Construction

At 24 years of age I finished my master’s degree in marine biology. I like water and I love sea creatures, and I love the idea of discovering a new species someday. Getting a master’s in marine biology is easy if it’s your passion but finding a job afterwards can be a problem—they virtually don’t exist.

I wish someone had warned me about the slim job prospects in the marine biology field, maybe I would’ve minored in marine biology instead of going to grad school for it. At least my bachelor’s is for something useful: literature.

With student loans piled up and an ever-hungry stomach I had to take a job in different field. Regrettably, I chose construction. There is a big high-rise project downtown and my buddy, Chase, encouraged me to apply. He’s worked construction before and he told me it can be rewarding.

They hired me on as a laborer; something that surprised me because I’m built like a stick. I showed up for my first day and immediately realized I was about half the size of everyone else on the crew. All the other guys had big forearms and could carry multiple bags of concrete at a time; I could barely carry one.

Right off the bat I felt the men didn’t like me very much, and I noticed was the only one with a degree and the only one who didn’t smoke or chew tobacco. Maybe they were threatened by my intellect, or maybe it was because they thought I wasn’t useful because of my smaller arms. They treated me like an outcast and would snicker to themselves when I’d walk out of earshot. I showed up every day and put in a full day’s work, but to them that wasn’t enough.

A couple weeks into my tenure at the construction company one of the other workers, Gary, was helping me carry a large steel pipe across the jobsite. Gary seemed alright, and I asked him why nobody liked me. He said it was because I wasn’t one of them.

I went home that night and laid in my bed for a long time, thinking about what Gary had said. I felt sad that I didn’t fit in, but part of me didn’t want to fit in. I knew he was right, and I wasn’t cut out to be a laborer.

The next day I decided I would have to find a different job. I brought a nice change of clothes to the jobsite and left them in my car. On my lunchbreak I slipped them on and applied in-person to a pub nearby. I must have impressed the manager with my knowledge of craft brews because they hired me on the spot.

I don’t make as much money as I did in construction, but I am enjoying my new environment. My coworkers are smart, and funny, and hip, and just as slender as I am. The pub has a very trendy feel and the bar is made of real oak. A lot of our customers wear colored jeans and sport quirky feathered hats. I fit in here.

When I look out the glass windows in the front of the pub I can see the jobsite down the street. I recognize my old crew, but I don’t wave; I watch them lift materials and use heavy equipment to build the massive high-rise. Sometimes I wonder if they know about the awesome bar right down the block where I now work, but even if they did, I bet they wouldn’t come in. They’re not one of us.