The Overbooked Life

I have a belief: everyone should be required to work in sales for at least a year. Scratch that—everyone should definitely do customer service. Actually, let’s make it a year of both. Why? Because customer service is one of the most thankless jobs out there, and until you’ve done it, you don’t really understand just how much patience (and caffeine) it takes.

Yesterday reminded me of this. And to be clear, this isn’t a rant—I actually like my job. I work in the mattress and furniture industry, and most days, it’s fine. But every now and then, a few “special cases” show up.

For example:

• The couple who walked in with one partner in a collar and the other holding the leash.
• Or the man who spent ten solid minutes yelling at me over the phone about someone else’s mistake—while I was actively trying to fix it.

Here’s the thing: that old saying, “you catch more flies with honey,” is 100% true. I imagined hanging up on that man at least four times. But when you choose to scream at the person who’s trying to help you, you’ve just opted out of any “extras” you were hoping to demand. No bending over backward, no shortcuts. If anything, you just made the process harder for yourself. Maybe that’s petty. Or maybe it’s just human.

Plenty of people would say, “Just hang up.” And sure, I could. But then that same angry person usually shows up in the store, makes a scene, and ruins the day for everyone else. That not only makes my job harder—it drives good customers and employees right out the door. So sometimes it’s easier to just take the verbal beating, bite your tongue, and move on.

And then there are the other days. You know, the holiday-weekend-meets-back-to-school-meets-“I-need-it-tomorrow-because-company-is-coming” kind of days. The ones where every customer suddenly morphs into a toddler demanding a toy they can’t quite describe. Not that toy. No, not that one either. Try again. Still wrong. Five toys later, you give up. Except instead of toys, it’s furniture. And instead of toddlers, it’s grown adults.

Trying to explain delivery schedules and stock availability to someone who refuses to listen is about as successful as convincing a child to eat broccoli after they’ve already decided it’s poison.

In other words… unacceptable. Like a vegetable.

By the end of those days, you run through every option in your head to try to make people happy (most of the time, you can’t), and as they storm out the door calling you “stupid,” you’re left wondering what on earth just happened. During a holiday weekend, this repeats for hours on end, until you’re completely beaten down. And then—there’s still the long drive home.

Here’s my confession: I love my commute. That hour in the car each way gives me ten hours a week of solitude. Ten hours to breathe, reset, and just be me before walking through a door where more demands are waiting.

“Did you call about that bill yet?”
Nope. I was busy juggling customers. I’ll handle it tomorrow. (Spoiler: I usually don’t. It waits until my next day off… if I even remember.)

“Did you prep meals for the week?”
Do I look like I prepped meals at work? Can I at least pee first? Five kids later, the bladder isn’t what it used to be. I miss the pre-kid days when bathroom breaks weren’t a sprint against disaster.

“Did you know about this thing with our son?”
Well, since you just found out, I’m gonna go with… no. Maybe let me put my bag down first.

To be fair, my husband isn’t trying to pile things on me—he’s trying to fill me in before he crashes for the night. He’s up at 2 a.m. for work, after all. And that’s another group of people who deserve kindness: your mail and delivery workers. They’re up much earlier than you think, and someone has to load those trucks before the drivers even start their routes. Most of the time, they’re doing it alone.

So here’s my plea: be kind. To the cashier, the server, the delivery driver, the sales associate. We’re all just trying to survive the day, same as you.

By the end of the night, I usually find myself in bed with an audiobook playing, replaying the weight of the day in my head. Customers, kids, husband—and of course, the mile-long walk with the huskies. If I skip that, they’ll find my shoes and add “extra ventilation” in retaliation. Trust me, huskies don’t forget.

Even as my eyes close, there’s no real stopping. Most nights, I end up dreaming that I’m still at work. I dream of customers, of paying bills, of phone calls to companies, of endless to-do lists. Always the things I have to do—never the things I want to do.

Some days, it feels like being an adult is just one long rat race of money and time. Is this really it? Where’s my day on the beach with a fruity drink and a little umbrella sticking out the top? I want to feel the sun on my skin (even if it’s not exactly the body you’d want to see overly exposed) and let the heat wrap around me like a weighted blanket.

I want so many things. But for now, it’s work, kids, and bills—fueled by coffee, questionable habits, and stubborn puppies—that get me through the day.

Remember the good moments—the happy ones—and don’t let the world chip away at the dreams you hold onto. I know, it’s easier said than done.

I keep reminding myself to actually use my vacation time. The challenge is finding that perfect alignment: kids out of school, husband off work, no blackout dates at my job, and maybe even a little extra cash scraped together for some family fun. Someday, that will all come together.

But for now, it’s Labor Day weekend, and I’m back in the thick of it—answering the endless chorus of “give me,” “I want,” and “I shouldn’t have to pay people to bring my furniture in for me.” Demands never really take a holiday.

Still, I know there will come a day when the schedule lines up, the stars align, and I finally get that stretch of time with nothing to do but breathe, laugh, and soak in the sun with my family. Maybe not today, maybe not this year—but someday soon.

Until next time, keep the coffee strong and the chaos manageable.