And So It has Come to This

After a few months in Boston and some major soul searching I have attempted to carve out a new future for myself: about a year of manual labor at a retail store and then the payoff, around 2 months in Europe.
Maybe this isn't the smartest thing for a soon to be 30 year old to do, but the thought of settling into an office job "just because" fills me with intense dread.
Besides, if I don't travel now, when will I?
And so to finance my little jaunt, I have taken a job at Barnes and Noble. Perhaps a step above Starbucks - though maybe not.
I control an entire section of the store, though the actual responsibility is minor (a welcome change from my last job where I had a couple of million riding on my everyday duties). The people I work with are all essentially friendly and all essentially far younger than I. My direct manager is a huge fan of Invader Zim so that's a plus. And overall it's mostly hauling books and boxes of books around the store and doing basic book store maintenance stuff.
However--on Friday I came into work and glanced at the daily assignment sheet to get an idea of how my day was going to be broken down. For the last three hours of my shift, I was assigned to "MC". Not knowing what this meant, I walked over to the manager on duty and inquired. The MOD laughed in my face, and then said pityingly "This is just because the guy who was supposed to do it didn't show up". And what you might ask is "MC"? It stands for MasterCard. As in, wear an apron and stand at the front of the store and greet customers and inform them of the new B&N Member MasterCard. May I repeat - an APRON! A fucking apron!
So after four years at an Ivy League college, three years managing the daily runnings of a company, I have been reduced to becoming an apron wearing, credit card shilling Barnes and Noble bitch.
Lovely.
Of course most of the customers didn't want to be bothered and those who didn't bite my head off the moment I said "Hi" were ready to do so once I mentioned the reason for my friendly banter. It was a humiliating three hours.
Thankfully the next day my store supervisor actually apologized for making me don the apron and I'm hoping that translates into my never having to wear it again.
Only around nine more months of this and then it's off to Italy, Austria, Croatia...ahhhh.