Ah, yes, the pleasures of a “dream job.” That’s what they sold me on, right? The hustle, the “corporate ladder,” the “foundation,” the “learning experience.” Don’t get me wrong, I’m honestly really grateful for my job. It pays the bills, keeps a roof over my head, and comes with a paycheck that I can stretch far enough to cover… well, half of life’s basic necessities. But this isn’t exactly what I had in mind to do straight after graduation, with my shiny new secondary certificate in international business and business analytics. Yep! I am absolutely living the dream!

Tell me how is a “kiosk out of service because of a jammed printer” a learning experience? Does my hard-earned certificate really come down to yanking crumpled paper out of a printer? Apparently, yes, that’s the intellectual challenge I’m here to conquer. Nothing quite like the thrill of realizing that, after years of studying analytics and strategies, my biggest adversary is a stubborn sheet of paper lodged inside a printer that refuses to cooperate for the 5th time that day.

my bank account is over here practically laughing at me. I’m supposed to be grateful for the steady paycheck, but it barely covers the basics. I’m throwing my blood, sweat, and tears into this job, sacrificing time, health, and probably a few years of my life expectancy and for what? To get home in the morning after a 6pm to 6 am night shift, drop into bed like a corpse after getting home at 7:30 am, and question why I’m doing this in the first place. And don’t worry, they make sure to sprinkle a little “motivation” in there, too. “This job is a stepping stone,” they say. Sure. A stepping stone to what, exactly? Another 12-hour shift? The cherry on top is when you sit down to wonder when did the government work 1/3rd of your shift cuz 30% of my paycheck gets cut out in taxes. Yep, what a dream.

Oh and qualifications, let’s not forget the beautiful concept of “qualifications” when it’s our time to be adults. Tell me how is it that entry-level jobs require 3-5 years of work experience? Like seriously, I could keep singing “Tell me why” in typical backstreet boys fashion, and I’d still be waiting on a satisfying answer. How is anyone supposed to get 3-5 years of experience if every “beginner” job demands that I already have it? What magical Time Machine are we all supposed to be using here, and where can I find mine?

I just had a funny thought. Since it’s Halloween today, I should dress up as the “Unfortunately the Position Has Been Filled” email written typed on a t-shirt reminding people and myself that this is the end, a dead end job and retire by 90? And what’s scarier than that right? Right? RIGHT?

But anyway, you know what? I’m trying, I really am. I’m pushing myself to limits and beyond. Burning midnight oil and daylight oil, all the oil, all sorts of oils, while being compensated with peanuts. Yes, actual, literal peanuts would probably sustain me longer at this rate. They want commitment, they want passion, they want me to care enough to help them build their empire. But what am I getting back? A pay check that barely qualifies as spare change after rent and bills eat away at it. It’s like I’m expected to show up with a filet mignon + tiramisu cheesecake on a a cup noodle/ramen budget.

And of course, there’s that wonderful line they lie to pull about “teamwork” and “we’re like family here.” Because nothing says “Family” like being handed 12- hour shifts back to back, followed by a hearty “thanks for all your hard work, really appreciate it” that feels as warm and personal as a spam email.

Does anyone remember the stunning display of “empathy” from their corporate managements after the EY incident, you know the one where a woman was overworked to death, literally. The very mournful response to which was a series of emails reminding us that if anyone was facing such stress of mental health issues, we shouldn’t hesitate to reach out for help.

Meanwhile, here’s another 12-hour shift packed with enough walking around to train for a marathon, because balance and sleep is for amateurs, being overexerted and sleep deprived is how we get to look cool now. So much compassion practically overflowing, oh, my heart can’t take it. “We care about your well-being,” they say, right before piling on the hours and pushing us to our breaking points. Every “thank you” is as hollow as the sleep schedule they’ve stolen from us. “A dynamic work environment” understandable, and I’m willing to work through it, but I did not sign up for the stretching the soul thinner than tissue paper part.

But you know what? I do have a dream, it may seem childish and stupid but if anything it’s my feminine urge to accomplish it. Someday, when I escape this endless hamster wheel of forced smiles and back-to-back shifts, I’ll open my own little spot. A cozy bookstore, flower shop, and café, all wrapped up into one. I’ll finally have a place where people actually want to be, not because they have to be. A place where I can surround myself with the smell of fresh flowers and old books, helping someone else feel a bit less exhausted with a good coffee and a better conversation, and bring a bit of peace to other overworked souls who need it just as much as I do.

But until that day arrives, until that dream is in reach, I’ll be right here, I’ll keep showing up, keep grinding, and keep telling myself that maybe one day I’ll walk away from this to something real, something fulfilling.

Meanwhile, I’ll just be here staring at the bags under my eyes in front of the mirror and telling myself,

“they’re Gucci, babe.”