A few weeks ago, I got my first whiff of celebrity status. And it was horrifying.
I got a text from my boy James, a member of the POC posse at a former job. We’d stayed in touch over the years, and he’s elevated to a meme swap acquaintance — basically a half-rung below what I’d consider a friend. It’s always good to hear from him, though, and when his name popped up on my phone, I was already prepared for a good laugh. His latest correspondence, however, wasn’t a silly TikTok video or Bernie Sanders Photoshop job.
Buckle up: The annual barrage of immaculate Thanksgiving feasts and struggle plates alike will fill our social media feeds in just a few short days. I know I said letting my co-workers follow me on social media was a strong never gonna happen, but I’ve gotta admit that I’m reconsidering this year — with Big ‘Rona shutting down the office, it’s my chance to see what the (in)famous annual company potluck would have held for me.
This being my first full year at the new gig, it was supposed to be my first potluck too, and I’d already heard enough…
One of my proudest life achievements was not getting fired in my 21 years as a journalist.
When I accepted a buyout last year at a newspaper I’d worked at since graduating college, I was one of the lucky few in the journalism industry who got to exit on my terms. I saw many colleagues switch workplaces in frustration over career stagnation; others got laid off during the inevitable budget cutbacks. Very talented people I worked with changed careers completely when the journalism career mountain became too treacherous to keep a toehold.
Hard work and anxious nerves led to longevity…