A Hard Worker...

So, here I am, trying to write something for money. Why? Because I need it. I have one child, myself, an apartment, and not much else except for many bills and a ton of health problems that need to be taken care of.

I'm not trying to get pity. My life is as good as it'll get, I'm sure. If it does get any better, then that's great. I am trying to make it even better as the years go by.

I am a cashier at one of the local convenience stores in my town. I work for A whole 9.21 dollars an hour. I am aware that people with my experience are paid more. But here's the thing; I was dealt a bad hand in life. It's a fact that anywhere I go, I will always work hard for not much pay. Exploitation. I am aware. I am painfully aware. I'm always looking for a better higher paying job. But as my luck would have it, I am either over-qualified or under-qualified. I'm in the minority. No one wants to hire a single mom with no driver’s license, no car, and no other skills other than what’s on my resume.

I'm a very knit-picky person when it comes to cleanliness too. I can be overly friendly. Or I can be excessively mean. That's because I have a sort of disability. I have Major Depression. Living with major depression was horrible without medication. I was always down on everything. Especially myself. I never knew how to stay positive. I was always exhausted. Slept way too much. Or I didn't sleep at all.

When I became stressed, I cleaned. I cleaned everything. I didn't stop to eat. When I got thirsty, I drank while I cleaned. Usually, it was tea or water. I usually made dinner promptly at 5 p.m. because if I didn't, no one else would have it done in time for dinner at 6 p.m. And there were days where I didn't make dinner at all. I was too depressed and sad or sick feeling to do any of it.

And then we moved.

I began feeling a little better about my life and how things were turning out. My daughter was beginning to be a happier kid. And I had started a new job. A really good paying job. I was actually able to buy myself and my I began feeling a little better about my life and how things were turning out. My daughter was starting to be a happier kid. And I had started a new job. An excellent paying job. I was able to buy myself and my kiddo nice things, and I was able to help pay bills and everything else. And for two whole years, everything was good.

Then it wasn't all of a sudden. I began having seizures or episodes of passing out again. I had been to the doctor about all of it before, but they'd never found anything. They required upwards of $1,000 upfront on the sport before scheduling another appointment to look further into the matter. My family was poor—end of the story.

Things at work would make my depression much worse. I was, for one, the only white female in the entire kitchen. Everyone else was either male, Spanish, or black. My manager and the assistant manager were Spanish. I was never adequately trained either. Then the kitchen manager was fired for not teaching people correctly or at all. I liked everyone I worked with, even though I didn't know any Spanish at all. I still understood everything they showed me. They even stood up for me when they thought I was in trouble. We all had so much fun working together. I loved it there.

Well, I did. They gave the kitchen management position to one of the assistant managers, and I disliked him much. He always tried to make me look like a lazy fool. I was always trying to take on a few different duties. Like making tortillas and making sure our station was ready for the morning rush. But the tortillas always gave me trouble. Especially if no one slightly oiled the tortilla press.

Here is where things get incredibly stressful...

My little brother, whom I love very much, brought home a used futon cushion one day. Now, I am all about used stuff for cheap and stuff. But this one was not a good deal at all. This cushion dealt me the worst hand I've ever had in my life. And that was because it had bedbugs.

Now, you know how costly this pest can be for those of you who've had bedbugs. It was so expensive that I had to sell all of my investments to pay pest control to come to take care of it. Alone.

I even re-packed everything. I had to steam clean all of our furniture and ended up throwing all of it away anyway. I moved all of our clothes and other stuff into a storage building as well. I paid for the bill for nearly a year before my brother finally asked to get his property back.

My brother had left to go to Dallas with his at-the-time girlfriend, who later decided she didn't love him. She had said she was using him. I had already known that she was using him.

I moved everything out of the apartment by myself while working six days a week for two weeks. I couldn't even stay in my apartment. I was allergic to the bedbugs in my mattress. My daughter didn't even know what was going on. I became so hyper-aware of the bedbugs that I felt I developed PTSD from the trauma.

No one could say the word "bedbugs" without me starting to scratch at my skin. And even when my boyfriend had it while I was living with him, I would scratch and get stressed out to the point of almost passing out.

At the beginning of last year, I did pass out while trying to donate blood for my aunt. I wasn't able to donate. They sent me home, and while on the way, my boyfriend had to pull over and let me puke on the side of the road. He even made me call into work that day as well. I rarely call into work, even if I pass out.

I would work so much that even the customers that came in would ask when my next day off would be. I would tell them, but sure enough, almost every time, I would inevitably get called in just because someone else didn't want to work or couldn't.

Even at my new job, for the last two weeks, I had been working every day. My actual last day off was January 1oth. I had worked so far before that day off a straight 15 days from a day off previous to this last one. And yes, the corporate was not happy. But I don't care. I don't even get recognized for what I do around there. I haven't gotten a raise in the almost three years of cashiering I've done, and I'm beginning to lose hope that I ever will get anywhere other than being a cashier.

Even if I tried to apply to be an assistant manager again, or a manager, or try to be an accountant or anything of that sort, I would likely still get turned down for the job. Arguments wouldn't help the situation either.

I am always looking for a better-paying job. Forever applying to anything and everything, I think I could be happier and better off at. But I've never gotten a callback. And I have so many skills. I can type pretty fast, I am always looking to learn something, and I am in college to better myself. I look forward to making more money. But I like helping people as well. Like it legitimately puts a smile on my face when I can help someone with something. I have been told by so many customers that I am super friendly and very detail-oriented. I pay attention to so much. I can do so much. And yet, my hard work is going towards someone else as credit. It, so far, has happened at every single job I've had, even if I were to speak up.

When will my hard work be recognized and fully credited to me, I wonder?