stopgap: something that serves as a temporary expedient.
There’s something to be said about and for a job: thank you.
There’s something to be said about and for a stopgap: thank you.
It was clear going in and made abundantly so when I heard the wage during the (ton of) paperwork at my first shift last night.
This is a stopgap.
It’s no one’s damn business that figure. I’ll give you a hint, however. It’s food service. Food service sans the caliber and perks of a culinary degree or experience of a chef at DB Bistro Moderne or Masa.
You do the math and I’ll say no more.
In the next week or two of training, I’ll be working 20-25 hours a week at a food-service wage. Pause to consider: Could you live on that?
There’s need and urgency for either break-the-sound-barrier ascent into the magic hours of Scrape By 35 and/or a second job.
Truth is, a second job at a higher wage is the better way to go. This job at 35 to 40 hours a week, if and when it happens, would be a hard pill to swallow and a very tough living. The income is no better than I received in unemployment in my former state.
With this one all-important and life-changing difference: The money I’m now making is earned. It was not handed to me by the feds or the state. That matters enormously to me.
And I’m not wired for socialism!
I’m no fool. My eyes are open. Gist is: This is not a position in my career — and y’all know what that is, correct? 🙂 Were it, the universe itself would rock to my exhilaration upon announcement!
The job is what it it; for it I weep in gratitude. It is a job that arrived in the 12th hour that spares me from the streets and shelters.
It’s also a job that enables me to answer the call of relocating.
I must be out without two weeks. With (some measure of) employment now secured, I proceed to securing new and (hoped for) better lodgings — and as close to the job as possible, I might add, for at this income, I best befriend Schwinn and fast!
I’m mindful of the process. Securing a second job and housing is imperative.
Keeping my eye on the ball and big picture is also needed.
This I know. This stopgap came through in the 12th hour for reasons, to spare me from an unfolding reality of sleeping huddled in doorsteps, beneath bridges and in shelters and pushing a shopping cart containing my weird worldly belongings — all tidily organized of course.
A stopgap. A job that that spares one a worse fate is a job worth having. And celebrating.
And I do. While I continue to climb my own version of Jacob’s ladder, from the deepest darkest mire to …