I had a dream the other night. I
dreamt that I was in a huge, warehouse-like furniture store. I was with my
sister and we were looking at those bedroom sets which are on display and give
you the impression that for a moment you actually live there. We sauntered along
from one “room” to another, admiring the various furnishings and carvings in
the wood. Taking a wrong turn, I found myself in an area different to the
previous one I had been standing in; this time there were chests of drawers and
lampshades. Poking out of one of the draws was a pair of blue boxer shorts that
had an odd triangle design sewn into them. My intuition told me that I had to
seek out a sales assistant to cut along the perimeter of the triangle. So I went
in search of a person who bore the furniture stores’ logo, and I requested that
she help me to complete the task that was required of me. That’s when realised
that I was the only customer in the store, for as I turned around to look at my
surroundings, there were sales assistants and store workers everywhere, going
about their jobs and being useful, while I stood there like a lump, every passer-by
failing to notice me. That’s when I woke up.
The images conjured in our minds during the course of our sleep are said to resemble how we feel in our waking life, or that they have some kind of connection to it somehow. Being the incredibly analytical person that I am, more often than not I find myself coming out of my dream state with an extreme curiosity at what I just saw. What I think my furniture store dream represents is my underlying desire to work. Sometimes I feel as though I am cruising through my teenage years, going shopping and looking at art deco and what not, while others my age are slaving away in shops all over the place, earning money to pay for their future car and so they can independently purchase goods with their own savings, rather than relying on their parents like me. The sales assistants that were all around me in my dream represented these people, moving into the adult world, as I stood where I was, not even attempting to break out of the comforts of parental assistance when it comes to money.
Why does it seem like I am the only fifteen year old out there without a job? Whenever I’m in a public place that has shops about, I am forever noticing customers being served by someone who goes to high school, or worse, looks even younger than me – one of those fresh-faced fifteen year olds' in year nine who has their birthday before everyone else. Most of my friends work, using their own bank cards to pay for clothes and food on those outings we go on together. On one occasion a friend of mine even gasped when I produced a $50 note from my cash-filled purse to pay for some sushi. “Wow, how much money do you earn Simone?” was her response. Awkwardly enough, I had to inform her that the money was given to me by my parents to pay for today, where she gave me a look of disapproval, obviously objecting the spoilt-little-girl thing I appeared to have going on with my parents. Not that I am spoilt. I mean, in our household we use our own money to pay for things. Like, whenever I receive Christmas or birthday money, my parents record it under my name, and whenever me or my sister buy new perfume or clothes, that amount is deducted from the original amount. Though when you compare me to the friend who has her own savings account, where she can deposit her hard-earned wages into, my situation with money looks pretty pathetic, really.
Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to work and make money, in fact, I’m looking into applying for a job, to add another extracurricular activity to keep my schedule full. The thought that keeps crossing my mind though, is what if I’ve left it too late? What happens if all of the places I apply to have no jobs on offer and reject me? What if I am forever unemployed for the rest of my life because I failed to kick-start my career when I was fifteen? I know, I’m overreacting. But seriously. Let’s put this into perspective here. People are forever quitting casual and part time jobs, so a vacant position is bound to come up sooner or later. If I do get rejected, then I’ll try someplace else, no big deal.
Neither of my parents had jobs when they were my age. Both entered the workforce as adults, studying part time in their early twenties – and look at them now. My mum managed to afford a unit after saving for years, right? Hopefully I’ve inherited her money-managing ways. And realistically speaking, there are others out there, who are even older than me in year eleven and twelve, who don’t have jobs. That doesn’t make them any less of a person. Maybe they don’t have time and already have their plates full? There is no written rule that you have to work when you are fifteen. Anyway, if I don’t finish this post soon, all of the job vacancies out there really will disappear. Reality, here I come...
The images conjured in our minds during the course of our sleep are said to resemble how we feel in our waking life, or that they have some kind of connection to it somehow. Being the incredibly analytical person that I am, more often than not I find myself coming out of my dream state with an extreme curiosity at what I just saw. What I think my furniture store dream represents is my underlying desire to work. Sometimes I feel as though I am cruising through my teenage years, going shopping and looking at art deco and what not, while others my age are slaving away in shops all over the place, earning money to pay for their future car and so they can independently purchase goods with their own savings, rather than relying on their parents like me. The sales assistants that were all around me in my dream represented these people, moving into the adult world, as I stood where I was, not even attempting to break out of the comforts of parental assistance when it comes to money.
Why does it seem like I am the only fifteen year old out there without a job? Whenever I’m in a public place that has shops about, I am forever noticing customers being served by someone who goes to high school, or worse, looks even younger than me – one of those fresh-faced fifteen year olds' in year nine who has their birthday before everyone else. Most of my friends work, using their own bank cards to pay for clothes and food on those outings we go on together. On one occasion a friend of mine even gasped when I produced a $50 note from my cash-filled purse to pay for some sushi. “Wow, how much money do you earn Simone?” was her response. Awkwardly enough, I had to inform her that the money was given to me by my parents to pay for today, where she gave me a look of disapproval, obviously objecting the spoilt-little-girl thing I appeared to have going on with my parents. Not that I am spoilt. I mean, in our household we use our own money to pay for things. Like, whenever I receive Christmas or birthday money, my parents record it under my name, and whenever me or my sister buy new perfume or clothes, that amount is deducted from the original amount. Though when you compare me to the friend who has her own savings account, where she can deposit her hard-earned wages into, my situation with money looks pretty pathetic, really.
Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to work and make money, in fact, I’m looking into applying for a job, to add another extracurricular activity to keep my schedule full. The thought that keeps crossing my mind though, is what if I’ve left it too late? What happens if all of the places I apply to have no jobs on offer and reject me? What if I am forever unemployed for the rest of my life because I failed to kick-start my career when I was fifteen? I know, I’m overreacting. But seriously. Let’s put this into perspective here. People are forever quitting casual and part time jobs, so a vacant position is bound to come up sooner or later. If I do get rejected, then I’ll try someplace else, no big deal.
Neither of my parents had jobs when they were my age. Both entered the workforce as adults, studying part time in their early twenties – and look at them now. My mum managed to afford a unit after saving for years, right? Hopefully I’ve inherited her money-managing ways. And realistically speaking, there are others out there, who are even older than me in year eleven and twelve, who don’t have jobs. That doesn’t make them any less of a person. Maybe they don’t have time and already have their plates full? There is no written rule that you have to work when you are fifteen. Anyway, if I don’t finish this post soon, all of the job vacancies out there really will disappear. Reality, here I come...
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