Eliza alone 3
Working…is an experience. It’s very different from what I imagined it would be. Standing on the other side of the counter, it’s almost surreal. I’ve become a nonentity. You don’t remember cashiers, their faces and names, even when they’re really dreadful. You remember that you hate them, you remember what they did, but you don’t remember them. The relationship between a customer and a cashier is an incredibly strange one. I meet a dozen new people every day, but unlike when I meet them outside of work, I do not ask their names. Their likes and dislikes mean nothing to me. And they have even less interest in me. To the customer I am not a person, but a means to an end, just a hoop to be jumped through before driving home and jerking off to ‘Body Language’ in their dark, empty apartment. In a way, we’re almost like prostitutes. We meet, we perform a business transaction, something personal for you, that means nothing to us, and then we part, never knowing each other’s names. Occasionally there are repeat customers, people whose particular kinks and fetishes become familiar. This one’s rented Tomb Raider twenty times. This one has a borderline inappropriate obsession with Will Ferrell. This one likes to be tied up and beaten. In a sense we know them better than their families, their closest friends. But you don’t invite your favorite prostitute to your anniversary party. You don’t even send them a Christmas card. They are commodities. Not people.
But these are the checking-out people, the only ones I meet. They are an entirely different breed from the checking-in people. Standing behind the counter, my eyes are on the store, not the windows to the parking lot where the checking-in people pull up. I check out another customer, who’s rented When in Rome and The Bounty Hunter. Poor, lonely thing. I know how you feel. I hear a clatter behind me, of movies falling into the drop box. I pull them out, Paranormal Activity and Mickey Mouse’s Twice Upon a Christmas. They’re still warm from someone’s car, their hands, and slick with lotion or sweat or worse. I don’t know. I won’t ever know. If they came in, I wouldn’t recognize their face. And they won’t know that it is I whose hand they nearly touched, who they briefly shared body heat with, who knows their guilty pleasure, once the kids are in bed.
Like I said. It’s surreal.
The other day I was setting up a poster display and caught myself talking to the portraits.
“Excuse me, Mr. Marley.”
“A little to the right, Ms. Hepburn.”
“Please stand up straight Ms. Monroe, you’re putting Mr. Wayne all out of sorts.”
I’m surrounded by fiction. Is it surprising that reality becomes a little softer here? A little easier to mold?
The employee bathroom is also a storage area. While I sit, I read boxes of generic brand cleaning products with color coded names. Green Floor Cleaner. Blue Glass Cleaner. Pink and Sudsy Hand Soap. I wish I could say I was joking.
There’s a poster of Will Ferrell from Elf on the back of the door, all yellow tights and creepy smile. Someone’s drawn a speech bubble over his head reading ‘I see you.’ He stares at me with beady eyes and I feel strangely exposed. I get the urge to do something outrageous for his benefit, but I restrain myself. There is work to be done, after all.
The computers here are still on DOS. Caleb says it’s to keep us from playing solitaire or web surfing while we work. Honestly, I don’t think we’d have time to even if they weren’t, they keep us so busy even on slow days. And it would certainly save time with all the computer problems we have. The other day one of the checkout computers had some sort of breakdown, like its wife had left it, or someone had run a magnet over its hard drive. When you tried to pull up a new screen it ran the text directly over the top of the old, so everything was illegible. Some new language of overlapping panic. There were random boxes that had no purpose hanging suspended in virtual space. Occasionally is screamed. My station beeps at me constantly, whenever I step on the wire for the scanner. Which is always, because the wires hang across the floor liked overturned spaghetti. In places, the rubber has worn off from constantly being stepped on or slammed in drawers. I worry about fires.
I love my job though. The people, the other nonentities I work with, are friendly and amusing to watch. The work is never boring, though occasionally frustrating. I’ll never get the hang of unlocking the rentals. And I get ten free rentals a week. Right now I have Dorian Gray (decent, a prerelease), a movie called Franklyn (visually interesting, but the story falls a little flat, new release), Synecdoche New York (strangest movie I’ve ever seen, in the comedy section for some unfathomable reason), Thank You For Smoking (I didn’t get the point, but I enjoyed it. Also a comedy) and Viva Piñata (for the Xbox 360. Ridiculously addictive). When I go into work today (if I go into work today, my ride situation looks dire) I’m going to get When in Rome and The Road.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Friday, July 9, 2010
Post the Second - The Apartment Hunt and the discovery of a Bean!
