Feeling: ridiculous
Listening to: A Perfect Circle - Fiddle and the Drum
Reading/Watching: In Her Shoes, by Jennifer Weiner

I rejoiced because my job has such a relaxed dress code, because it meant I would never have to buy new clothes just for work. (Most infamous job in that respect was my six-week stint at Victoria's Secret, for which I had to buy a black blazer and a couple pairs of black pants, and I wound up working there six weeks. I practically spent more on work clothes than I earned there.)

But, as it turns out, there are some restrictions at the bookstore: unspoken requirements that don't crop up until I've been doing the job for a while.

For starters, no hard-soled shoes. Being on my feet for six to nine hours straight means I need the softest, cushiest shoes possible, and as a result, my fancy, professional clicky-heel loafers, dress shoes, and boots stay at home.

Secondly, being on one's feet all day, tromping around, makes the feet sweat. So colored socks or dress socks tend to be not-so-effective after the first four or five hours. White socks only.

Thirdly, there are a lot of moments of lifting heavy boxes or pushing big squeaky carts of merchandise, so I need free movement in my arms. No cap sleeves, check.

Most importantly, this particular job, although it sounds like simply standing at a register or walking around, seems to involve a crapload of bending over. Bending over to pick up books off bottom shelves, bending over to get plastic bags out of the bins at the end of every transaction, bending over to get something off the floor, throw something away, whatever. Which means I have to avoid wearing tight-fitting pants or low-cut/v-neck shirts.

And (my male friends will crack up when they read this) I don't seem to own many shirts or pants outside of that description.

Seriously. It's embarrassing, how quickly I seem to run out of suitable work clothes. Pathetic, actually. You'd think I'd have a wealth of loose jeans and t-shirts to shlump around in, but my t-shirts tend to be quite ratty, and since I lost weight, I rejoiced in buying jeans that show off a size 12 derierre, so after the first week of working, I start really needing some clean laundry.

Now we've needed to do laundry for about a week now, and the only clean clothing I have left is a pile of really cute, form-flattering tops which are not work-safe. It's a very weird problem to have. I could go clubbing or out to a party, but I can't go to work without being uncomfortable about stocking bottom shelves.

You can stop laughing now.

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