A couple of months ago, I lost a job. It utterly devestated me, and I didn't exactly react in the most graceful way (to put it extremely, extremely lightly) when I got the axe.
In fact, I was a raving lunatic...but I was promptly okay in a few hours.
And I am definitely okay now...even though I still cringe whenever I hear the name of that company, or even think about my time there, because everything is such a tainted memory now.
(I am a drama queen. Deal with it.)
Yesterday, I jumped at the chance to run an errand (something I really enjoy doing on those beautiful 60-degree January afternoons!!!!) for my new job.
And then I heard the address I had to go to and I almost threw-up.
It was the building which I used to work in.
I quickly relayed the story about what had happened to my coworker, and he said, "Who cares...you have a new job now...hold your head-up high!"
I walked out taking his advice, and as I walked downtown, I made two phonecalls...one to my friend Lori and one to my mother.
(I needed moral support.)
They assured me that I could do it. I trusted them.
Now, most girls are able to "hide behind" their hair when they are trying to avoid people they don't want to see. I can't do that. I have never been able to do that. My hair is my one distinguishable feature. My hair is the one thing that people remember about me. I am "that girl with all the curly brown hair." My friends and family use my hair to find me in a crowd when we get separated. It is my signature...and that is fine...but sometimes I wish I was able to hide behind it.
I needed a hat.
I needed a straightening iron.
I needed to hide.
I needed to get in-and-out of that building without anybody seeing me.
The doorman recognized me right away. Why wouldn't he? I was the bubbly, chippper girl with the curly hair that he saw every day for four months! I babbled, barely stopping, "Iusedtoworkherebutimjustherenowtodropsomethingofftoanothercompanyillberightdown!"
He looked confused and told me to go.
It was lunchtime. I could not take that elevator. Could NOT. I would certainly run into former coworkers, or worse, the women who had "released" me and witnessed my less-than graceful exit.
So, I took the stairs.
All eight flights.
And I went to the other office.
And then I took the stairs down again.
All eight flights.
I tried to escape through the fast food restaurant attached to the building instead of using the main exit. I was doing to well not seeing anybody, I couldn't blow my cover now.
But the door to the fast food restaurant was locked and I banged my face against the glass in my attempt to rush-out.
(I haven't gone NEAR fast food in years and years. Drastic times call for drastic measures.)
I realized that my best bet was to dart-out the main exit. I sprinted, called out goodbye to the very very confused doorman and didn't relax until I turned the corner.
And then I realized something...
I had done it.
I had faced my fears...and I was okay. In the grand scheme of things, what happened to me in that building two months ago means very, very little. Life absolutely goes on, and will continue to do so.
It was a bit of a "Josie Geller/Never Been Kissed" moment. Things ended-up working out for Josie, despite the heartbreaking disasters in her past, and things will end-up working out for me.
(I'm yet to meet that dashing young English teacher though...)