When the job title mattered more than the friendship

I always thought I knew who my real friends were. Turns out, I was wrong.

I'm 27 years old, and right now I work as a janitor. There, I said it. And apparently, that simple fact was enough to make my entire social circle disappear.

Let me back up a little. I have a college degree — though by junior year I already knew that field wasn't for me. But my parents wouldn't let me switch schools, so I finished what I started. After graduation, I bounced around — bartender, retail, merchandising — before finally landing a steady office job as a customer service manager. Phone calls, client relations, the whole nine yards. I did that for four years and felt pretty good about where I was heading.

Then 2020 happened.

When lockdown hit, we all went remote. Then came the unpaid leave. I picked up some freelance gigs from home — just enough to keep food on the table, though my utility bills started piling up. Looking for a new job felt pointless when nobody knew what tomorrow would bring.

Eventually, things at my company seemed to stabilize. I wanted to believe we'd pull through. I believed it right up until six months ago, when they told us the company was bankrupt and we were all out.

I panicked. No savings. No job. Just an apartment I was lucky to still have. I called everyone I knew, hoping someone might know of an opening somewhere. I scoured job listings online, but nothing fit — either I wasn't qualified, or the company looked sketchy, or the reviews were so bad I didn't dare apply.

My friends couldn't help either. Some places needed experience I didn't have; others had no openings at all. My money was running out. Another week or two and I wouldn't be able to afford groceries.

That's when I saw the ad: janitorial position at an office building, weekly pay.

I'm not afraid of hard work, and weekly pay was exactly what I needed — I couldn't have survived a month waiting for a paycheck. So I went for it.

Funny thing is, I was actually scared they wouldn't hire me. I never imagined I'd be relieved to get a cleaning job. But I got it, and they paid me honestly, every week, just like they promised.

It's hard work — an office building with hundreds of people coming through every day — but the pay is fair. Actually, it's about the same as my old manager salary. If I pick up extra shifts, I make even more. I'm still looking for something better, but this time I'm being picky. Why jump into something worse than what I already have?

My friends found out about my new job at our New Year's Eve get-together. When someone asked, I told them straight — yes, I found work, but I'm still looking for something better. Just like most of them were, honestly. Nothing unusual about wanting to move up.

But when I said I was a janitor, the room went quiet. Then someone awkwardly changed the subject.

After that night, things changed.

They got together for a guys' night in February — nobody told me. When I asked, they said it was "spontaneous." Sure. I know how they plan things.

They went to a barbecue — I only found out afterward. "Totally last minute," they said. Right.

A few weeks ago, I invited everyone over to my place — pizza, movies, just a chill evening. Every single person had an excuse. I would've believed them, too, if I hadn't seen their Instagram stories later that night. They were all at karaoke together. Without me. Nobody even thought to ask if I wanted to come.

So now I don't call. I don't text. I don't invite.

I used to think these people were my friends. But real friends don't disappear when your job title changes. Real friends don't care if you're pushing papers or pushing a mop.

I'm still working. Still looking. Still getting by.

And I guess I'm still learning — the hard way — who actually had my back, and who just liked the version of me that looked good on paper.