It’s Saturday morning, and I just woke up from a dream.
Like many of my dreams, I was back in school. Horribly, I’m usually back in high school, but this time, at least I was in college.
This wasn’t necessarily my alma mater (maybe it was; I don’t know), but at this school, I was taking something called “client services classes”.
These aren’t real classes (as far as I know), but that’s all that was left to register for, so there I was in classes that mirrored my real-life profession.
I was basically me now, while they were all regular college kids, still fresh behind the ears.
In this dream, I was older and wiser than many of my classmates. I was basically me now, while they were all regular college kids, still fresh behind the ears.
In this dream, half of the students in the class put on an intricate musical dance number as their final project. Afterwards, I remarked how there was no way I was I going to dance like an asshole for 40 minutes—client or no client.
One of the dancers overheard me, and ran crying back to the teacher. I held my position, though: Our job was to determine what clients needed, not jump (or dance) when they said so.
I know dreams don’t usually make a lot of sense (the school was located in a grocery store for some reason), but I think there’s a lesson here.
While the mass majority of creatives come into the field looking for an artistic outlet, only the brave are capable to standing up to their bosses and clients.
I can’t think of a good reason to dance for my clients, but I probably could find a bunch of interns that would unquestioningly dance for free.
As for me, right before I woke up, I told off the instructor and quit the client service class, as well as the school.
I didn’t need to spend money to learn how to do my job poorly. And I didn’t need the approval of people who didn’t know what they were talking about, either.
I was ready to work.