What was one of the roads in life you chose not to travel?

Miscellaneous and Personal Stuff I Must Share
41

After I graduated, I got what’s been described as a “unicorn job”, and in 1996, the company relocated and we all lost our jobs. I worked for a temp agency for a while, and because the job involved a lot of travel, when I tired of that, I managed to find a job in a city 400 miles away where I knew absolutely nobody. I loved the job but hated living there from day one, and when a job opening came up in my original town, applied for it and got it. I worked in the city 400 miles away for about 6 months.

AND THEN

it turned out to be the most toxic work environment I’ve ever been in. The boss was the most universally disliked person I have ever encountered, the assistant manager didn’t do anything (literally - he just sat at his desk all day), and after 4 months there, she found an excuse to fire me and did. Two doctors told me that I probably had post-traumatic stress disorder as a result.

I signed back on with the temp agency, and also sent a Christmas card to the “400 miles away” place mentioning this. They contacted that agency, because they’d had 5 pharmacists leave in a short period of time, and asked if I would like to come back. Which I did; I worked every other week, alternating with a place closer to home, for (once again) about 6 months. They wanted to re-hire me, but I declined, not only because I didn’t like living in that town but also because I could see things going in a direction I didn’t like (in short, the person who was now doing the hiring only wanted people from her alma mater, and also showed very blatant favoritism towards them).

I then had two very disastrous jobs, one of them so awful I briefly considered surrendering my license. I’ve sometimes wondered if maybe it would have been better for my career if I had stayed there, but would the overall unhappiness of living there been worth it? Not sure.

Later, I told someone about my very bad job experiences, and she was skeptical that one person could have such bad luck with jobs unless there was something wrong with them, so she e-mailed some friends of hers who lived in this city - a husband and wife who were classmates of hers. Both were online, on separate computers, and both replied within a half hour to tell her that I was absolutely right. She came in the next day and said, “You’re correct. Horrible, horrible mismanagement.”

As for the boss who probably gave me PTSD, several years later, she was in a near-fatal car accident, and I found out about it at a local association meeting. When it was announced, some people laughed and nobody signed her get-well card. She later had a newspaper and a TV reporter do huge, sappy stories about the accident and her recovery, and in both cases, their e-mail boxes crashed because of the volume of people writing in to tell the reporters what this woman was really like. :eek:

And as for the town 400 miles away, I found out a couple years ago that large numbers of Third World refugees have been brought in to work at the slaughterhouses in the area, and there’s one particular group who are, in short, very bad news and not welcome in the community. I always felt safe in that town, and apparently that’s not the case any more.

42

I can match that, except that while my amazon is still living, she’s been trapped in a crushing life for the last 15 years. I also slowly realized she was the kind to never aim higher or further than the next luxe vacation or other self-gratification… had I stayed with her, my life would have either been caught in the crush or been a flat road of trudging along between expensive diversions.

My wife, along with many other fabulous traits, is the driven and driving half of our partnership, and has continually sparked my motivations along with her own. It’s been a far, far more successful and satisfying path than all the sexy blonde cuddling at Club Med would have been. It did take me a few years to realize how close I came to a very wrong decision, though.

43

I raise my glass to you, sir. None of that annoying “sexy blonde cuddling” for us!
(Yeah, my Tea Partier inherited her rich daddy’s company, so plenty of sun and surf if I’d stayed – oh, but I would’ve had to work for the family business. Her present hubby is making floor mats for a living)

44

What was one of the roads in life you chose not to travel?

Parenthood. Early in our relationship my wife and I agreed that being a parent had never interested either of us. That was 44 years ago. If we had it to do over again, we’d do it over again.

45

Strike blonde and, um… (looks around to see if the Mrs. is watching) former swimwear model physique, and I haven’t lost out on anything. Blonde I can live without. Models I can see in pictures. I’ve cuddled in a lot of cities around the globe nonetheless. “My wife… I think I’ll keep her.” :smiley:

46

Stand-up comedy. People still ask, “Did you ever think of doing stand-up?” (Yes, actually, but I was a coward.)

47

:cool:

I never wanted to have children either.

48

I may not qualify for this thread, since every decision I’ve ever made (or “taken,” for you BBC viewers), was always the only one. Even the stupid ones were the lesser of two evils.

