Charged with my first blog, I sit typing in my mom’s office preparing to send a blog off to my older brother to edit. My family is a part of this business, and we all start somewhere.
I’m not a writer like Danny. I’m not a business wiz like my mom, Dianne. I don’t have the skill set, experience, education or hours put into the company that they do, but now I am a part of it nonetheless. I work with the same people that they do, and we all deal with the same challenges and tasks. My mom assigns tasks based on client needs, such as a catalog, Danny will write and edit the catalog, and I’ll be the one putting all the necessary stamps on the envelopes to ensure the catalogs actually arrive at the right destination.
Mustang is an interesting place to work. There will be days that I will come in, get my work for the day and muscle through it as would be expected in any office situation. Other days, I find my co-workers (who am I kidding, superiors) earning the title of creative staff. Brett will be slaving away on a wheel to go on the fridge to display whose turn it is to do dishes, Randall will turn a back-scratcher in to an “I have a question” stick, or Scott will pull the perfect tagline for a new client out of thin air.
I couldn’t ask for much more out of a work experience. Hours that work around school and a paycheck are more than Danny had when he first started. Family and a staff with a decent sense of humor are waiting for me every day when I come to the office. Sure, I am the first person to get handed the jobs that everyone else hates to do, but they are usually good sports about it. (Nerissa, where would you be without me?) I may be at the bottom of the barrel, we’re all still in the same barrel. When the office was robbed, I felt the same way the rest of the Mustang team did. I just started to clean up the mess alongside everyone else, and we all moved on.
Working in the office adds another level to my life beyond school. Now, I carry my daily productivity with me for a few more hours before I crash into my bed getting home. I have fewer hours in the day to be 17 now that I have a job; I guess that’s growing up.
Yesterday, the topic of my official title came up. No one really knew what to call me. I mean, you can’t sign an email with “That guy who does lots of different little things as they come around.” So, the most appropriate title was selected. We all start somewhere.