I meant to post yesterday, but I overlooked the fact that I would not have internet in my apartment! My blonde roots are showing, I can feel it.
He’s still searching, but without results yet. Meanwhile, I moved on to trying to find a place myself. My main difficulty was simply that I had no idea what I was doing. I’ve never rented so much as a carpet cleaner on my own before. I was utterly lost in the world of real estate, and there was precious little in the way of practical help from my father (he’s still not really speaking to me) and even Cathy seemed unable to comprehend my confusion. Maybe my lack of knowledge is confusing to someone who’s had their own house custom built, twice, but you’d think they’d have something better to offer than “Just call the apartment complex and ask for one!”
As a result, the search took longer than it should have. First I looked on the internet, as I had for a job. I found a couple of apartment complex’s near my work, and convinced my father to drive me around to look at them.
The result was a repeat of the job hunt. I stood in the background feeling awkward and stupid while he rattled off real estate jargon at ninety miles a minute with the agent. The best we could find, the one my father wanted me to get, was a tiny one bedroom in a place called Nottingham. It was part of an enclosed community with a pool, the entire thing was about the size of my current living room, and it cost more than six hundred dollars a month.
I am convinced that my father’s encouragement that I purchase that apartment was a ploy to force me back to Florida.
Regardless, I said no and kept looking. My second attempt, thankfully, went better. Matt advised me to try the local paper for listings, and I found two nice, cheap one bedrooms. One was 425 a month, the other about 350. Caleb took me this time, rather than my father, and the experience was muuuuuch better. Note to self: If I ever need to move again, Caleb is the one to do it with. He made the whole thing much more fun and easy.
There was no one in the office at the complex of the cheaper apartment, but it wouldn’t have mattered if there was. The complex was situated behind a Lowes and the local gay bar, and it was as seedy and unpleasant looking as anything I’ve ever seen. I wouldn’t have lived there if they had paid me.
The second apartment was run by a local agency Matt recommended. We went to their office and filled out an application alongside a woman named Jenny, who was also applying for an apartment in the same building. Jenny is only a few months older than me, and has also been thrown out. Her boyfriend dumped her and kicked her out the minute he found out she was three months pregnant. It’s been a very hard time for her, but she’s still incredibly upbeat and friendly. We ended up going to see the building together, along with the agent.
<--- This is the outside of the building, and Caleb posing.
The building was a little two story number with four newly refurbished units. One was already occupied by a woman named Christie, also the same age as us. I’ve only met her briefly, but she seems great. One apartment was still being worked on, the other two we got to walk around. There was one upstairs and one downstairs, and we were all immediately sold. They were both much larger than the 600 one I saw before, and though in need of work, perfectly wonderful. The neighborhood, while not the best, is nice, and Its on the bus line close to my work.
<---A shot of the other side of the street from my apartment, and Caleb's car.
I knew I wouldn’t find anything better, and everyone else agreed. Everyone that is but my father, who had decided he wasn’t going to answer my calls anymore. I was counting on him to help me pay for the deposit and the first month’s rent. I may have had a job now, but I won’t get my first paycheck until this time next week. Meanwhile, my darling mother had her own drama to add to the situation.
She managed to talk to my father and convince him to pay the first month’s rent, and she would pay the deposit, but not for free.
My mother and I have this ongoing feud you see. A few Christmases back, my father got my sister and I an Xbox 360 for Christmas, for which I shall love him forever, no matter how long he ignores my calls, because I looooove gaming, and all the best games are on the console, not the pc. And unfortunetly for me, all I had previous to that was a much abused ps2 that we had only one game for (kingdom hearts, of course) and my long deceased SNES. So, you can understand my extreme desire to take it with me when I moved out, especially since my sister never played unless I was playing with her, and she was headed for military school in a few months anyway. Unfortunetly, the xbox, somehow magically managed to make its way out of my bag in the night and become unpacked before I left in the morning. Mom maintains that I never packed it, but I find that unlikely considering how vehemently I argued my right to have it. Regardless of weather it was stolen or never packed, my mother certainly never went to any effort to mail it to me, despite promising to repeatedly (promises she later rescinded and denied ever making) and sending me a boat load of other useless things in its place. Eventually, she promised me she’d send it if I got a job. So, when I got my job at Blockbuster, I informed her and told her I eagerly awaited the arrival of my property. She told me she’d send it as soon as I had an address to send it to, because she wouldn’t send anything to my father. So, I went out and found an apartment, but when it came time to pay the deposit, she changed the rules yet again and declared that I’d have to sell her the xbox if I wanted the deposit, knowing full well I had no other option. Three times she lied! And so I was forced to sell it, right after getting a job where I could have rented ten free games a week! ARRRGH!
