Everybody Hates Cheerleaders

So this is what I realized in the middle of the night.... besides that I had started a blog. I had forgotten about one other bad job. One VERY bad job. I must have Youngzheimers, I swear. Because it was pretty much the worst one... for oh, so many reasons, not the least of which was because it lasted the longest. Which means I'm either a) in denial about having actually had it or b) the martinis erased the entire experience from my memory. I'm thinking maybe it's a combination of the two...?

Forget having to wear a green apron and hose while selling bath products to the showrunner from the show I no longer wrote for ($13/hour), or donning black pants, white shirt and a name tag to hawk Pinot Noir to the lead actress on the show I no longer wrote for ($12/hour), I truly have to say that working at a Beverly Hills boutique ($12/hour + commission) was the single worst experience of my "career". Did I mention the first job was at the mall and the second was at a warehouse club store? Oh, and that I was 36 at the time...? But I digress. It wasn't just that my agent came shopping at the boutique, saw me and ran out the door. That an ex saw me and well... just saw me... (and stopped and talked). There was also the day the Executive Producer and producing partner of my old boss who hadn't hired me on his new show realized I was working at the boutique. Then she also realized I somehow wasn't invited to the final wrap party that was more of a wrap-it-up party saying goodbye to the series which had been on for much longer than it should have been. (She of course said my not being invited was an oversight and I ended up going to the party that evening and well, let's just say it was a catastrophe-- but that's another story for another day). There was also the simple fact that the girls who worked at said Beverly Hills boutique were not only so young I could have given birth to them, so out of touch with reality that I wanted to smack them, but also that they were mean. Yes, mean.

No one wanted to be there. But we all were. The difference between them and myself was-- well, I didn't have parents/a boyfriend or husband supplementing my income/having my $30 lunch delivered/paying for clothes. And I was old. Oh, and had at one time had a career. Oh, and I was old. Still, I was nice to the customers. I greeted the customers. I did work. And I tried to remain cheerful. After all, I had martinis and cats to go home to. Sure the other girls went out and had lives, but they were still mean. Most of my friends hated to come in and visit. The other girls never said "hello", never helped anyone, got annoyed when people didn't buy things, stared at themselves in the mirror, paid more attention to the pages of UsWeekly than the store, and went on long coffee breaks. When they weren't nursing a hangover, lying on the couch or recapping the latest reality show, they were trying on clothes and hiding the pieces they wanted until they could afford them/were allowed to take them home (pieces were supposed to be on the floor for 2 weeks before employees got a crack at them).

I felt like I was stuck in some screwed up, modern day version of "Pretty Woman". But in this case, these salesgirls didn't care if Julia Roberts was wearing head-to- toe Prada and her husband owned Beverly Hills and she was going to give them commission to burn. They didn't like anyone. Not even each other. (Well, they did on certain days or for certain months, but that could change in an instant). I had always thought salesgirls were nice. They were always nice to me. My friends owned boutiques. And alot of them became my friends because I shopped at their stores. None of them EVER acted like that... The whole experience reminded me of the day I learned everybody hates cheerleaders.

I had no idea. Really. I know I should have caught on alot sooner, but until the rest of the writers in the writer's room glared at me when I defended my friends and cohorts, I truly had no idea. "We cheerleaders weren't all a stereotype. Some of us were nice!" I argued. Still, I learned there a great number of people who hated cheerleaders just because. They had an us vs. them mentality and no charts, graphs or statistical data on my part could convince them otherwise.

Let me just be clear on one point-- I was never all that excited about the whole cheerleading thing to begin with-- I only tried out because everyone else was trying out and we were poor and wearing a cheerleading uniform to school every day was cheaper than buying a whole new school wardrobe and well, it was on some level, a way to fit in somewhere. But for me, it wasn't a status symbol. It was comfortable. That's why it also kind of came out of nowhere when a girl said to me at my high school reunion, "I wanted you to be fat," and stomped away in disgust because I wasn't.

My friends said I should view it as a compliment. Which is odd to me. I mean, I want everyone to be happy. How ass backwards is it that someone wanting your life to suck is supposed to be a good thing? Let me tell you, that girl would have a field day if she could see me now. You know, I'm actually considering calling her to make her day.

That said. I'm still getting my feet wet on this whole blog thing. It's kind of weird. I'm kind of old school. Alot of people have been telling me to start one for awhile now. That it would "be a good outlet", "let me write again", and "you never know what could happen". People also said that to me about online dating and let's just say... um, no! I do know that I really want people to read my fiction. And I don't think that's what this whole blogging thing is about. It seems that stories or books come after the blog has become popular and then the bloggees get publishing deals based upon their blogs. And alot of the blogs seems to be about popular culture or well-- written by people I could have given birth to (sigh!). And me, well, it seems I'm doing it backwards. As is the way of my life. So until I investigate further whether I can put a whole story on a blog, whether anyone will read it and other perhaps pertinent information, I guess I'll just try to entertain as best I can with what little wit is left in me. Thank you for reading... and good day!