How an Odd Job is Teaching Me That I’m Not Really That Odd After All

Sometimes, the work you didn’t know you were looking for, comes looking for you, as a restlessly questing millennial discovers while drifting between travel, study, and whatever the ever-changing  future may hold in store

Bored and broke, I walk through the sliding doors into the cool, glass-fronted restaurant. Below the main building and tasting rooms, vineyard-covered slopes give way to a clear sea view. People in smart-casual attire sip white wine in the shade beyond the French doors. I stand alone by the reception desk, knotted hair and a hole in my t-shirt, a garish yellow folder under my arm containing my résumé.

I spy a bald man bent over a bookings list in the corner and, walking up to him, ask politely who I can speak to about hiring. He looks me up and down with a glare. He snatches the folder from my hands and pulls out the CV, crumpling it slightly in the process. “I’ll call you in for an interview if you’re needed,” he mutters, before disappearing into a backroom, presumably to dispose of it.

“I see you’ve shaved!” My eyes refocused, coming back into the present moment after the umpteenth mental rerun of the afternoon’s mild humiliation. I touched my face. Had I shaved? I was working behind the counter, making juice for my mother’s business at the regular Wednesday Night-Market. Before me stood a small but muscular man of around 40. He’s a regular client of ours – I think he lived in the States for a few years, based on his accent. I shot him a grin.

“Yeah, I went to hand in my résumé at this restaurant earlier. Trying to get a real job.”

“And, how’d that go?”

“Not too well, but that might not be a bad thing. I don’t know how well I would have slotted in there.”

“How much were they going to pay you?”

“Thirty an hour plus tips – so that would have amounted to about five grand in two months, I suppose.”

“What if I could match that?”

I looked at him for a moment, dumbstruck, yet curious. What did he mean by that? What did I have to offer him? We went through a bit of my background – my school results, my six months at UCT, my recent  travels up the coast, my plans for the near future. He nodded, asking short, poignant questions.

It turned out that his life had recently fallen into a state of chaos. I was right – he had lived in the States – and it had been while he was there that he had made some money in startups focussed on healthy living. In the early 2010’s he’d returned to South Africa in an attempt to capitalise on the growing superfood trend in Cape Town and Joburg. A divorce, the upcoming sale of one of his properties and multiple health-crises had, however, left him in a frazzled state.

Following him into his new home the next morning, it became apparent just how dire the situation was. He handed me a bunch of random keys, all of which needed labelling. His beans needed sprouting. He ran outside to greet his daughter, a five-year-old redhead wild child. Fifteen minutes later he was back inside. “Best day of my life! My daughter can ride a bicycle!”

He introduced me to his neighbour, a slightly dopey Indian man in his mid 30s. “This is our local Swamiji – all he does is meditate all day.”

“He’s lying, I have an actual job – I’m a graphic designer,” the other man retorted before beckoning me over to show me his hand-crafted guitar, a DIY project that had consumed his last four months. It seemed South-Eastern mysticism was going to be a recurring theme as I began to find little laminated photos of gurus everywhere. Before I knew it I was already on the job, making calls and sending long voice-notes, matching names to faces. I was going to work this gig, and work it hard.

Already the benefits of being employed (aside from earning cash) are becoming apparent. I needed something to pull me out of my post-travel depression, something to get me out of bed in the morning.

There’s such satisfaction to be found in getting stuff done, in ticking off the to-dos. It seems to generate passion in other spheres as well. My writing is back on track and I’ve started a blog and a separate Instagram account for my poetry. Yesterday I collected my camera from a friend and I’ve been snapping away in the spring evening air.

I’ve met so many people and learnt so many things in the past two weeks – things about myself as well as general truths about the working world. I’ve learnt that despite being labelled a ‘loskop’ by parents and past teachers, I actually can be organised, and that despite my introversion I actually have a lot of confidence in myself and my ability to accomplish difficult tasks.

It’s a rough transition but it’s exciting and challenging, and honestly, waiting tables never has appealed to me.


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