A little over four years ago I lost a job as a glorified manager for a non-profit facility whose board of directors (well, one person in particular...) viewed the facility as a tuxedo-laden opera house when, in reality, it's a public auditorium. I left the job of being a grocery store manager an hour's drive from my home with insane hours, either early morning start time or late night end time, along with physical exertion (which actually, minus the weight loss, got me in decent shape).
Anyhow...
When I lost this job, rather than go for unemployment, something I've never done, I took a temp job. From a suit and tie in the public spotlight to a day laborer running presses in a metal stamping plant, my career muttness took a strange twist. At the time, however, and at far less than half my previous salary, I found contentment in it. Perhaps it was shedding the suit and tie, perhaps it was leaving the hassle of a board of directors looking for a puppet, but I enjoyed the rhythm and monotony of putting a part on a press and pushing a button. I enjoyed the people I met and found getting my hands dirty to be a form or therapy.
At the time I also picked up a weeekend job working midnights. Not a hard job, mind you, but the midnight shift was rough, especially considering the fact that it was Saturday/Sunday midnight, Sunday leading right into Monday morning for a 16-hour shift to start every week.
But between the two jobs, we made it work at about half the salary I had previously. There were cuts in usual activities, bills that fell behind, medical bills that accumulated with the loss of insurance, filing for assistance with utilities. I soon learned what it was like to have bills go to collections, to have collections agencies calling my house and to watch my credit fall from immaculate to being rejected for credit card applications, things which had never previously happened. My credit score was a symbol of my identity, an indication that I was responsible and had financial freedom when it came to credit options.
But I was living on the edge. Not dangerously. No. Just my debt to income ratio was higher than was wise. But the bills were being paid so it was ok. Due to a life of relative modesty and not too much interest in "stuff" we were not devastated by the turn of events. We struggled, certainly, and had to change things, but overall we managed to be ok.
Over time I was fortunate enough to move up in various positions at the company, surfing the changes and doing quite well. Not quite the salary I had previously but, between the two jobs, getting pretty close. My hours adjusted, I began obtaining training and a viable career path. I picked up an additional shift on the weekend, working 24 hours over the course of a weekend for a 64 hour work week.
Realizing that I had been very fortunate in terms of my career muttness, I began to realize how privileged I had been without being aware of it. I spent a few years "slacking" but I still had the cushion, untouched, of an IRA accumulated from reaping the benefits of working in the cellular industry during its early 90s boom. This was a security blanket of last resort, a "well, if I lose everything I can cash this out..." kind of thing.
However, I had to tap out the IRA to fix the roof on the house and pick up another beater to replace my other beater. So we began to get the bills under control again, the long process of cleaning up collections accounts and past due bills began.
And then came late 2008. The economy tanked. The facility I work in was not exempt and, as a manufacturing facility tied to the automotive/truck industry, the business felt its impact. It impacted my wage and, as of this week, hours at job two. I have now lost roughly 25% of my income. Add to that the need to raise the withholding tax as we owe the IRS this year and life has gotten interesting.
No longer in the position to which I was promoted, I am back running presses. But I still run the hell out of them. There is a sense of pride in running them quickly, looking for ever more efficient ways to do things.
Standing and bending for eight hours a day now while breaking in a new pair of steel toe boots and going home and continuing P90X at a high level of intensity did a number on my hip. Now I can't even exercise at the moment.
So at once my faith has gotten stronger, independent of, or at least not causally related to, my job and at the same time my other forms of security to which I once clung so tightly, has slipped.
Add to that the darkness of an addiction coming to light and I feel the power of resurrection.
Irony indeed.
No comments:
Post a Comment