I’d Rather Starve!
When was the last time since your middle adolescence that you uttered a sentence that began with. “I’d rather starve than {fill in the blank}!” As much as I know that I am a bit of a diva, I have no memory of ever making such an inane statement. In order to feed myself, my cats or any potential kids I might have, I’d do a heck of a lot of shit. That kind of dramatic diva declaration (DDD, for short), is reserved for those who have never been broke or hungry. People, for example, like my husband.
Let me put this into some context. Mason started working at a retail job about 2.5 weeks ago. I was thrilled that he had overcome his divo-dom and deigned to do a “recovery job.” A “recovery job” is defined as any job that doesn’t have high enough status for him to admit to someone who asks what he does for a living. My husband is so very concerned about money and status. Having a “recovery job” is a failing in his mind. But he’s not been able to get a “status job” in the past several years. And any “recovery job” he gets, he finds a way to get fired because he doesn’t like doing it. And not liking a job is a real reason to avoid putting any effort and accountability into it. Well at least in his mind, it is.
Yet finally a month or so ago, we had a breakthrough…or so I thought. He understood that a “recovery job” was valid work that would help him build character, work his program, and move back into the house. I was thrilled because I really thought that he was beginning to understand “the work ethic” that he seemed to lack. He went and interviewed at this retail store and was hired immediately. It was that simple after months of his foot dragging.
He started work two and a half weeks ago. And it went downhill from there. He was hired to do sales, but they asked him to work in their stockroom during their inventory/refurbishment. Next I hear that he asked to go home because his feet hurt one Sunday early on. His feet hurt?!! And honestly this man feels that feet hurting is a valid reason to go home sick. Then again he comes from a family where if one gets a hangnail, one takes to his/her bed. I was appalled but said nothing.
Yesterday we had to meet in order to get some papers signed in order to sell the house. The notary who told me to “come any time” was at lunch when he arrived. We were directed to another branch and drove there but she wouldn’t notarize the documents without an appointment, since they were extensive. So all the plans got screwed up. We worried that the delay in getting them signed (since our schedules wouldn’t align again until Friday) would cause us to not be done in time for the closing on the new house. He suggested taking off work the next day (today) in order to get the papers signed.
“Are you sure you want to do that?” I asked, knowing how little employers liked having their new employees take time off. My asking that question caused him to get into a huff with me. It turned out to be prophetic. But after his huffiness and statements that he would rather lose the job than the house, I suggested option 3: each of us get the papers signed individually by notaries according to our own schedules. He said that he hadn’t thought of that. Of course not. I’m the problem solver, I thought.
Today, still smarting from yesterday’s mini-drama, he called to say that the assistant manager told him what a great job he was doing and that since things were slow, he could take the afternoon off. So he planned to come to my office again to get the papers signed.
We managed to get the papers signed without too much incident and then had an emotional discussion about yesterday’s huffiness. I left feel pretty positive, until I received a text message from him later.
In the text message he said that he had been fired but it wasn’t a big deal since he had a second interview for a better job on Friday. He ended it with “love you!” I was in shock. I called him and the first words out of my mouth were, “You were fired?!”
He explained that the assistant manager (a different one than the one he spoke to this morning, it seems) called him and said that his a) leaving early because his feet hurt, b) coming in late yesterday, and c) taking time off today all spoke to his not being happy with the job and it wasn’t working out. They said that he shouldn’t bother coming in tomorrow. I listened to all this in shock. He, on the other hand, is absolutely fine. “I’m OK with this,” he tells me. “They said I would be working in sales and they kept me in the stockroom. It wasn’t the job I was hired to do. It was a bait and switch. I’m glad to be out of it.”
“But you were fired,” I said as calmly as I could, “again.” He seemed to be missing this important point. He had underperformed because he disliked the job (as usual) and basically asked to get fired.
“They wanted me to be a stockboy!” he railed.
“So what?” I replied. “It was a job when you didn’t have one.”
“Well,” he said in true divo fashion, “I’d rather starve than continue being a stockboy!”
Lord, he still didn’t get it, I realized. The tears well up in my eyes again. My husband says that he will do anything for me, our marriage, and any children we might have…as long as it doesn’t include having his feet hurt as a stockboy. How selfish can one man be?
“So if I dislike my job, then I get to underperform and get fired?” I asked.
“If I were making your salary, it would be different,” he countered.
“Oh, so we’re back to the ‘a job is only worth it if it pays enough’ mode of thinking,” I shot back.
I know that he’s an addict and as such has many entitlement fantasies. But you know what? After years of unemployment, it is time to have some humility and do what you have to do to save yourself and your marriage. But not my husband. He’ll do it as long as it doesn’t hurt. As long as he likes it. Otherwise firing and more divo drama ensue.
He didn’t want to talk any more about my concerns because he needed to take a nap. (Divo, anyone?)
I, having been left to sit with this bombshell, tried to make some program calls. I didn’t reach anyone.
So now I’m home waiting for him to be available for the frank, not-so-pleasant discussion that we are about to have. Originally I had said that in order for him to move back into the house, three conditions had to be met:
- Open his mail
- Pay his bills
- Obtain full time employment
These are truly not unreasonable things to ask of a spouse. While he was doing the first two on the list, he resisted #3 for a long time because of the whole “recovery job” “status job” discord in his head. Finally it seemed like he understood that the best thing he could do to support himself, me, and our marriage was to work at a job…any job. But I should have known that his programming was too strong. The minute I heard that he’d left work because his feet hurt, that should have prepared me for the firing. It didn’t.
Nothing has changed. He still doesn’t understand the concept of doing work you don’t like to do in order to earn a paycheck. He doesn’t have a work ethic. He’d rather continue to be a divo, a prince, and rely on the forgiveness or largesse of others (such as his landlord who he hasn’t paid in two months). Clearly the man knows nothing of hunger, want and desperation. He just doesn’t get it.
Well you know what? If you’d rather starve, then go right ahead.
I’m done waiting for the breakthrough.
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