Decision time

“I don’t understand. What did I do wrong?” I say to the manager.

“Well, I’ll explain it again!” He yells back. “You put the lettuce on first, then the sauce, then the cheese, then the meat!”

“Didn’t I do that?”

“NO! You put the cheese on first!”

To cut to the chase, he fired me. I hated that job anyway, so I wasn’t particularly upset. Making burgers wasn’t what I envisioned I would be doing as the culmination of my studies. What happened? That’s simple to answer. I spent the days around the exams playing my friend’s PlayStation trying not to think about my future, and at the end of it all my marks were not good enough to get into uni. A month after school finished, my parents told me I had to do something productive with my time, and after searching for a while I got a trial shift at McDonald's. So much for that.

Now I walk out of the restaurant and head down the street. It is 6pm in summer and the sun has painted the streets gold. I decide to give my friend a call. I look up the name Anatoly in my contacts and hit dial. Shortly, he picks up the phone.

“Hey Anatoly.”

“Steven, how are you?”

“Well, I just got fired on my trial shift at McDonald’s.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be. I didn’t want to work there anyway.”

“I see.”

There is a moment’s silence.

“Can I drop by your place?” I ask hopefully.

After a short pause Anatoly replies. “Sure, I’ll tell my mom you’re coming.”

I hang up shortly after, and begin walking to Parramatta station. The bus station outside is filled with people in suits, commuting home after a day’s work. I feel a pang of envy. What I wouldn’t give to be working in an air-conditioned office somewhere wearing a fine shirt and tie. Actually, just about anything beats flipping burgers at McDonald’s.

I swipe my Opal card at the station and make my way to platform 2, still thinking about what to do with my life now that school is over. There are probably other entry level jobs I haven’t considered. I’ve heard retail sucks, but at least you’re not stuck in a greasy kitchen while alarms constantly blare all around you. The train pulls up to the platform, and the doors open. I take a seat in the upper seating area, and stare out the window.

Maybe Anatoly will have some idea of what to do? Unlike me, he had the marks to make into an Information Technology degree, and he might know some places to apply for that I haven’t thought of. The train speeds past residential areas and industrial districts, a journey I have taken many times before. I find myself admiring graffiti while simultaneously wondering how anyone could be bothered to go to the hassle of doing it. The jagged neon letters sprawl plastered across brick walls, defying people to understand their chaotic forms. Sometimes the same tag is repeated across a stretch of the line, as if the artist really wanted to make sure people would remember his name, at least if they could read it.

When I think about it, I understand why I hated working at McDonald’s so much. It felt degrading, humiliating even. But what right did I have to allow my pride to be hurt? I screwed around in school and this was the deserved result. I think of Anatoly, now beginning the pathway to an actual professional career, and find myself wishing I too had something promising ahead of me.

Eventually the train pulls up at Lansby Station, and I depart to the platform. Anatoly’s house is a short walk away. I swipe out and begin the journey.

In 15 minutes, I am outside Anatoly’s house. I ring the doorbell. His mom opens the door.

“You’re here to see Anatoly?” She says in a thick Russian accent.

“Yes.” I say simply, not knowing what else to say.

Just then, Anatoly shows up.

“Steven. You’re here.”

His mom opens the door, and I walk in.

“Thank you.” I say, just to be sure.

Soon we are sitting in Anatoly’s room. I hear the hum of the cooling fans on his PC, though currently the screen is off.

“Sorry to hear about your trial shift.” He offers apologetically.

“Don’t be, like I said, I didn’t want to work there. But yeah, I was wondering if you had any ideas of other places I could apply for?”

“Well, it sounds like you’ve had enough of working in hospitality. Correct?”

I look down, tense. “Yeah.” Then I perk up a little. “Maybe something in retail? It’s just talking to customers, right? How hard can it be?”

Anatoly strokes his goatee. He’s had this since halfway through year 12, and he show’s no sign of changing his look. “I personally would never do retail. People. Hell is other people.”

I recognize the Sartre quote. “Well, I guess it’s a good thing you made it into uni then. 4 years of study, then you’ll be coding in an office somewhere. Nobody’s going to disturb you while you’re coding.”

Anatoly ignores my last comment. “Have you considered what kind of retail environment you might like to work in?”

“I dunno, what is out there.”

Silence fills the air for a moment. I catch myself looking around his room. It’s filled with computer hardware, a Razer mouse, a nice-looking headset. And on the bench are a couple of game boxes. This gives me an idea.

“What about working in a games or electronics store? Like JB-Hifi, or Electronics Boutique or something?”

Anatoly smiles and nods approvingly. “Now that is a decent idea.”

I feel energized. “I guess I could drop in some of those places, leave a copy of my resume.”

Anatoly frowns. “You could. But it’s more likely that if you want to work for one of those places, you should go to their website and apply. This isn’t the dark ages Steven.”

“Haha. Man, how come you got the marks you wanted, and yet you still played computer games like I did?”

He sniffs. “I mostly played single player stuff. And I never played a console. I believe that was your weakness, and your downfall.”

I scratch the back of my head. “Well, it’s just as well. I don’t know what I would do in uni. Like sure, I am good with computers, but do I really want to get involved with the technical side? I think if I was going to do anything, I’d like to be involved making computer games.”

I see a look of disapproval form on his face. “Actually Steven, the games industry is one of the most toxic environments to work in. People do it because they love it, and loving it means they can be exploited. Minimal pay, the expectation to work after hours. I decided I would never work in the games industry.”

“So, what do you want to do then?”

His face retains its serious quality, but he pauses for a while before replying. “I actually don’t know. I’ve been looking at the various jobs in the IT industry, and it seems like a lot of them are just working with databases.”

“Databases, huh.” I reply. “Sounds thrilling. Is that something you really care about? You’re a gamer, why wouldn’t you want to be involved in the industry, even if you are risking burn-out?”

From the expression on his face, I can see he’s already made up his mind. “No job is worth the cost of your mental health.”

“What about working with AI? That’s a common interest of people working with computers. Wouldn't you like to be part of the people who designed Skynet?”

Anatoly winces, but stays silent for a moment, as if he cannot find the words. “See, my problem is I don’t know what I want to do. I don’t know what my passion is.”

“I’ve got a passion for you. Getting paid.” I laugh. But I see that Anatoly is serious.

“See Steven, if you can land a job in one of those places you mentioned, that could be great for you. I am not great with people. You know I get socially anxious. I could never do that. And although I am in an IT degree, I have no idea what I want to do.”

We hang out for a bit longer, and then I have dinner with Anatoly and his mom. It just so happens to be borscht. A quintessential Russian dish. And then it is time for me to head home. Anatoly offers to drive me home, him just recently having reached his first level of driver’s license. I think about everything Anatoly said. Even though it looked like he had everything together, it seems he too is struggling to find where to fit in.

“I’ll tell you how my application goes with those electronics stores.” I say as the car slows down outside my house. “And keep me posted on how things are going with your degree.”

Anatoly exhales then unlocks the side passenger door. "I will. Whatever you do Steven, don’t give up. Something is out there for you.”

“And what about you?” I reply. “Are you ever going to decide what to do with your degree?”

He turns to face me as my hand is on the door handle. "We each have our battles to face, Steven. I will let you know.”

I leave the car, shut the door behind me, and as Anatoly drives off I think to myself that maybe nobody’s really got it figured out.