But, really, the xbox wasn’t what was so upsetting.
I was infuriated by the loss of my xbox, yes, but more importantly I was hurt that my mother would so blatantly manipulate and lie to me that way, for the sake of stupid gaming console. Because of that, I delayed giving in and selling her the xbox almost too long. If I’d waited another day, I would have lost the apartment. As it was, combined with my father’s thick headedness and my inability to drive, my father and Cathy never got to see the apartment before I put the deposit down. Had they been able to see it, or at least walk me through signing the lease, they might have told me about some of the issues I now face, and how to fix them.
And make no mistake, this apartment has a lot of issues.
<--- This is what it looks like when you’re standing in the doorway.
I’m only getting electricity in two of the wall sockets, none of the overhead lights come on, there’s no door between the bedroom and the livingroom, you can see daylight all around the front door, and under the air conditioning unit, leaving the cool air to escape, making the apartment unbearable during the day and allowing bugs in at night, there was no cap on the gas line when I first moved in so they still haven’t turned on the gas, there are no smoke alarms, no chain on the door…the list goes on. All things that could have been fixed had someone who knew anything about apartments been there at the first.
Don’t get me wrong, I love my apartment. But there’s a lot that needs fixing.
<---- This is my kitchen!
<--My fridge and my awesome cabinet.
So, yesterday, Caleb helped me move my things in. It was all already packed. I’d boxed everything up and put it in the garage a few days after I left, when my fathered informed me they were having guests to stay and needed the room. I’d told Cathy I was working on moving in that day, that I’d be there around ten, and later we would go grocery shopping together. Unfortunetly, she messaged me later to tell me that Maddie had strep throat and they were going to the doctor. She said she’d text me when they were done. In the meantime, Caleb and I went to the apartment to meet the utility people. Afterwards, with nothing to do and no word from Cathy in hours, we decided to head to my dad’s house and just pick my stuff up ourselves.
Unfortunetly, when we got there Cathy was indeed back from the doctors. She informed me that I was not allowed to just ‘drop in’ without saying anything now that I didn’t live there. She chewed me out right in front of my friend, just for coming to visit. I had no idea I was so unwelcome in my family’s home.
<--- Caleb with the tiny door in my closet. We think it goes to Narnia. :3
Cathy said they’d bring my mattress and dresser over in the Pilot later, after dad got home. It was the first time they’d seen the apartment, and there was no approval on their faces. Dad just scowled and said maybe three words to me the whole time. Caleb, god bless him, kept them mostly distracted talking about the little things that needed fixing. I just focused on making the bed and didn’t say much. Once the furniture was in, they asked me to dinner, but declined to wait for me a few minutes until the maintenance man finished installing the window unit upstairs and came down to talk about the electricity and the gas line. I suppose I understand not wanting to wait in the apartment, it was sweltering. But they could have waited in the car.
Anyway, Caleb and I had a fun time unpacking and decorating. Then we headed back to Matt’s house for minipizzas. Almost as soon as we got there, Matt told us about a kitten his friend Stevie had found on the side of the road and rescued. Stevie was in love with it, but couldn’t keep it, so Matt was going to meet her near Petsmart to pick it up.
<--- This is her on the way home from Petsmart. Isn’t she sweeeeeet?
The kitten turned out to be a Siamese. Scrawny, flea infested, hair falling out and whiskers mangled with malnutrition, and absolutely the sweetest, most adorable thing you’ve ever met in your life. He took an instant liking to me and Matt, hopping back and forth from my lap to his all the way home. We named her Ina Bean. Ina after the famous Japanese warrior woman, Bean because it’s cute and so is she.
<--This is Bean after we gave her a bath, which she did NOT like.
She threw a fit while we were bathing her. She was so eaten up with fleas it was a wonder she’d survived this long. And she was so scared of the water that it took all three of us to keep her in the sink. Once she’d gotten her claws into my arm she calmed down, so long as I didn’t try to take my hand away. She’d get startled and bite me, then immediately lick me in apology, like she felt bad for lashing out. She really is a sweet little vanilla bean.
