My First Non-Profit Job

When a lifelong barista / grocery clerk gets a job at a museum

One of my biggest pet peeves is when people are fresh into the puppy love faze of their new jobs, and go boasting to everyone about it… As if the secret to happiness, the cure for all your ailments, is just getting a new job. That’s not what this essay is about, because I’m not about to lie and pretend that the universe has somehow morphed into something more pleasant, where time moves faster, my depression has suddenly disappeared, and I’m now happy to have a job after years of proclaiming (before it was cool) “I don’t dream of labor”. Who am I kidding?

I also won’t pretend like the non-profit industry is perfect. I’ve seen enough satirical short form videos of people impersonating their non-profit boss to know it just simply isn’t the case. Unless you are really, really lucky, there is no perfect job, perfect boss. I’m just a girl who has worked in retail for almost fifteen years and just recently started a new job in a brand-new industry. I’m a fish out of water, and while I’ve been learning to breathe, I have been noticing some really stark differences between this job and my last several jobs in retail.

Obviously, this is my unique experience, and I won’t, for a second, proclaim that this job is better than my last, or that making this switch was the missing piece I’ve been looking for in young adulthood. I’m cursed (blessed?) to see all sides of everything and am basically incapable of saying one thing is better than another, because honestly, it always depends. I certainly won’t act like some of the cheeky fuckers I’ve seen over the years, who come into their old place of work, and lament about how superior their new-but-basically-the-same job is to the last, rubbing salt into the wounds of the soldiers who chose to stay behind. Was that their sole purpose for coming in, or were they actually planning on buying something? What, you’re here to visit? Get a fucking life, dude.

I digress. When I accepted a job with lower pay and less hours, but a mission statement that actually resonated with my soul in some way, was my ticket out Starbucks, my first “big girl” job out of college, I didn’t know what to expect. I’ve been wanting to work in a museum for as long as I can remember, and this was my way in. Maybe I was making the worst mistake of my life, maybe this was the jump I needed to resurrect the part of me that died inside after being in food service and retail since I was fourteen. I told myself I was happy to try something new, to begin a new chapter of life, to challenge myself. Those things were all true but deep down, I was terrified, haunted by the “what if’s” riding in the side car of the perpetual motion machine that is my mind.

Was I giving up the ease of my established routine? Starbucks is its own kind of hell, but it was easy, and I knew exactly what I was doing. Bare minimum got me by while the money rolled in. I was one of the most experienced people in the place, calm as a cucumber because none of it really mattered anyway, and, most of all, I was comfortable. Comatose. I could do it all in my sleep, never threatened by where I came from or where I was going. A part of me rationalized that I could have done that for the rest of my life. Another part of me was screaming “traitor!!!!!!” since five years prior, I told myself I would never work at another coffee shop ever again.

Now I’m three weeks into this new gig and I am pleasantly surprised, relaxing from the combat mode stance that I jumped into when I made the decision to change careers. It’s nice to feel like I am leveling up in life, to be in yet another place that I wanted to be and managed to get there, either by the grace of the universe or, *gasp*, by my own hard work and charming personality (See: You Talk Too Much)?!

So many signs have pointed to me that this is the right place to be. From the way I felt when I first stepped foot into the museum on my interview, to the paintings of woodpeckers (See: Death of a Woodpecker) and ravens already hanging in my new office space waiting for me. On my first day, driving into the field to meet my new ornithologist bosses to see the work they do, I couldn’t stop smiling as I drove, thinking, is this real life?! Similarly, I had this wave of bliss wash over me last week as one of them said, “want to see something cool?” and showed me a case full of birds eggs the size of jellybeans.

I keep getting hit with these realizations of how different this new chapter of my life is. I’ve been slaving in food and retail for a decade, shackled by my work ethic and apron from big names like Whole Foods and Starbucks. (Realistically though, and as is usually the case, the shackles were actually my own narrative.) In that time, I rationalized that the perceived ease of this kind of work was worth the tradeoffs that they supplied: relatively easy to take time off, not serious enough to take the work home with me, perks like discounts on groceries or coffee (along with the fact that you can literally steal tons of stuff without anyone noticing or caring).

But there are a few things from this switch into non-profit that just keep hitting me like a whirlwind, or a lightning bolt that powers the bulb above my head, making me audibly go, “huh!” No feeling that this was what I was always missing, no inkling that this is the solution for every miserable person, just funny realizations about how life was never set in stone and all we often need is a new way of looking at something to understand the bigger picture. Which is that work is work, and that you are only ever held hostage by your own experiences.

