There’s always the fact that I’ve been working since I was sixteen, either part-time or full time, and I’m not used to being at home all day with nothing to do. There are a few shows I’ve been dying to binge-watch. I could make myself a planter for inside the house and expand my cactus growing skills. I could foster a cat to see if it’d work out for me. I could try and learn a new hobby. But after that? What am I supposed to fill up all my hours with?
Thinking about hours makes me think about nights, and thinking about nights makes me think about dates, and thinking about dates makes me think about Cliff. I have this strange tingle in my stomach when I think about him. About those unread messages. It feels a little bit like dread, so I smother my inherent need to worry, stuff my resumes into my tote, and escape my apartment.
A few hours later, I’ve handed out all my resumes. Out of all ten stores I went to, none of them said they were hiring, but they all took my resume anyway. I got two compliments on my vintage wool coat, and another on my boots. I even had one girl I didn’t know say she liked my tote, even though it’s new and not vintage at all. It is bright yellow, though, which, according to her, is a super trendy color right now.
I feel slightly deflated on the drive home. I’m not one of those eat your feelings kind of people, but I am craving pizza. I haven’t had it forever. Since I technically have no job, I don’t opt for the expensive, extra delicious takeout option. Instead, I stop for a few groceries. Everyone says to buy healthy things when your mood is off—to help give you the energy to get your butt in gear and stay in gear—so I treat myself to a bag of grapefruits since I love them, a salad kit, a loaf of raisin toast, a tub of cream cheese, and two frozen pizzas.
Back at home, I pop the ham and pineapple pizza into the oven. My stove is ancient, and the oven doesn’t get overly hot. As I know it’s going to be at least an hour to cook a twenty-minute pizza, I wander into the living room and sprawl out on the couch.
I check my phone for what feels like the hundredth time. Cliff still hasn’t read my messages. Now I’m getting kind of worried. Sweaty palms kind of worried. Maybe I should have emailed. Now I don’t want to because I feel like that would be overkill. Maybe I should call. Should I call? Should I text my sister? And tell her what?
Hey, Janice, so that guy I was trying to arrange dates for? Well, I messed all of it up by letting him know I have feelings for him, and we sort of got it on in an old barn. Hmm, not sort of. We totally did, and it was AMAZING, and now I quit my job, and he’s not answering any of my messages. He’s not even reading them. Is that bad? Should I be worried? Oh, and by the way, I have no idea what I want to do with my life. Actually, that’s not true. I do. I just have no idea how to get there.
Even as the thought flies through my brain, I jolt upright on the couch.
I do know what I want to do with my life. I want to own my own vintage shop. I want to work in one. I just want to do something with vintage clothing because I know it, and I love it. I wouldn’t call myself an expert, but I do know quite a bit. I’m a good thrifter too. In fact, I decorated my apartment almost entirely with thrift store finds. I love vintage furniture and art, and I’m pretty good at finding good deals at garage sales and even auctions. It’s the right season for sales. I didn’t know what I would do with all my free time, but now I have an idea of how to fill all those extra hours.
There are a ton of retro and vintage sites that I follow. Some businesses are only online. Some operate through social media, and they make a lot of their sales that way. They direct traffic to their website or to other sites. Some sell from apps too. And however they do it, the point is they don’t have a storefront. They don’t have the overhead cost of the rent for a building or all the bills that entail. If I wanted to have my own store, why couldn’t I do it right now? I could make a business page, put a few things on, and go from there. I know it would likely take a lot of advertising power, but as I already follow so many vintage sites, maybe I’d get some traction just from people checking me out from all the times I’ve commented on their pages. I know I’ve crept on other people’s pages countless times. I could do some low-key advertising on social media or even on classifieds sites and see how it goes. I really wouldn’t be risking anything, and I could keep looking for a job. Maybe, if it works out, I could even find a job and do it on the side until I could grow it enough to support myself or start a real storefront.
The smell of something
