Last week, I told you about the story when I ended up on the U.S. west coast. A place that I had never been in. In a country that wasn’t my own but that felt more like it every day. I never wanted to leave btw, and I don’t plan on doing it either.
So, I moved out west and started working in storage. I’m not going to focus too much on what we actually did, work-wise. I’m going to focus on other stuff that had to do with my work in storage. I moved because I bumped into a friend. I mean, literarily bumped into. We hadn’t seen each other for 2-3 years but we met in the park in the city we lived in by then. He told me that he had switched industry. That he was now working as a manager in a storage company. I told him that I didn’t even know what storage, in that context, meant. He offered me a coffee and we sat down to talk more.
Apparently, they were looking for people with my competence right now. It would of course mean that I had to move. I wasn’t ready for that, so I said no. He told me to think about it and I said I would, went home and didn’t think about it anymore.
Two weeks later, my phone rang. It was my friend. He had told his boss about me and she seemed very interested. They asked me to have a digital meeting with me and I agreed on that. One word led to another and then I got an offer that I couldn’t refuse. Not any Godfather shit, but my salary would increase with a lot. I just had to say yes to that.
So I moved. Storage on the other side of the country was what I would be doing. I called my parents and told them about my plans. They liked it even though it meant that we would be further apart now. The truth is though, that when I started working in storage, we saw each other more often because they went to see me for longer.
I’m telling you more about the storage story tomorrow, OK?