I’m someone who is patient in the long game but irrationally impatient in the short. Compound interest in investing for retirement? Easy. The slow burn of watching my summer garden supply me with food from a handful of seeds over several months? Done! But giving myself time to adequately train at a new job, understanding it may take me awhile before I can do things on my own, not ask anyone for help? Absolutely not, nails on a chalkboard. It’s like being labeled “gifted” as a child and then growing up to realize that external validation offers you nothing except a mutated understanding of your place in the world.

In all of my jobs in the past, I got looks of awe and surprise that I didn’t need to be told to clean, stock, or find something to do. I picked up my job duties quickly and efficiently, really only needing a week or so before I could operate independently. Because, really, is there much of a difference between jobs at different grocery stores or coffee shops? No; the only variables are usually where things are kept, what the hygienic standards are, and if your boss cares whether or not you are on your phone while on the clock or when (or for how long) you take your breaks.

On the flip side, I saw countless folks come into these new jobs alongside me and for whatever reason, couldn’t get it. Routines and recipes didn’t stick. Customer service and being helpful just wasn’t in their nature. No sense of urgency had ever been instilled in them. Whatever it was, the general consensus from people around me was always, hilariously, the same: the newbie is a fucking idiot and has no common sense. If you were like me and got it right away, you were a god. If you couldn’t get the swing of things within the month, you were the teams worst enemy and nightmare. You were the topic of discussion centering all workplace gossip and the butt of all jokes.

The point being, is that in retail and food service, you are rushed to be good at things. Even outside of a work dynamic, I am this way. I steer away from things I don’t think I will be instantly good at. My insides squirm at the thought of doing something badly, especially in front of others. Asking for help? Admitting I don’t know how to do things? Embarrassing! It’s the reason I don’t play musical instruments, don’t play team sports, and perhaps the reason I’ve only ever worked in food and retail up until now. It’s probably also the reason that in the time in between leaving my job at Starbucks and starting a new one, my brain convinced me that I would likely implode on myself, and I was giving up the best, easiest, surest thing in my life.

But I did it anyway. I needed change, craved evolution. And still, within a week, I found myself saying, “I am still struggling to understand what a typical day looks like for me.” In that moment, I was met with a surprised, yet compassionate look from my new boss, a kind, gentle woman who studies birds and told me I was charming the day I met her. She began explaining what that typical day might look like, but then stopped herself and said, “it’s going to take a few weeks, if not longer.” I was genuinely shocked. This is a busy woman. A scientific writer and researcher, an executive director of a museum, and a woman grieving the loss of two parental figures within the last few years. She’s also the one training me. And yet, she has the patience to give me that much time? Knowing that in the long run, I would be making her life easier?

I have never been met with that kind of patience at work before. That kind of trust. Up until now, I only knew one mentality for work: sink or swim. I always put myself in situations where I knew I could pick it up without hesitation, I almost expected my new job to be the same. I was vulnerable in this moment, and I told her, “You’re right. I am rushing myself. I want to be good at things right away and not have to ask for help or have someone tell me what to do, but I know I need to be patient.” She nodded reassuringly, and reminded me that I was already doing a great job. It wasn’t the first time I had been vulnerable with her.

That’s another thing. Sure, there are plenty of times where you bare your soul to a coworker in the walk-in or on a slow evening. But for the most part, I consider food and retail relationships to be trauma bonds. You’ve just dealt with a rush with a bare bones crew, and you’re stressed. You all hate your new boss and wish things could go back to the way they were before. You went through the trenches together and are now war buddies. But suddenly, the only types of conversations you can have are horror stories and complaining sessions disguised as venting and validating. If you do get together outside of the workplace, all you seem to talk about is work. Now, I’m still finding myself having intellectual, philosophical, vulnerable conversations with my new coworkers, but walking away from it feeling renewed and seen, rather than empty and angry. We begin the day by sharing stories, go way past our thirty-minute lunch breaks sharing stories, and end the day sharing stories. No trauma dumping, no venting, just being.

