reprimanded for my attempt to survive because it cuts into the hours someone else thinks they own in full, for a measly $7.25 apiece. Never, ever again, will I be so utterly and preposterously disrespected and spat upon when I know damn good and well that I am capable of doing better and that I deserve more. Never again.

I did not pour hundreds -- nay, thousands -- of hours of my life into college courses; I did not graduate with thousands of dollars' worth of student loan debt tied to my social security number; I did not prop my eyeballs open through boring three-hour long night classes about macroeconomics and supply chain management, in order to be treated in such a way as I have been since the beginning of October. I would rather be one of the many (although hopefully temporarily) unemployed recent college graduates, than to allow myself to be subjected to such abuse and mistreatment ever again. I sound proud. I am. I know what I deserve. And what I learned from this experience was that I sure as hell deserve a lot better than that. Never again.

I've got to do what makes me happy, and part of that means also not doing the things that don't make me happy. So no. Never, ever again.

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