I Quit My Terrible Job with Nothing Else Lined Up

In December of 2004, I was about to graduate from a quiet, rural state college, with a degree in English. I was excited about the prospect of being admitted to English graduate school the following fall, and I was moving to the home city of the university I wanted to attend.

Except, I had decided only a month before graduation to make this move. Oops. My previous plan had involved a boyfriend I was no longer seeing, so when an opportunity suddenly came up to move in with an old friend, I jumped at it, despite that it would allow me only weeks to find some job, any job, to support myself and my soon-to-be roommate. I was flipping out with anxiety, so I channeled the nervous energy into finding that job quickly.

I drove to the city every weekend, and turned in job applications. Most of them were for stores in an upscale shopping center. My destined apartment building was within a walking distance of less than five minutes. My plan was to get a passable job until graduate school - and once I was in school again, I planned to do what I had to do to get a teacher or research assistantship. I wasn't crazy about the retail option, but I resolved that I wouldn't have to stay in any retail job for very long.

Dozens of applications later, I got a callback from a pricey regional supermarket - and since it was the only callback I recieved at all, I was filled with relief that I was probably not going to starve, after all. The hiring representative for the supermarket nudged me toward the a part-time position in deli-bakery department. I accepted her recommendation, despite my trepidation  that I would find slicing deli meat to be a little disgusting. As I began hands-on training with the more experienced employees, I discovered that it was pretty gross to open up packages of bloody roast beef, but I quickly overcame my queasiness in the name of staying employed.