Home > Uncategorized > Making it in the city.

Making it in the city.

I am laying (lying? I can never remember. I need ‘dat AP style book.) on my bed in the dark, trying to catch a small nap before one of my good friends gets in town.

I’m trying not to move. I’m trying to keep perfectly still. Because I am exhausted. I worked this morning in the little flower shop from 7:30 to 4:30 this afternoon. Whew. And the whole time I was at work I did not stop moving. It was fantastic. That’s just another reason I enjoy the job: There’s always something for me to do. I hate jobs where I sit around searching for something to do. So when 3 p.m. rolled around and I had yet to take a break I could barely believe it.

Rob and Myli (the owners of the shop) decided to let me open the store this morning by myself. I figured that giving me that much responsibility so soon after starting to work there meant I was doing it on a sink-or-swim basis, so I wanted to prove to them that I could do it. I wanted to show them I was a hard worker and that I would do them proud.

So I got to the shop bright and freakin’ early and unlocked the doors and turned on the lights and most importantly, the music. I admit to rocking out and dancing and singing in the store this morning. Eh, it’s not like anyone was there to see. Boston’s got great radio stations. I can’t help it.

Three hours, one broken vase, overseeing a delivery of 25 boxes of flowers and taking an order of 50 individually wrapped Gerbera daisies later I finished setting up the display out front. (As soon as I find my camera cord I’ll post pictures, because really, they’re gorgeous.)

That was just the beginning. Then I had to separate all the boxes. Half the flowers in the boxes stayed at “my” store (I feel I can claim it), the Back Bay store, and half went to the Newbury St. store or the Beacon Hill store, depending on what they needed. Every flower had to be immediately cut and put in water, so it was quick work.

In between all this rearranging I had to deal with the friendly transit police officer with the Jamaican accent and the resident homeless man, Steve, who likes to bring us coffee. What a sweetie.(Although I have to wonder why he wants to spend his small amount of money on buying me coffee. Nice guy.) And I was certain the Jamaican police officer was going to give me a ticket for the tons of boxes spilling out the front door, but really, he just wanted to chat.

I think I did well on my first sink or swim day. My boss was pretty pleased with the way I set up the display and only had a few things to change. It felt good.

What a great day. Even though my feet are aching and throbbing like nobody’s business and even though my entire body hurts worse than anything and even though my fingers and hands are rubbed raw (owie.) I feel so satisfied. There is no better feeling than working that hard. I’m sure it won’t always be this great. And I’m sure that I won’t always be this excited about the job.

But the beautiful thing is, this is me. This is me making it in Boston, etching out a living, however humble it may be. It’s sort of the most beautiful thing in the world. At least to me.

So far in Boston, I’ve got two jobs. I have an apartment to call home. I’ve got regular places I haunt depending on my needs: people-watching, the best coffee or simply a place to escape and read. I’ve got a room that’s finally starting to feel like a place to relax and be myself in.  I have a church I can go to when I feel the need. I know my way around more and can jump on the T without really having to think about it. I have a few people I can call for dinner or drinks, and people I’m getting to know better than ever. I’m making a small but humble living.

I’m making it in the city. Just like I’ve wanted to do for such a long time. And I’m not so naive to believe it will all be smooth sailing from here on out, but I’m going to take each day as it comes. No borrowing trouble.

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  1. November 25, 2010 at 2:48 am

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