Member-only story
The Disappointing Thrill of Being Picked
I am starting a new job this week. Or rather, I am starting another job this week.
Like most massage therapists I know, I work at more than one place. I am fortunate enough to have a primary job that provides health insurance and some amount of financial security. In truth, I don’t even need this other job. I’m not even sure I want it.
So, why am I even starting this job?
Because I was picked.
If you were ever awkward, fat, nerdy, dorky, or otherwise undesirable in elementary school, maybe you can relate to thrill of being picked. The little burst of joy and relief that happens when someone not only chooses you — but chooses you first.
I spent so many days in gym class, standing in the huddled mass of students, waiting to be picked. It didn’t matter what game we were about to play. If it involved movement of any kind, I waited. The boys (and it was always boys) who did the picking chose person after person, until finally it was down to me and my skinny best friend. Sometimes she got picked last. Sometimes I did. We were never on the same team together.
And sometimes, when I was the last person picked, I could see the boy who was the captain of the other team gloating because he thought he got the better deal.