This is a good one (good for the story, not for the remnants floating around in my brain).
Something which I've carried with me for now over 20 years.
And it randomly shows up in my thoughts. There is no rhyme. No reason. Thus the use of the term, "random".
Not long after I met my husband (then boyfriend) -- 9 months to be exact -- we decided to move in together. The year was 2000 (we met in the summer of 1999).
I left behind my small apartment in the very northern suburbs of Chicago (Waukegan, near the Wisconsin border) and moved into his 15th floor 2-bedroom apartment right in the city proper.
And since I was moving away from the Waukegan/Gurnee area, I needed to leave behind my retail gig with Timex (@ Gurnee Mills mall) and find new work.
Well, my work history was all retail/service industry/customer service, so I applied to any and all gigs that met the "customer service" mark.
I ended up interviewing with (then) TD Waterhouse... for GET THIS, a position as a "stock broker trainee". I would have to pass the Series 7 exam to "get" the job. Officially, I would be in customer service, when I was not in a classroom learning everything there was to know about the stock market. And I'd have to study on my own time -- ALL THE TIME.
Needless to say, I lasted somewhere around 5 months in this job. I took the Series 7 twice (that's all they would allow before you got the boot) and failed both times. It should be noted that my second go - I believe I missed the passing mark by 9 questions. And the test was 250? That's just a guess.
And I remember very little of this job -- as far as stock market knowledge. Once I left it behind (and was fired), I data dumped all of that shit.
It was clear that this was not where I was meant to be. I am obviously not a numbers person, nor have I ever been a "math" person. (I barely passed high school freshman algebra -- ending with a solid "D" grade, but I passed!)
So the reason for this long tale of woe in my time as a "stock broker trainee" (c'mon, those of you who know me well, can you even match those two things up?), is that during one of our classroom sessions, where I was with (I wanna say) maybe 12 other students in my group -- we played a game of Win, Lose or Draw on the whiteboard at the front of the room.
I got up there and the teacher (can't recall his name, again -- data dump) gave me my word, which of course, I was then to draw and try to get my classmates to guess.
My word was "Alan Greenspan".
Now... I know who this is now, but I was a theatre major, only three years past college graduation. My work had been in retail. What the hell did I know about finances or banks or trading or certainly, the then Chair of the Federal Reserve?
What always comes back to me, with this particular memory, is the look of horror/disgust/bemusement/shock from my teacher when I said, "I don't who that is."
And even at that moment, I felt intense shame and embarrassment -- something which, after all of these years, still kicks me in the gut.
Looking back, do I care that I failed so totally miserably at a job I had no business being even remotely tied to? No. Not really. But this face-to-face interaction and the clear shortcomings I showed off in that moment of my life? Jesus. It's ridiculous, but oh how it sits there on my insides -- whenever it happens to pass by in my brain. Again, randomly.
This is a PRIME example of a moment in my past, where the moment's shame and embarrassment continues to thrive.
But, why? What is the purpose of my holding on to this memory (the memory sure, why not), but the
feelings attributed to this moment?
I mean, after all -- these folks hired me, knowing what my work history was. It wasn't as if I lied on my resume -- pulling from the Sue Ellen Crandell book of job-hunting (although, I can match up with that
Don't Tell Mom the Babysitter's Dead reference, perhaps in another entry of this particular series -- down the line).
They knew what they were getting into. But maybe it was this teacher looking at me, as he may have at dozens of other newbies, and cursing out the folks doing the hiring. In his head thinking, "Another one of these."
It was certainly a weird little side note in my otherwise retail-filled work history. I sort of wear it with a badge of honor, just for that complete weirdness. Again, Michael Klug: Stock Broker Trainee.
Sure.
But while the memory of my short time commuting to downtown Chicago and trying to learn --
I literally can't think of a stock market term to sort of pass off that I studied this shit for 5 months...
Anyway, it's time to let go of the shame I carry with me, because I -- a theatre major who went to school for acting and directing -- didn't know who the hell Alan Greenspan was, once upon a time.
It's not worth carrying around this embarrassment, when logically, why WOULD I have known who this was? Dealing in inventory and hiring in a retail environment, when would I be checking out stocks and bonds and the like? Or anything related to such things?
Besides that, when I was working retail back at good old Gurnee Mills, I was broke as fuck. Stocks? Sorry, not in the budget. Food and rent was barely in the budget.
Bottom line here? Fuck Alan Greenspan. Fuck that teacher with his disappointed and horror-filled look at little Michael Klug, the wannabe stock broker.
And fuck my brain for letting these feelings linger for so many years. Time to let go.
Alan Greenspan, I wish you well as a person, but as a memory -- see ya.
