New co-workers? Oh yes. Only the most hard-working and happiest in all of
retail America. I joined The Container Store family two weeks ago, but y'all... the incredible team I'm beyond proud of, and proud to be a part of, has changed my life. Seriously. Can I get an amen! I know, I know, I've obnoxiously preached the same spiel about improv. And Nutella. And my dog Phoebe. And Paco T. Watkins the chihuahua, Cards Against Humanity, Clarissa's meatballs, my Kyle's Purse troupe, Twitter, Giphy.com and their GIFs, the Netflix, and the Netflix's 20847720 documentaries previously inspiring for a hot second this 20-something stricken with 20-something emotions and a 20-month-old's attention span.
They may be sporting collared polos and Nike running shoes in lieu of the usual Pope robes, but The Container Store flagship folks are saints. Literally in terms of organization and figuratively in terms of being human. (Or is it metaphorically? I have few brain cells left after a long, busy-but-glorious day, my apologies.) No exaggeration in proclaiming this as every single TCS-er supports the heck out of everybody. Day after day, in a positive way, resulting in sales and many hoorays! Smiling faces oozing with actual happiness are in abundance, even during times deemed chaotic by average humans, but ain't nobody average at TCS. (I mean, I'm fairly confident that 30% of 'em would truly appreciate my awful rhyme I did up there.) No, we're not given happy pills when clocking in. Everyone working there simply wants to be there. Really, though, I think we're all just aware of how lucky we are to work with glass half full kind of people, in a glass half full environment.
TCS-ers are a different breed of humans, I've learned. As for fellow TCS sisters... every single woman I work with is strong emotionally, intelligently, and physically. Trust me on the last one. Triceps by TCS should be a thing. Don't get me wrong, I love TCS guys. Brad who could be my dad keeps me laughing if I'm working the front; Forrest and Cole may be college boys but their mothers would be proud of the hard-working gentlemen they are, and remain, when I'm going 90MPH and asking for 90 different things at once, unintentional future marriage preparation, nevertheless; and Mr. Rick, the bossman I'm oh so grateful for and fully respect due to A) proving God exists by hiring me, especially after me proclaiming to be a professional Netflix-er seconds before having to admit I'd never seen Rudy, his favorite movie currently streaming on, of course, the Netflix, and B) his top-notch leadership skills he used today when he guided me through my first "official" Elfa sale in a way that made me feel like I did it all on my own, ya know? You guys know.
Knowing that everyone else succeeds if I succeed is a feeling greater than any free life-time supplies of Nutella could provide. And basic math here will show that I've gotta be on my A-game at all times so that this newfound desire of working and being at my very best is fulfilled. How adult of me, right? I have TCS to thank for all of these warm, fuzzy, fabulous feelings experienced all day, 'er day. It never stops because the mentoring never stops. Yeah, I'm new to the ballgame so it's no shocker everybody is on Mallory Mentor duty for now. But working at the retailer famously known for employing mostly women, (since God felt bad I guess about the hot mess created by Eve the hot mess and rewarded us ladies with this intuition thing) has absolutely redefined what feminism, leadership, hard work, [insert any other noble trait], etc. means to me.
Prior negative context dripping from my frequently used term "HBIC" (Head B*tch In Charge for my classy readers or ones too lazy to Urban Dictionary) have been erased thanks to some special ladies. Michelle, the gem of a manager who offered me the position, is basically my spirit animal, along with Julie. They're just the bees knees that I think the world of. Mainly because they get my humor and make work fun. Same goes for Mary Beth, Chrissy, Leigh, Millie, Mary Alice, Vicki, Pam, Michele with one 'L', mama Amy, and everyone in between that I've been privileged to work with. They've all reached Leslie Knope status in my (imaginary) book of women I someday hope to be just like.
I didn't know a month ago that it would take storage-selling, closet-creating, measure-tape-mastering super ladies to shut down the pity party I was attending 24/7 after Batman, my beloved cat child of 10 years, joined cat heaven on Thanksgiving, days after two other life disasters went down. I was to the point I bought books on karma, temporarily convinced I was a Taliban leader or something equally evil in a past life; typical initial Mallory reaction, clearly. I didn't think I'd ever recover. But I did. They don't know it but because of my TCS team (of only two weeks) this mama-in-mourning has turned into a motivational-mama-on-a-mission. (My level of cheesiness has hit a new high here.)
And so with all of that, hopefully I made my point clear: I work with awesome humans. They inspire me, motivate me, and make me happy. I'm actually excited to wake up and go to work. I'm even more excited that I no longer have to depend on the same RX cocktail as a Wall St. banker CEO. My previous usual of 163/121 has disappeared now that my new coworkers are basically free life coaches. (Yay for no longer being a 24-year-old at stroke level!)