However, I’ll never forget one major fork in the road that happened due to the callow attitude of my 20’s. I’d sailed through the basic college art classes, passed the mini-gallery show where the faculty voted on who would go on to work on their BFA’s, and was one of a few “hot-shot” students who were generating interest. The next rung was a place on the department gallery board, effectively just a chair-filler at meeting and art gallery factotum. But it was a requisite for anyone who planned on going on to an MFA program. And one day the current chair-filler graduated, leaving the position open.

Charlie Campbell was the department chairman as well as an artist who specialized in paintings of grocery bags in sunlight coming through Venetian blinds, and he thought (correctly) that I was a smartass. Each year he’d invite a select few students to study art in London for a few weeks. I pretended that I was never invited because he knew I couldn’t afford it. But I wanted a career in art, and I wanted that gallery job.

So, one day I waited outside his office for him to return from lunch so I could apply for the position. And here is where I really fucked up: he entered the outer office and went past me into his before I could buttonhole him out there, and I followed him right into his office. He turned around, startled, and asked what I wanted. He promised to give my request due consideration, and that was that.

And that was that. No more was done for me than I already had a right to as a BFA student: no recommendations to any MFA schools (ours had none, and you had to have the faculty call in favors to go where they were). No gallery or museum jobs, no next rung to TA, then associate professor, the tenure. Career-wise, my BFA was the same as a high school diploma.

All because I didn’t knock. Oh well, a lot of the kids I left when I went to college died of OD or behind bars. I think Charlie Campbell believed that’s as ahead of the game I should have gotten. Maybe right.

49

Geezz—sounds like that was not an opportunity to “be so much more”…it was a chance to be a slave 90 hours a week. And for what?

50

Funny this should come up. I just stumbled across and email I had totally forgot about from a couple of years ago starting arrangements for a high-risk high-reward aid job in Afghanistan. It would have likely kicked off my big plan: stay lean and nimble while taking well paid crisis jobs, living a life of solo adventure. It would have happened, but I let the thread drop.

Two years later I am married, have a kid, and have a stable job stateside. My biggest adventure these days is riding the Red Line.

I am happier and more grounded than I’ve ever been in my life. But it’s crazy to think about how close I was to something completely different.

51

I could have gone to a top-notch private HS; I had the grades & the scores, but I knew $ was tight for my Dad. I had 4 older siblings, 3 of which were already costing him tuition (and the oldest who spent money like water
and would just show up whining “Daddy…! My Bi-iiilllls…!” until he paid them). I told him public school was fine. I really WANTED the private school with every class having a college professor… but I knew that it was better
for the family if I didn’t. I’ll always wonder about the exposure I would have had but didn’t: all the Physics course I wanted to take but was denied. Good math teachers. Language professors who weren’t into the
humiliation of their students because after school they lived the S&M lifestyle. The wait list for the Ivy school would have gone away and I might have even gotten into a better Ivy.

In college, several people noticed how I could drive (thats a story best left off of the internet) and one made me a job offer. If I worked as a mechanic all that summer for him & his crew at Englishtown, I could definitely take my shot at a few “rides”.
I was very tempted, but my father blew a fuse & I couldn’t do it or I’d be disowned. Q: Do I have what it takes to be a professional driver? Today, probably not… but I’ve lost a few steps over the years.
But… back then? Hard to answer that w/o a laugh and a smile. :smiley:

My Dad (possibly as guilt about HS) offered me a Junior Year abroad in the UK. I was excited and cleared everything for it. The coordinator called & asked for my transcripts, which my college hadn’t sent. I found out there was a housing charge.
I paid the charge… but I still kept getting calls; no transcripts. I went down again… paid it AGAIN… and considered it closed. I got a call saying that they needed it by the next day and I drove right back, two receipts in hand.

The elderly Troll behind the counter grimaced & gnashed her teeth, but cleared the charge from the system manually. The transcripts would go out… regular mail. I explained I’d pay for Fed Ex, but I couldn’t hand-deliver it; it had to be received from the University.
(Back in the day, colleges had ridiculous rules like this)

The Troll wouldn’t budge. When I demanded it (because it was their fault) or to speak to the head person, she picked up the phone. And called Security. I left. No transcripts, no junior year abroad.
I’ve never visited the UK; I really wish I had known what it was like. Maybe I would have been miserable. Maybe I would have transferred and stayed. All I really know is that somewhere in the UK, someone someday may read this & think…

…storms on the coast be damned; we REALLY dodged a bullet there… :wink:

52

Had a chance to “run away from home” and work for a computer games company in the early 80s. But… I would’ve had to move to Fish Camp, CA (yep, it’s as big as it sounds… I would’ve been the 60th person in town).

