ALL STORY LIST | PARTS - PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5
My name is Liam, and my wife is Anna. We have been married for five years. I am twenty-eight years old, and Anna is twenty-seven. I hold a college degree in business. Anna did not attend college; instead, she went to beauty school right after high school, earned her state license, and started working at a local salon. She saved her money carefully, opened her own shop, and watched it grow until she had four other stylists working alongside her.
I worked at a bank as a manager, with a good salary. We lived in a nice house, owned two cars, and had a good life. We planned to start a family in a few years, to have children and build something together. Then the bank failed. The economy had soured, and the bank had made too many poor loans. A larger bank bought us out. The new owners promised to keep our jobs, but they lied. They brought in their own people and fired many managers, including me.
I received one month of pay, and that was all. Suddenly I had no job, and the country was deep in a recession. Nobody was hiring. I sent out countless resumes and got no calls. I applied for positions outside banking, only to be told I was overqualified. Discouragement set in. I stayed home and did nothing.
Anna’s business, meanwhile, grew larger. She moved her shop to a bigger space and added new services—massages, facials, waxing, makeup—turning it into a full day spa. She worked long hours and made good money.
I sat at home, watching television, staring at the walls, feeling useless and like a failure. I was a man without a purpose: no job, no prospects, nothing to do.
One evening, Anna came home looking exhausted. She sat down at the kitchen table while I made dinner and served her. She ate quietly, then broke the silence. She said my name and told me we needed to talk.
I sat down across from her, my nerves tightening. I could tell something important was coming.
She began by saying my job search wasn’t going well. I had been looking for six months, and I hadn’t found a thing. I admitted I knew, and that I was trying. She acknowledged my effort but reminded me that the economy was terrible and no one was hiring. It might be a long time before I found anything. I nodded, because I knew she was right.
Then she offered an idea. Her receptionist was leaving, moving to another state, and she needed someone new. She thought I could do it. I was surprised—me, with no knowledge of her business? She insisted that anyone could answer a phone and book appointments; it wasn’t difficult and I could learn. I protested, reminding her that I was a bank manager with a business degree, that I wasn’t about to answer phones in a salon. She stressed that it would only be temporary, just until I found something better. At least I’d be earning money, doing something, and getting out of the house.
I considered it. She had a point. I had nothing else and was tired of sitting at home. I needed to move. So I agreed to try.
She told me I would start on Monday at twelve dollars an hour—not much, but something. I said that was fine and thanked her.
That night I barely slept. I lay in bed thinking about how I had a college degree and a solid career, and now I was going to work as a receptionist at a beauty salon. It was a big step down, but I had no other options.
Monday morning, I drove with Anna to the salon. The shop sat in a busy mall, clean and bright, with mirrors lining the walls and chairs set before them. Countless bottles, tools, and products filled the space. I felt completely out of place.
Anna showed me the reception desk, the appointment book, and the phone. She explained the services, the prices, and the procedures. Her instructions were simple: just write down the client’s name, phone number, the service they wanted, and the time. The rest I could learn later. I sat down, feeling uncomfortable. I was the only man there. The other women who worked at the shop glanced my way, smiled, and said hello. I smiled back, but everything felt strange.
The phone rang, and I answered with the salon greeting I’d been given. There was a pause on the other end before the woman asked if this was really the salon. When I confirmed it, she laughed a little, saying my voice had caught her off guard and she’d thought she had the wrong number. I apologized and helped her make her appointment, writing down the details as instructed. When I hung up, I felt embarrassment wash over me. The other workers had obviously heard the exchange, though they said nothing.
The rest of the day blurred into answering phones and jotting down names and numbers. It was easy but boring. I felt like I was wasting my time, remembering I used to make important decisions as a manager. Now I just answered phones.
Anna stopped by to check on me and asked how it was going. I told her it was fine, that it was easy. She smiled, said she’d told me so, and that I was doing a good job. Then she left me to it. Around me, the other workers chatted about clients, hair, and makeup—subjects I barely understood. I felt like an outsider.
At the end of the day, we went home together. Anna made dinner and asked about my day. I told her it was fine, keeping the embarrassing phone call to myself. She remarked that it wasn’t so bad after all, and I guessed she was right. It was just a job.
We finished dinner, watched some television, and went to bed. Lying in the dark, I thought about everything I had lost: my career, my confidence. I was now a receptionist at a beauty salon. It wasn’t what I wanted, but it was something, better than nothing. I decided I would keep my eyes open for other opportunities and not give up. I would find a better job, get my life back, and feel like a man again.
That night, I dreamed I was back at the bank, wearing a suit, making decisions, and in charge. I was happy. Then I woke up in my own bed, no suit, no bank, no authority—just a man with a job he never wanted.