Work

Chapter 1

For as long as I can remember, my life has never been easy. It was always spurs of the moment- inconsistent ups and downs and sudden turns (usually for the worst.) I grew up in Southern Alabama and lived on lots of land with my five brothers and sister. Our parents managed to put us through private school from kindergarten to our senior year in high school, despite my father being only the owner of a hardware store and my mom a waitress. My brothers all became successful and are businessmen, realtors, engineers, and accountants. My younger sister just recently became qualified to teach in schools. But I, Berlin Marie, have always been the "diffficult child." And my parents expected nothing less as I told them I planned to study journalism in college. I applied to University of Texas, and got in with a nice scholarship. My parents agreed to send me if I was able to pay back my student loans. Being out of state was hard, but I stuck it out and graduated with a major in journalism and a minor in pyschology. According to my parents, not very "practical" jobs, but they've always been supportive and always will be. Growing up, they were extemely traditional, and I think they wanted to become a restauranteur, my mother's dream job. Instead, I became a journalist. No doubt, there was some arguing over this, but they finally accepeted it.

I fell in love with LA. I fell in love with its opputunities, its possibilities, its "rough all over" ambiance it gave off. I currently live in the city of angels, am twenty six, living in an apartment, and, well, I suppose you could say I'm a struggling journalist. I don't want to go back home and hear it from my parents- because if there's one thing I am, it is stubborn. I'm ready to work, but the journalism field is so competitive, its absurd. My sister Jordan, who still lives in Alabama and I talk a lot, says that mom and dad can't wait to tell me, they "told me so." In case you can't tell, I got my stubbornness from them.

Yes, I live off of cup of noodles. Yes, I don't own a car. Yes, my current job stinks. But the trick is to embrace the weird.

About my job: I'm a retail store worker at Trés Chic in downtown LA. Unfortunately, I don't work with customers, but sit in the back room- each and every day- stringing price tags on. I'm a scrub, really. My boss thinks that I work the register, and techincially I should, but Eduardo, the store manager, thinks I'm not "trustworthy" enough to operate a simple, archaic machine. He's around fifty, and extremely bitter. So all day, every day, except Sundays, I sit stringing price tags from 9 in the morning until 3 in the afternoon. Well, that's my designated shift but I usually end up closing at 8 because Hillary, my coworker, is extremely lazy. But its not like I have anything better to do. So I cover for her, and don't even get recognized for it. My fingers always cramp from putting on the tags, scanning them, then putting them in piles. You would think there is a factory that does all this tedious nonsense, but like I said, our system is archaic. It really, really sucks, but its all I can do to pay the rent of my lowscale apartment.

I got out of bed, after much grumbling, and sat up. "Morning, sunshine," I grumbled to myself. "Another awesome day in the life of you, Berlin." I stared at myself in the closet mirror in my bedroom, ran a hand through my mousy brown hair, and sighed.

I dragged myself out to the kitchen and started to brew myself a cup of coffee. I sat down at the table and pulled out my laptop from my backpack.

My laptop is my life. I write so many stories on there, both real and not real. I sometimes write news events that go on around me, how I would convey the message if I was assigned that article. I write fiction, too. I browse the internet, and, well, I'm a blogger.

Blogging is an odd way I make money. I blog and vlog. My blog, theberlinwall, is actually pretty popular. I write stories, yes, but also blog about nutrition, health, fashion, hair, and home decorating (yet I live in an apartment.) Moms like my tips, teens like my relatability, and its very easy to read.

I vlog on hair and fashion at burrrritsberlin. By no means do I want to become famous, but I like the extra money. I happen to have an excellent sense of fashion, and name the braid and I can do it. I have brown hair to my mid back that's very compatible. I would vlog about makeup, except I don't wear much, because I don't actually need it. I've got nice skin, and in the morning I put on some mascara and a little foundation.

I sat at the table, ate a bagel, drank my coffee, and added some more diy crafts that could be done with old necklaces to my blog. I finished, took my vitamins, and showered. After, I put in some earrings, and dresed. I know I just sit in the back room, but I alaays try to look presentable in hopes of getting either promoted or maybe that our boss comes in.I blow dried my hair, strapped on some flats, grabbed my keys to the store, my purse and headed out of my apartment to Trés Chic.