Just call me The Terminator

Prologue: I wrote this during lunch today (In lieu of reading for my book club, dangn't!) so please excuse that the first sentence is now so blatantly dated and false.

In four hours from now I have to call into Pottery Barn to check if they're going to use my on-call...

...Because as I've mentioned before, I'm back at Pottery Barn.

Just call me The Terminator.

I know, if you're not someone who works there (or maybe you are and just don't get it) or who hasn't talked with me in the last three weeks, I can hear you scoffing and see you scratching your head as you shake it in disbelief at me, wondering Whyyyyyyy is GOD'S name would I go back to a job where I earn mere pennies above minimum wage just to help uppity women and love-crazy newlyweds pick out the perfect botanical arrangement.

But hear (Errr....read) me out: Thought I'm working in a retail store, I'm not actually working retail.

I'm working as a member of, what our GM (Bless Michelle for her love of Mike and Ikes and willingness to share them during late night floor set shifts) creatively calls, The Visual Five (Though not to be confused with The Jackson Five). In essence, with four other people (Including Rob and George...err...Jeff who insist on acting like Meryl Streep in "The Devil Wears Prada," calling me "Emily" in that long, drawn out would-be-creepy-if-coming-from-anyone-else voice), a couple of days a week making sure the store stays up to the standard of, what what the William-Sonoma President called last week, "Pottery Barn Heaven."

Go ahead, you can "Oooooooh" and "Aaaaaaaah." It's impressive, I know.

Mocking condescension aside, I am actually pretty excited about coming back to The Barn after a four week hiatus. Why? Because I have, in my opinion anyway, the best job an employee could hold there.

Here's why:

1. I work my own schedule and work sparingly. Sure, when floor set is due or there's a gigantic corporate visit hanging ominously over the store's head, I'm putting in an additional 15-plus hours during my 40-plus hour AngelVision work weeks. But, for the most part, I'm scheduled on-call for three hour shifts once, maybe twice a week. I always get Friday nights off and I'll never work on Saturdays ("Why yes, I'll take one more drink."). Love it.

2. I get to "dress down" for work. No, I can't wear sweatpants or flip flops (Like I can...and do...at AngelVision) but I no longer have to don wool tights underneath a sun dress in 90 degree weather (You know, when Portland actually has 90 degree weather). After all, how can anyone expect me to hang jars, haul down heavy lamps, life gigantic garden urns (Excuse me, the proper PB term is "Oversized." Indeed.) and stretch myself like Spiderman across bays of shelves while wearing heels and a dress? Exactly. Instead I get to wear khakis and, when I can get away with it, jeans, a plain t-shirt and my trendy (Four of us at PB sport the same color) Chuck Taylors.

3. I don't have to help customers. I know, this sounds bad...really bad...but after a long day of mentally-taxing work, writing scripts and plotting to best my bully, I'm pretty tired and my strained mental capacity of being nice is sometimes out of gas...

4. ...So instead, I get to put my tightly-honed OCD skills to use. Sure, if a customer comes up and asks me a question, I'll answer it but typically will push the guest to another employee (Which is best for all parties around because even though I work with the products doesn't mean I've got the best ability to sell it). But for the most part, you'll find me at 310 NW 23rd Avenue creating displays around the store, arranging flowery bouquets, stacking picture frames on tables and steadying baskets of pillows in vignettes. As my mom said, it's a good way for me to put my creative mind to use in a different way than what I'm used to.

5. I get to move around. I know, even without Pottery Barn I can easily exercise or move my hiney after eight hours of computer-faced sitting but sometimes I'm just so exhausted that I want to go from sitting to laying down (Sad and pathetic, I know). But being at PB, I am moving and shaking, lifting tables, moving sectionals into elevators, climb up ladders and busting out into the occasional awkward white girl dance.

6. And of course, there's the fact that I like everyone I work with. Sure, the place can buzz with more gossip than TMZ (Okay, okay, that's a gross overstatement but, just like 20 inch inserts, we've usually got plenty in stock), but I genuinely enjoy everyone I work with. They're nice. They're real. They make me laugh and remind me that life doesn't have to be so cut-throat serious.

So sure, from time to time I'll be putting in 14 and 15 hour days, wanting to pull my already shorn hair out from tired frustration (Though pure exhaustion would probably prevent me from doing so), but I'm glad to be back.

Especially because I still get my discount. Woot woot.

Epilogue: They did not use my on call. Even better.

Thanks, MJ.

Let's begin today's therapy session with a few words from Michael Jackson. Please allow 5:45 for this masterpiece to really hit you because, trust me, you'll want to hear all his whoops! and ows! to really understand this blog (Feel free to raise your hands, close your eyes and let your feet thump to the power of MJ):

You are not alone.

Now that the mood is set and we have that 1995 classic running through our minds, I can rightfully begin today's thoughts. Technically, my thoughts come from Wednesday while I was reading the front page of the Oregonian I picked up from a cafe. The day's largest headline, while not bannering the top of the page, screamed in blocky bold font: "New grads in record debt." Subhead: "Earning ability during a recession isn't enough to get ahead of college loans."

I am not alone, indeed. While I am lucky enough to have graduated from UP without student loans (Apparently 63 percent of the 2008 Pilot alumni are saddled with some form of student debt), I am, as the newspaper implies, "getting a tough reality check [with] the toughest job market in decades." In fact, the article cites that "national unemployment rates for college graduates ages 20 to 24 rose from 7.6 percent in 2008 to 10.6 percent his year," according to a report by The Project on Student Debt, part of the Berkeley-based Institute for College Access & Success.

In a bittersweet manner, it is comforting to know that there are others out there exactly like me: degree-toting superstars sitting -- gratuitously, of course -- in underemployed jobs, itching to do something meaningful with our lives (Sing it to me MJ!) but unable to find the person or company to let us or help us do it. It's sweet because, I am not alone but it's bitter for the same reason too. If my fellow alumni are anything like me, they're getting hungrier and hungrier (literally and metaphorically speaking) for something bigger and better and are stepping up their games in order to satiate that hunger.

Perhaps, in the long run, because of our youthful drives, my generation will wind up doing really fantastic things in the future. We don't have to be, like a business journal reported last week, the newest 'lost generation' that is going to be worse off than our parents' generation (Not that they're living sheisty lives or anything) in terms of financial stability and overall net earnings. We don't have to maintain these less-than-ideal lifestyles. We don't have to settle for underemployment. We don't have to settle, period.

But until that day of unsettling presents itself on my calendar, I have Michael to get me through those nights. It's too bad he was just so creepy looking in '95. Definitely not his hay-day (May he rest in peace).