It was never just my mind and social battery I was wearing down in food and retail. It was my body too. Tendinitis in my shoulder after two and a half years working in grocery store produce departments, lifting cases of food that was stacked way higher than it was legally required to be. Lower back, hip, and knee pain from standing or hours of working on my feet. Scouring floors and baseboards on my hands and knees, squeezing myself into tight spaces using cleaning chemicals without proper ventilation. Sore elbows from scrubbing grease off of walls and ovens. Hands that can withstand boiling water or hot surfaces because of years of wearing out these nerves to the point of numbness.

I wondered if my new job would help remedy these aches. While I had no idea I would be getting my own office (um… score?), I knew I would probably be doing quite a bit more sitting. Not that I thought sitting was the answer, but maybe it would help me incorporate more movement in my life that wasn’t the movement I was previously doing at work… Here was my logic: my typical day at Starbucks was 12 p.m. to 8:30 p.m., I needed to take it easy before work and keep strenuous mental and physical activity to a minimum, was on my feet for a good 90% of the shift, then came home exhausted, and had to do it all over again the next day.

I thought with a desk job I might have more energy to do yoga or go on walks at home. Wrong! I am still tired from the mental energy of the workday and need around three hours of resting at home before I’m ready to be a productive human being again. Worse, the frequent sitting is equally painful! Moral of the story is that I was in pain at a job on my feet and I’m in pain at a job on a desk. But at least now I can use my ten-minute break for a relieving deep stretch and breathwork instead of using it to scarf down food or go zombie-mode on my phone. At least now I have the mental energy to do the hobbies I love in some greater capacity like cooking, reading, and writing. A double whammy from graduating college and leaving a soul sucking job.

Lastly, I find myself jolted by the overall generosity of my new workplace. Of course, there’s a surface level truth in the fact that if non-profits want to excel, they must compensate their employees more than fairly. I wasn’t sure how this would translate into real life logistics in my case and was already pleased that I had negotiated the highest pay range for this job position in my interview. Indeed, time traveling back to the interview, I recall just how seen, valued, and validated I felt. Not only did my new boss and I hit it off right away, but she respected what I brought to the table as a potential employee, and also as a human being. Sure, this is bare minimum human decency, but not exactly something that comes naturally in the food and retail industry.

Another flashback to all of my interviews at places like Sprouts, Whole Foods, family-owned coffee shops, and eventually, Starbucks. Yes, the experiences you brought to the table were important, but what’s more important is, how easily can you be exploited? How available were you, how flexible? It’s best if you can be available to start work at 4 a.m. and end at 11 p.m. Willing to work overtime, holidays, weekends? How loyal were you to previous jobs, and will taking you on be a good investment or a waste of time? When it came to negotiating pay, I was either too young and naive to know that was an option, or worse, there was a set starting pay and if you didn’t like it, well, next!

Coming back into my most recent job interview, it was the first time an employer had actually recognized how overqualified I was. My new position is entry level, and I brought over a decade of customer service to the table, as well as a college degree in the natural sciences, an adaptable and efficient work ethic, and unique personality to boot. So, it wasn’t so much that I was overqualified for the position per say, but more like she recognized, without my address, that this was an obvious step down for me in terms of benefits, pay, and status. I assured her that that may have been true, but I was dead set on leaving the food and retail industry even if it meant a temporary step down. This is my career we are talking about, after all. I could no longer rationalize all of the ways in which I was compromising my mind, body, and values doing that kind of work. No shade to the game, but I’m out y’all!

We agreed on a wage, with a gentle reassurance that that was just the floor. Give it time, and show me what you are capable of, and then we’ll talk about an increase. While I’m not holding my breath on that promise, exactly, it still was the first time that I wasn’t low-balled into the dirt and recognized for the extremely desirable hire that I was. Even since then, there have been conversations around compensation that have never, ever been uttered in my entire work life.

“Driving to an offsite location? Don’t just log the time you were physically on the site; add the time it took you to drive there and back. Your miles look kind of low for the trip… what’s that? You only logged one way? Silly girl, log the miles for there and back, of course! Yes, you can work from home. I’ve made you eligible for the 401k match even though you are only part time. I didn’t send you this email because I wanted to respect your time off.”

I recognize that this is not so much of an admittance of how great my new employer is, but more so evidence of how manipulated and poorly compensated I have become during my time in food and retail. Like I’m fresh out of an abusive relationship and taking in the bare minimum as above-and-beyond compassion and respect. I know that my experience is uniquely my own, and I am, perhaps, one of the lucky ones. But I still can’t help but wonder… does everything work out for me because I truly believe it to be so, or do I believe everything works out for me because it always does?