*IF *my wife had come along, she would’ve had to drive an hour down a dangerous mountain highway (at midnight, to work a night shift), but that’s moot, because I’d bet you she’d have stayed in the midwest.

I have no doubt I would’ve gotten divorced. But I’d be making games!

53

I could have joined the military. I had all of the information ready, but my parents talked me out of it and I decided to put it off for a while. I keep wondering if I’d have been any good at it-too old now.

54

Angee, was my most persistant crush through middle and high school. We were friends, but I never had the guts to try and take it further than that. I wish I hadn’t let fear of rejection dominate my life for so long.

55

Red Line? In Chi or where?

Well, takes one to know one, I guess.

I learned this from my wife of 38 years: “What’s the worst they can do? Say no?” I learned that “no” is not the end of the world, but that happened long after high school.

56

I’m too busy regretting what I do today to look back at yesterdays. :wink:

Maybe the one road I do revisit from time to time is when my father was beating up my mother and sisters in the other room. I was just a kid, maybe 12, maybe 10. It’s been too long and I don’t remember exactly.

I was washing dishes. I was in the kitchen and they were in the dining room. We had a “pass-through” an opening above the sink for the dishes and food. Dad and his victims were out of sight, but from the pass-through, I could here them quite clearly.

First, my father beat up my mother. She was screaming, and my sisters were crying as well. Then he beat up one sister and then the other. Maybe went back and forth a couple of times. You could tell who was getting the shit beaten out of them by the screams.

You hear about the “fight or flight” reflex, but there is also the freeze. You simply turn off the emotions and go into auto. Any kind of response could have brought the terror on you. So I continued washing the dishes, one by one. The cups and the bowls.

Then, as I got down to the bottom of the sink, there were the knives. Several of them. Large, kitchen knives. I picked one up to wash it and found my fist clamped on the handle. It would not let go.

My little boy’s mind tried to calculate what would happen if I didn’t wash that knife in water, but gave it a bath in blood.

Somehow I knew it was helpless, that it wouldn’t work. But would it? It sounded like my father’s back was turned. Could I? I wanted to. I wanted to end that hell and save my family.

I don’t remember what happened next. I guess that my resolve failed. I’ve always been a coward, and it took another 10 years before I stood up to that monster. Looking back, the chance of success would have been nil. A little boy, not even in junior high against an enraged grown man? Not even a knife would have helped.

But still. This would have been at the end of the 60s or early 70s, and there wasn’t outside help. My mother never tried to extract her and us from there. Could that have worked? Probably not, but it couldn’t have made things any worse. They were as bad as it gets.

Maybe, just maybe my father could have been wounded. Any maybe that would have shocked someone into looking at the situation and gotten us out of there. This was about the time my mother was severely depressed, zoned out on Prozak and attempting suicide…

Maybe my younger brother wouldn’t have been driven into insanity nor my second sister gone batty. Maybe I wouldn’t have had to fight so many demons, trying to silence them with wine and anonymous women.

Or maybe not. More likely, it would have just pissed off my father and he would have beat me up as well. But what was one more time?

I don’t worry too much about it. When the state, the church and the extended family all turn their back, there really wasn’t anything which I, a little kid, could have done.

Sometimes, though, I think back, what would have happened? But I don’t think about it too much. That doesn’t help me now.

57

And I didn’t blow my stepfather’s brains out at my mother’s urging.

And then I was expected to be a normal student, a normal wife and mother, a normal working, functional, productive member of society.

Still working on it. :cool: :eek: :frowning:

58

I wish I would have followed through on teaching English overseas.

59

Yeah, I had the same thing happen to me. Her name was Penny and I had a crush on her from 5th grade through high school. I never once had the balls to ask her out, and I should have because she turned out as an adult to be one of the nicest people ever. We are friends today.

60

I scored a 99%+ on the ASVAB (Armed Services test for vocational training.) The recruiters tried really hard to get me in, telling me that I had my choice of any profession. I chose not to go into the military.

I also chose not to stay in Knoxville after my father died. Left the family business, moved 1,200 miles away.