Well, as of October 12th, I am no longer a happy team member at Trader Joe’s. Those days were good but I’m glad that I’m no longer working seventy-hour weeks. I’ve been accepted into the Massage Therapy Program at the Swedish Institute. I have my registration and orientation on Thursday and then classes begin on January 2nd. I’m excited. I was intending to attend full-time but randomly discovered that I’m not able to do so. It was during the routine re-certification interview for my apartment.
Every year, my finances have to be evaluated to determine the current number of low-income units in my building. When I was shown my projected income for 2008, I was surprised that it was so high. I realized that my representative had factored in another year of steady work at Trader Joe’s so I informed her that I was no longer working there. Immediately after the words came out of my mouth, I realized that the whole situation looked a bit suspicious. My last day at the grocery store was only four days prior to my re-certification appointment and I couldn’t help but think that my exit would appear as a means for me to maliciously manipulate my current income. Truly, the only reason that I was at Trader Joe’s was for the health insurance and, after six months of hard work, I was able to get some holes in my teeth fixed, a new pair of glasses, and a whole battery of routine blood tests. It actually had very little to do with the money.
I decided to offer my rationale for quitting. So I told Jacqueline that I had to leave Trader Joe’s in order to balance my load a bit before attending school in January. I hadn’t yet been accepted at the time, but it was all a part of the plan. Fine. So she sent me on my way with the promise that I would receive a letter from her (that I’d have to sign,) confirming that I was no longer at Trader Joe’s. Fine. Five minutes later, while on my bicycle on the way to yoga, I received a phone call from Jacqueline. She asked me if I planned to be a full-time student. My entrance interview at the Swedish Institute was two days later and I did, in fact, plan to attend full-time in order to complete the program in sixteen months.
I found out, for the first time, that full-time students are not eligible for this particular type of subsidized housing. It’s a simple stipulation and there’s no way around it. (TRUST ME, I researched.) Although my plans are going to be altered and although the program will take twice as long to complete, I don’t really have a choice. I have to either be patient or lose my apartment. For those of you who’ve seen my apartment, I think you’ll know why I’ve compromised. But I’m trying to consider it to be a blessing. If I were to attend full-time, I would have had a busier schedule than I’ve had for the past six months, while I was a Grocery Joe. I’m sure I’ll be better off with the additional time to absorb all of the material. I’m just glad that I HAPPENED to mention that I was planning to be a student. You can’t imagine how devastated I’d be if I ignorantly enrolled and was later kicked out of my palace.
Nonetheless, the Trader Joe’s legacy has come to an end. After returning from Hawaii, I worked two more shifts at the store before retiring my nametag and T-shirt. It was just in time too. There’s all this controversy about an article that was published in New York Magazine. Have a look for yourself. The journalist got a job at the store and was selling lightly sweetened, dried hibiscus flowers at the register right alongside mine. I’m glad that she didn’t write anything about me; the whole thing was somewhat scandalous. The article basically states that customers return to the store and wait in obscenely long lines because of the attractive employees rather than the quality of the products. I think it’s true and I actually think that the article does a pretty decent job of accurately describing what it’s like to work there (but I’m careful to admit such a thing because most people are up in arms as they feel that they’ve been misrepresented. You’ll understand if you read the article.)
But with the grocery store now behind me, I’ve been able to devote a bit more time to my yoga. Yay. People have been asking me what I’ve been doing with my time. I actually don’t have that much more time. I guess I’m just one of those people who will be perpetually busy regardless of how many things I’m doing. Last Thursday, I completed a 26-day streak of teaching without a single day off. And on top of that, this past Sunday was my 120th consecutive day without missing a day of taking class. So between teaching and taking…I’ve been occupied. (But I’ve still found some more time to spruce up my blog a bit!) I’ve also been trying to get eight hours of sleep these days. It’s kind of humbling going to bed at 8:30pm but it’s well worth it when I have to teach eight classes in 48 hours…as I did last week.
And of course yoga does not stop for Halloween. At the Lower East Side studio, we’re encouraged to dress up while taking class. It’s loads of fun and there are even some prizes to be won. My tactic for winning the ‘Hottest Costume’ prize was to come up with the most ridiculous outfit to wear in a 110° room. So I made a nametag and bought a winter jacket: I was a ski instructor.





I even made a sleeve for my coffee.



I didn’t win the prize, but everyone was impressed that I made it through the entire class without even unzipping.
In addition to increasing my core temperature in that coat, I’ve recently noticed a little bit of a surge in my class attendance. Now, I can’t attribute this entirely to the fact that people like my class or that people are actually seeking me out as an instructor but I consider it to be good news that, rather than my average 11-person class, the past couple Saturdays I’ve taught a 29 and 35-person class. Last Monday I taught thirty-six people in one class. Although a big part of it has to do with the fact that this is the time of year that people start to appreciate the hot workout more, my superiors were generous enough to offer me a bit of a salary increase. And who can contest with that…cold, hard cash?