<--- Ina asleep in Matt’s lap, post bath.
Anyway, that’s about all for now. I’ll write more tomorrow, about work and the apartment and Ina Bean.
Fortunately, thanks to some creative (and possibly illegal) fiddling with the wifi on my iphone, my laptop is now connected to the world wide web once again.
In the last post I discussed my job hunt, today I’ll tell you about apartment hunting and moving in.
The search for a place to live thankfully went much faster than the job hunt, mainly because I was sleeping on my friends couch for most of it, and in a hurry to move on.
Initially, before I was thrown out, Matt and I intended to find a place together. Unfortunately, Matt did not get as lucky as I did in the job hunt. He got very close to getting a job, and we were hopeful for a moment. Unfortunately, Matt is very unique. He’s an individual. The kind of individual that wears a tail on his Tripp pants and a pentagram around his neck. And he fully expects everyone to accept him for this and love him for who he is, the way Caleb and I do. Unfortunately, he fails to realize that the majority of human beings are arrogant assholes with stereotypes where their brains are supposed to be and blanket generalizations in the place of manners. The woman who called him back after receiving his online application told him he all but had the job and asked him to come in for an interview. He went to significant effort to get there, excited and eager to please. The woman took one look at him and stiffly replied that they were ‘only hiring girls.’
He was applying at a dog kennel, as a bather.
He’s still searching, but without results yet. Meanwhile, I moved on to trying to find a place myself. My main difficulty was simply that I had no idea what I was doing. I’ve never rented so much as a carpet cleaner on my own before. I was utterly lost in the world of real estate, and there was precious little in the way of practical help from my father (he’s still not really speaking to me) and even Cathy seemed unable to comprehend my confusion. Maybe my lack of knowledge is confusing to someone who’s had their own house custom built, twice, but you’d think they’d have something better to offer than “Just call the apartment complex and ask for one!”
As a result, the search took longer than it should have. First I looked on the internet, as I had for a job. I found a couple of apartment complex’s near my work, and convinced my father to drive me around to look at them.
The result was a repeat of the job hunt. I stood in the background feeling awkward and stupid while he rattled off real estate jargon at ninety miles a minute with the agent. The best we could find, the one my father wanted me to get, was a tiny one bedroom in a place called Nottingham. It was part of an enclosed community with a pool, the entire thing was about the size of my current living room, and it cost more than six hundred dollars a month.
I am convinced that my father’s encouragement that I purchase that apartment was a ploy to force me back to Florida.
Regardless, I said no and kept looking. My second attempt, thankfully, went better. Matt advised me to try the local paper for listings, and I found two nice, cheap one bedrooms. One was 425 a month, the other about 350. Caleb took me this time, rather than my father, and the experience was muuuuuch better. Note to self: If I ever need to move again, Caleb is the one to do it with. He made the whole thing much more fun and easy.
There was no one in the office at the complex of the cheaper apartment, but it wouldn’t have mattered if there was. The complex was situated behind a Lowes and the local gay bar, and it was as seedy and unpleasant looking as anything I’ve ever seen. I wouldn’t have lived there if they had paid me.
The second apartment was run by a local agency Matt recommended. We went to their office and filled out an application alongside a woman named Jenny, who was also applying for an apartment in the same building. Jenny is only a few months older than me, and has also been thrown out. Her boyfriend dumped her and kicked her out the minute he found out she was three months pregnant. It’s been a very hard time for her, but she’s still incredibly upbeat and friendly. We ended up going to see the building together, along with the agent.
The building was a little two story number with four newly refurbished units. One was already occupied by a woman named Christie, also the same age as us. I’ve only met her briefly, but she seems great. One apartment was still being worked on, the other two we got to walk around. There was one upstairs and one downstairs, and we were all immediately sold. They were both much larger than the 600 one I saw before, and though in need of work, perfectly wonderful. The neighborhood, while not the best, is nice, and Its on the bus line close to my work.
I knew I wouldn’t find anything better, and everyone else agreed. Everyone that is but my father, who had decided he wasn’t going to answer my calls anymore. I was counting on him to help me pay for the deposit and the first month’s rent. I may have had a job now, but I won’t get my first paycheck until this time next week. Meanwhile, my darling mother had her own drama to add to the situation.
She managed to talk to my father and convince him to pay the first month’s rent, and she would pay the deposit, but not for free.
