Weed Whacking the Work World

“Is that plumbing or electrical?” I asked.

My colleague Anber and I stood over a shopping basket filled with returned gadgets that people more experienced than us used every day on their jobs. We could have quickly looked up the strange looking product – a “U”-shaped pipey thingie – but I think we were both enjoying the slight rest.

Our manager quickly walked by. He has one speed. Quick, “That’s electrical,” he said as

he breezed by. “I’m returning a basket there right now. I’ll take it.”

Anber and I looked at each other, shrugged, and went back to our registers.

I am a Home Depot employee, or “associate.” I work in Customer Service, returning

damaged and extra items, fulfilling online and telephone orders, lifting returned lumber

and concrete, calming irritated customers, renting out vehicles and other equipment, answering questions about locations of ceiling fans and such, and generally helping in

the nerve – or nervous – center of the large warehouse store.

It’s the most challenging job I’ve ever had, and in a strange way, the most satisfying.

I’m a freelance journalist and communications specialist. I just released my first self-

published book. I do content marketing and public relations. I went to Berkeley!

So, what am I doing in a warehouse store with merchandise that is infinitely interesting and foreign to me? Sadly, the uncertain economy, corporate layoffs and my years of experience (read: age) have worked against me, and except for some loyal clients, I have been unemployed for a year after being laid off from a failed start-up. My savings had dried up and I needed a job, and after applying to more than 250 of them, I had big fat 0 that resembled a toilet ring to show for it. So, I decided to pivot into retail until I found a “real” job.

Never in my life did I think a real job would be a combination of intense brainwork

learning different register codes, psychology and counseling when dealing with upset

customers, some intense physical labor lifting cement pavers, lumber and heavy

tools, or walking through the store so much my phone indicated “increased physical

activity.”

This is work. It may not be my chosen field or my dream job, but I have learned more in

my short time at Home Depot than any other “white collar” job I’ve ever had. Most

importantly, I’m learning I can do things I never thought I’d be able to do or was “too

good” to do.

I’m not too good. In fact, I make mistakes every day. I’ve had to learn to accept that and

not beat myself up. I’ve had to learn to ask for help. I’ve learned “team member” is not

just a euphemism but an essential part of the job, as I rely on my colleagues for help not only in helping train me, but in loading bricks, fetching on-order doors and windows, and explaining to me why a plant died so I could tell a customer. It is the most collaborative work environment I’ve ever had.

What’s more, Home Depot (its political leanings aside) and many other retail stores large and small are inclusive. No matter your color, age or background, you see it all. I am so grateful for the lack of ageism as I enter this new phase of my life, when the white-collar world believes 20 years of experience means you’re too old for a job. I’m not a dried-up old prune, but I can tell you where to go to find out why you have them on your fruit trees.

I’m not ready to throw out my writing and editing career in the dumpsters behind Home

Depot quite yet, but in today’s job market I may have to wait longer to find the right one. Until then, my work attire is comfy shoes and an orange apron.