The Job

My daughter-in-law works as the general manager of fitness club. She does a fantastic job, and has a loyal group of employees. As confident as I am in her as a manager, there is one thing I never expected: that’d she offer ME a job at her gym!

The job was not one that would require skills I did not possess, in other words, I was reasonably confident that I had the capability to perform the work. The position was to work at the desk of the spa and beauty salon within the club. You may remember, however, from previous blogs that me and physical fitness have never been the best of friends. My conundrum then is how do I handle the offer? Initially, I was flattered to think at my age someone would be interested in hiring me. Then it came to me- what was I thinking? I was in no way their typical employee. I am old, not just kinda old, I am retired old. I am also not well versed on how to use exercise equipment- what if they wanted me to show how to use the stationary bike and I got so winded after riding it .1 mile that I had to get supplemental oxygen?! I can only use a treadmill if I am hanging on to the bars for dear life, and don’t even get me started on using the elliptical machine!

The irony of me working in a gym doesn’t stop there, for I would be working in a salon- me who has no hair, who can not style hair, who has skin that is so sun spotted I could be a leopard. To top it off, my habit of nervous babbling would be the real concern I had about working at a front desk. I blab on incessantly about the weirdest stuff when I get nervous. I would babble about being semi bald, telling them my nickname could be Mr. Clean. I would most likely start telling customers my history of how I had thyroid problems and that caused me to lose hair. I would share embarrassing exerpts of when I had my goiter removed and my voice turned low and deep making me sound like a sexy female Barry White. I might blab about how in an effort to regrow my thin hair, I put Rogaine on it and grew sideburns. Oh I am pretty sure that I would either scare customers away from the department or bore them to death. Either way, I would be the talk of of the gym and my fellow co-workers would be sorry for my daughter-in-law that she was related to such a putz.

This was assuming I would even be offered the job. Going through an interview could be the deal breaker. While I am a competent human being who was gainfully employed for 40 plus years, going through an interview makes me break out in hives. I get so nervous that I feel like I am going to hurl. I perspire so much because of nerves that I should conduct the interview in my swimsuit. Each interviewer would need a can of deodorant to hand me prior to answering the question they asked. I once welled up into tears during an interview and all they had asked me so far was to share my background. Hard to believe I got the job after that disastrous interview!

So there you have it. While I am flattered, I have no choice but to decline the offer. I know my limitations, so I know I could never say yes to this opportunity. I am just not ready for prime time. I can’t be set loose in public. Who knows what would happen?