My mother and I have this ongoing feud you see. A few Christmases back, my father got my sister and I an Xbox 360 for Christmas, for which I shall love him forever, no matter how long he ignores my calls, because I looooove gaming, and all the best games are on the console, not the pc. And unfortunetly for me, all I had previous to that was a much abused ps2 that we had only one game for (kingdom hearts, of course) and my long deceased SNES. So, you can understand my extreme desire to take it with me when I moved out, especially since my sister never played unless I was playing with her, and she was headed for military school in a few months anyway. Unfortunetly, the xbox, somehow magically managed to make its way out of my bag in the night and become unpacked before I left in the morning. Mom maintains that I never packed it, but I find that unlikely considering how vehemently I argued my right to have it. Regardless of weather it was stolen or never packed, my mother certainly never went to any effort to mail it to me, despite promising to repeatedly (promises she later rescinded and denied ever making) and sending me a boat load of other useless things in its place. Eventually, she promised me she’d send it if I got a job. So, when I got my job at Blockbuster, I informed her and told her I eagerly awaited the arrival of my property. She told me she’d send it as soon as I had an address to send it to, because she wouldn’t send anything to my father. So, I went out and found an apartment, but when it came time to pay the deposit, she changed the rules yet again and declared that I’d have to sell her the xbox if I wanted the deposit, knowing full well I had no other option. Three times she lied! And so I was forced to sell it, right after getting a job where I could have rented ten free games a week! ARRRGH!
But, really, the xbox wasn’t what was so upsetting.
I was infuriated by the loss of my xbox, yes, but more importantly I was hurt that my mother would so blatantly manipulate and lie to me that way, for the sake of stupid gaming console. Because of that, I delayed giving in and selling her the xbox almost too long. If I’d waited another day, I would have lost the apartment. As it was, combined with my father’s thick headedness and my inability to drive, my father and Cathy never got to see the apartment before I put the deposit down. Had they been able to see it, or at least walk me through signing the lease, they might have told me about some of the issues I now face, and how to fix them.
And make no mistake, this apartment has a lot of issues.
<--- This is what it looks like when you’re standing in the doorway.
I’m only getting electricity in two of the wall sockets, none of the overhead lights come on, there’s no door between the bedroom and the livingroom, you can see daylight all around the front door, and under the air conditioning unit, leaving the cool air to escape, making the apartment unbearable during the day and allowing bugs in at night, there was no cap on the gas line when I first moved in so they still haven’t turned on the gas, there are no smoke alarms, no chain on the door…the list goes on. All things that could have been fixed had someone who knew anything about apartments been there at the first.
Don’t get me wrong, I love my apartment. But there’s a lot that needs fixing.
So, yesterday, Caleb helped me move my things in. It was all already packed. I’d boxed everything up and put it in the garage a few days after I left, when my fathered informed me they were having guests to stay and needed the room. I’d told Cathy I was working on moving in that day, that I’d be there around ten, and later we would go grocery shopping together. Unfortunetly, she messaged me later to tell me that Maddie had strep throat and they were going to the doctor. She said she’d text me when they were done. In the meantime, Caleb and I went to the apartment to meet the utility people. Afterwards, with nothing to do and no word from Cathy in hours, we decided to head to my dad’s house and just pick my stuff up ourselves.
Unfortunetly, when we got there Cathy was indeed back from the doctors. She informed me that I was not allowed to just ‘drop in’ without saying anything now that I didn’t live there. She chewed me out right in front of my friend, just for coming to visit. I had no idea I was so unwelcome in my family’s home.
At any rate, we moved my things in two trips with Caleb’s car. The only set back was on the first trip when I left my purse with the key in it at dad’s house and Caleb had to climb through a window. He’d been babbling about how awesome Final Fantasy XIII is the entire day, and I swear the only time he stopped is when he fell through that window onto his head, lol.
<--- Caleb with the tiny door in my closet. We think it goes to Narnia. :3
Cathy said they’d bring my mattress and dresser over in the Pilot later, after dad got home. It was the first time they’d seen the apartment, and there was no approval on their faces. Dad just scowled and said maybe three words to me the whole time. Caleb, god bless him, kept them mostly distracted talking about the little things that needed fixing. I just focused on making the bed and didn’t say much. Once the furniture was in, they asked me to dinner, but declined to wait for me a few minutes until the maintenance man finished installing the window unit upstairs and came down to talk about the electricity and the gas line. I suppose I understand not wanting to wait in the apartment, it was sweltering. But they could have waited in the car.
