The Best Decision Are Those Not Made

846 Words4 Pages
The Best Decision Are Those Not Made Why is speaking your mind so difficult? This question frequently enters my mind. 6 months ago, it was more prominent than ever. It all started when I got my first job. Style Encore, a consignment store, took a chance on me when I was 15. I was cultivated in buying and selling higher end used clothing. Working there changed my life drastically. Style Encore introduced me to skills and friends that will be with me for the rest of my life. The age variance of my co-workers and customers forced me to socialize with people I otherwise would not or could not approach. Being treated as their equal was foreign to me. Respect became something I never realized I wanted so desperately. This consignment store…show more content…
When I told Mary I needed to quit, I relayed to her some generic spiel instead of addressing the real problems. She tried to reason with me. There it was, in two weeks I would be leaving Style Encore. I struggled the days following that conversation. Close co-workers felt shocked and confused. Everyone seemed to want me to stay. Leaving was meant to offer me some kind of relief, but left me more confused than anything. Working the next few shifts made me really appreciate my co-workers. These people did really care about me. Part of me realized I did not know what I would do without Style Encore. My personality is one that tends to focus more on the negative than the positive. I let myself be bogged down by all the cons rather than the pros. I was the one who put the barrier between discussing anything I was feeling. Swallowing my pride was hard, but I now understood what I did was childish. I adored this job, but I let it go bad. The week and a half I had to mull my decision over, led into a much lighter conversation with Mary. That day I made sure to be a good 15 minutes early. Waves of ease went through my body as I walked back into our claustrophobic break room. I called her over to talk. Squeaking of her computer chair echoed through the room. She stood and walked over to me, promptly pulling out a seat for herself. “What did you want to talk about Elizabeth?” she inquired. “About last week, I think I changed my
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