Tumbling Into My Dream Job

In the spring of 2012, I landed my dream job of small town laundromat manager. Needless to say, I was pretty excited. Here is what I thought at the time: 

I've finally made it. Six years of higher education, 40 thousand dollars in student loans, hundreds of resumes produced and disseminated, dozens of interviews— seven years of building experience in my field. And now, finally, after all this— the light at the end of the tunnel. The dream turned reality. As of today, I am now—oh, it is almost too flipping exciting to announce (my heart is pounding a gazillion beats a second; someone call a doctor!)—the manager. of. a. small town. laundromat!

That's right: laundromat manager. Mission accomplished. Game over. Expectations for my life met, completely. All of my early promise fulfilled (the sports and clubs; Hebrew school and Odyssey of the Mind— all paid off, baby!): small town laundromat manager position acquired!!! 2012!!! This is how it's done!!!

Laundromat Manager! Yes! What now, people who said I'd never amount to anything?! Eat your hearts out! That dour-faced thirty-one-year-old man you see through the window folding some stranger's underwear poorly —that's me! Never thought I'd make it this far, did you? Well, that's right, I'm now at the top of a major three-person operation. Me plus two 60-year-old-women— plus a dozen or so washing machines— equals serious flippin' enterprise! Get me the editor of my college alumni magazine: I've got the front cover story for the next edition. '03 Graduate Tumbles into Dream Job at Laundromat: From Scholar to Sudser! I'm certain my mom's on the phone right now with everyone from our temple. My son, the laundromat manager: can you believe it? Rabbi, I'm so proud; I knew he'd do something amazing, but this—this just blows the mind. The head of a small town laundromat; we are truly blessed! Happy to deliver, mom. Happy to deliver.

My god, fate has truly smiled on me. This is a freaking dream, really— from handling strangers’ dirty underwear to finding myself responsible (without qualification) for the town’s mentally ill and homeless — there is nothing I don't love about this job. For half of my conscious hours a day, I get to perform the profoundly important work of washing, drying and folding undershirts. I'm like a human conveyer belt for clothing: out-freaking-standing! Finally, I can make a real contribution to humanity! I'm like a superhero with the mind-blowing power to hastily stuff several dozen garments into a laundry bag before the customer comes to pick it up. Just doing my duty!

Meanwhile, I get to inhale the intoxicating brew of human sweat, cotton and laundry detergent; help people find the start button on a drying machine; and feel the heavenly touch of lint in filters, like the tender fingers of aphrodite! Hello, paradise! And I get paid for this—a whole nine dollars an hour (double what I need to live in 2012). And at the end of the day, when my hands have cramped up from hours of folding, I can barely sit down from back pain, and my head is pounding from the vitriolic disputes of my two staff members— I can feel like I've really done something meaningful, transforming that crippling physical agony into an affirming reminder of the great work I've done (just like a marathon runner feels when he finishes a race, or a doctor whose spent the whole night saving someone's life). 

My dad wonders about my career and how I will ever buy a home? No worries, dad. I've found my career and my home (literally: I may have to sleep at the ‘mat soon with what I get paid). A Cinderella story, this is (mainly the part where Cinderella has to do exhausting, tedious domestic work). So, keep dreaming, folks. Success is right around the corner. With the right attitude, hard work and a cap full of luck, you too could end up starching and ironing filthy old, lab coats for some weird middle-aged man. You just have to believe.

Alumni Spotlight

Alumnus: Daniel Sennis
Year Graduated: 2003
Major: English
Extracurriculars: Drama Club, School Newspaper, Cross Country

AM: You’ve recently begun a new career. Can you tell us about your new job?

DS: Yeah, I work at a laundromat. I’m the manager.

AM: That’s incredible. How did that come about?

DS: I saw they were hiring and applied. There weren’t any other applicants.

AM: What’s it like to work as a laundromat manager?

DS: Tedious. We do linens for a hotel, and that takes up the vast majority of the time. We wrap the linens in this plastic wrap. Just bundle after bundle. And Sheila and Marge, my employees, they are just constantly arguing. Why did you do this? Why can’t you do that? It’s so irritating.

AM: Did you ever think you would find yourself working in this field?

DS: No. I don’t really understand what’s happening. I keep asking myself: how did this happen? Why am I here? Hey, can you guys stop calling me for donations. I make 9 dollars an hour.

AM: What are some of your fondest memories about college?

DS: Not working at a small town laundromat and still having hope for the future.

A Betting Clerk is The Life For Me (video)

 

It's Time to Pursue a Career in Not Working

This summer was educational. I learned a lot about myself, my likes and dislikes. It turns out, I do not care for working. I do like doing whatever I want whenever I want.

I learned this the hard way. I started out working at a summer camp. There I could only do a few things I wanted to do (play sports and have children entertain me) but I also - most absurdly - was obligated to stay there all day and be responsive to the children's needs. Ooooo, pay attention to me! Oooooo, give me a snack! Ooooooo, let me out of this cage! God, go away, already! What a drag. If this is what work is, than I want no part of it. I'd love to play a game of kickball and then hear an 8-year-old sing Adele's "Rumor Has It" at the camp talent show, but right afterward, I want to peel out of the parking lot in the Camry and do whatever I want whenever I want.

Next I worked at the race track at Saratoga. I had mornings off. This taught me a valuable lesson: I like mornings free and all other times free, too. I could read, journal, take a walk - whatever I wanted. Then 11 ocklock rolled around, and I had to go to work, and it was STUPID. I didn't like one single un-leisure-like minute of it. I'd be sitting there trying to read my book, when some jerk would come up and rudely interrupt me just so he could bet on a race. Do you not see the book in my hand and the look of utter adolescent-styled contempt on my face? I could hardly get any reading done at all there, so what was the point of even being there? And, as with the summer camp, I couldn't leave for several hours. If I wanted to go to a prison camp, I'd travel back in time and piss off a soviet official in Stalin's Russia.* Historical reference burn!

So, what to do with this information? Clearly, I need to stop working immediately and start spending time doing whatever the heck I feel like doing. I'm not sure why this didn't occur to me before. I have to blame my parents and the schools for never encouraging me to pursue a career as an aristrocratic loafer. How could they have possibly believed I would want to do work for a living? Didn't they know that I would much perfer to spend my time playing kickball with friends and taking long, rambling walks while having all of my financial needs covered by my massive inheritence? It's irresponsible of them, frankly, allowing me to take on all of this responsibility. Thankfully, I came to this counclusion before I foolishly worked another day in my life. I've finally found my true calling: someone who does nothing. It feels good. I can't wait to get started!

As a Man of Leisure, I will look something like this:



So beautiful!


*Wow, what kind of jerk compares his First World job to a prison camp? Obscene!