Anyway, Caleb and I had a fun time unpacking and decorating. Then we headed back to Matt’s house for minipizzas. Almost as soon as we got there, Matt told us about a kitten his friend Stevie had found on the side of the road and rescued. Stevie was in love with it, but couldn’t keep it, so Matt was going to meet her near Petsmart to pick it up.
The kitten turned out to be a Siamese. Scrawny, flea infested, hair falling out and whiskers mangled with malnutrition, and absolutely the sweetest, most adorable thing you’ve ever met in your life. He took an instant liking to me and Matt, hopping back and forth from my lap to his all the way home. We named her Ina Bean. Ina after the famous Japanese warrior woman, Bean because it’s cute and so is she.
She threw a fit while we were bathing her. She was so eaten up with fleas it was a wonder she’d survived this long. And she was so scared of the water that it took all three of us to keep her in the sink. Once she’d gotten her claws into my arm she calmed down, so long as I didn’t try to take my hand away. She’d get startled and bite me, then immediately lick me in apology, like she felt bad for lashing out. She really is a sweet little vanilla bean.
Anyway, that’s about all for now. I’ll write more tomorrow, about work and the apartment and Ina Bean.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Post the First - How I got kicked out and found a job!
Warning. This first bit is gonna be super depressing. I swear my life is not normally this dramatic!
^ This is me. Or it was me, at Graduation last May. Add ten pounds and some acne and that's kind of me. Back then I was bright eyed and quirky and full of promise for the future, shining like a firefly in the darkness!
Right up until Reality came alone in size 30 plus combat boots and squashed my little firefly of hope into a greasy, poisonous smear on the sidewalk.
^ This is me a little closer to now, with my littlest sister Madeline at the zoo. I can't afford to go to the zoo now. Unless I get my vendors license and a job there painting faces.
But, in the space of a few weeks, with luck and desperation, I got a job and found an apartment in town, which I am moving in to tomorrow.
Unfortunately, my job is only part time, paying $7.50 an hour, and the apartment is $425 a month, plus electricity. I can hope for only minimal support from my family, who are also in dire financial straits. I’ve got no car, and no idea what I’m doing.
In short, I need money.
That’s part of why I’m doing this. For every hundred visitors I get, I’ll get a check from the advertisers, which will buy me ramen and oatmeal and keep me in art supplies. Also, maybe reading about my experiences and mistakes will help out others in a similar situation. I can say with absolute certainty that we need it.
I won’t go in to the nightmare of flunking out of college. Suffice to say it was awful, and happened for no other reason than my own stupidity and naiveté and laziness. I flunked so thoroughly that my gpa dropped below a 2.0, and I lost my eligibility for financial aid, witho
ut which I couldn’t continue, even under academic probation. Ashamed, I hid it from my father for as long as I could and, as I should have known it would, made things worse for myself. When he found out, he gave me until the end of the month to find a job and an apartment, or I would I have to leave.
Hunting desperately for work, while the knowledge that your own family will shortly be tossing you out on your ass is breathing down your neck like a fairy tail wolf, is one of the most singularly unpleasant experiences I have ever endured. I had begun looking for work long before the threat of homelessness had truly descended. But in this economy, I wasn’t getting a single call back. And, honestly, I didn’t particularly care. I was comfortable living in my father’s house, I thought everything was fine, I was in no rush. I was lazy. Then the deadline came, and suddenly the barren job market was a much bigger concern.
My first move was to join a job finding site. I chose Monster.com, because I’d seen commercials and ads about it. Unfortunately, quantity of adds did not equal quality of product. The set up was busier than Walmart on Christmas Eve, and equally frustrating. Imagine the sweating, aggressive, menopause besieged mothers in blindingly patterned holiday sweaters as the hectic, clashing, over filled home page and the exhausted, rude, disinterested employees as the lagging servers and uncooperative navigation, and it’s a picture perfect match. The whole experience was hair tearingly maddening, and ultimately fruitless. Monster found only three open jobs in my area, two of which had been filled months previously. The other was for Petsmart. I don’t know if it was the Petsmart website, the Monster website interfering with the Petsmart website, Firefox interfering with both of them, or some combination of the three, but the application crashed halfway through no matter how many times I tried to fill it out. After three days of fighting with Monster, I gave up. Perhaps other, similar sights are better or, as I’m inclined to believe, such things are targeted to older, more experienced, career seekers, rather than entry level nineteen year olds in middling Louisiana towns. Whatever the cause, I moved on to walk in interviews.
I’m a reclusive person by nature. I hate to even leave the house if I can help it, which is why I made this more traditional approach plan B. It also didn’t help that I can’t drive and have no car. This meant I either had to beg my friends to drive me around town in search of ‘now hiring’ signs, with no hope of gas money at the end, or suffer through a series of extremely awkward drives with my father, still infuriated and disappointed with me for my screw up with college. In the end I had to go with my father, simply because my friends were not available at the right times.
Awkward did not even begin to describe it.
My father took the lead, leaving me to trail depressingly behind, smiling apologetically at the employees we cornered as my father, looming and clearly insensate, demanded applications. Most of the time my father’s shake downs ended in the employees informing they only accepted online applications or weren’t hiring anyway. We went home frustrated and empty handed, and I was left lost, wondering what to try next.
(This is my Dad and Cathy, by the way, with Madeline at her Karate thing. She was awesome.)
My step mother Cathy suggested my next step, actually. She drove me around town, while I took down the names of local businesses and their hours. She was much more helpful then I expected, and surprisingly much less awkward than my father. She pointed out apartment buildings, and gave interview tips, and budgeting ideas. Supposedly, there are websites that do that professionally, but she did a much better job, without the headache of hunting the information down on the web.
I took the list I’d made and called my way down it asking about jobs. It turned out there were far more open positions than Monster had suggested. I put in applications for all of them.
Then began the waiting game.
More than a week passed with no calls. I knew dad was counting down the days to sending me away. I was in a near constant state of apprehension, carrying my phone around constantly, waiting for a call. I would have taken a job doing anything at that point. I thought, if I could just get an interview, dad would let me stay.
At last, on June 15th, I got a call from Blockbuster asking me in for an interview. I dressed nicely but not over formally in a black cotton skirt and short sleeve shirt. I read on yahoo that straight hair is perceived as being more businesslike, so I straightened it the night before. I wore minimal makeup and jewelry. When I got there, I smiled from one end to the other and was as
friendly and sociable as I am capable of being. I asked lots of questions and took notes. I’d considered what kind of questions they might ask before hand, and thought of answers. Such as “What’s your favorite movie, and how would you sell it to a customer?” It went spectacularly. They were interviewing ten other people that day, but by the end of the interview they were already addressing me as a part of ‘we.’ They promised to get back to me the next week and I left in good spirits.
That was Wednesday. By Tuesday of the next week, they still had not called back, and my father had lost patience. He came home from work during the day, carrying a bag of Wendy’s. He handed it to me, told me he was taking me back to my mother on Friday, and left. I’ve never been a very big crier, but I cried a lot that day.
That afternoon my best friend Matt picked me up, and worked it out with his mother to let me sleep on his couch a while, until I could get back on my feet.
<---------This is Matt, by the way. Someday, I will have his turkey-baster babies, weather he likes it or not!
I spent the night there, then went home in the morning after my parents had gone to work and started to pack my things. My father brought me boxes at lunch time. Shortly after he left I had one of the worst anxiety attacks I’ve ever had, by myself in the empty house. Working through it on my own is what finally made me sure I could do what I needed to do.
When my father got home I informed him that I was not going to Florida. My bags were packed and Matt was on his way to pick me up. I would finish packing up my things and clearing out my room in a few days. He offered no resistance.
I moved in with Matt.
The next day, Matt’s boyfriend Caleb, who was himself job hunting, gave me a valuable tip(Actually, my mother gave it to me first and I didn’t believe her). Often, businesses, especially franchises, get so many applications that they don’t even bother looking at them. They only really consider the people who show enough initiative to call back or stop in to check and make sure the application was received. Caleb said that counts for interviews as well, so I called them that minute, and they told me I’d start the next Tuesday.
<---- This is Caleb. He grows on you. Not unlike a viral fungus, actually.
I rocketed from the saddest I’ve ever been to the most elated in milliseconds. I knew better than to think dad would let me come back because of this, but now I was confident I could do it on my own. Matt and Caleb and I went out to buy celebratory pants, specifically the ones I’d need for my uniform.
And that's where I'm going to stop for tonight, since it's now technically tomorrow. In a few hours, I'm going to be moving into my new home.
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