This is a bad sign.
I know, now, that today is Thursday and that tomorrow is Friday, and after that comes the Weekend, and then Monday, and so on and so on... But for a moment there, as Fair Oaks Boulevard crested and I caught a flash of the setting sun, I seriously lost track. It reminded me of that childhood summer feeling of being without school, without responsibility, care-free and clueless. I didn't like it. I'm not meant to be care-free and clueless anymore. I need to find a job, and I need to find one soon.
The good news is that I was on my way home from a really good interview. The bad news is that I had a really good interview for a job that will pay me less than I've ever been paid in my life, and for a job that I have been hoping to get away from for once. But minimum wage is better than zero wage, so if Linda calls me back next week, I'm putting on that goddamn apron and I'm getting back behind that espresso machine with all the enthusiasm I can muster. It sounds like it'll be a part-time thing, anyway, so I'll have room for a second job.
Heavy sigh.
I was surprisingly happy when the girl who interviewed before me dejectedly left the coffee-shop with the air of someone who didn't meet Linda's expectations. I'm becoming ruthless. I might have to get worse.
Earlier today I had an interview with UFCW 8.
Don't know who they are? Neither do I, not even after going to their office in Roseville. I got the impression from the unexpected phone-call yesterday that they operate as the middle-man between workers and the labor union. If you were in a union, for example, you'd want to find out about your benefits, and so you'd come to UFCW and talk to me. If I were hired. Unfortunately the interview went poorly (in my opinion) while I suffered from a rambling tongue and nervous dry mouth. I was much less nervous when I was waiting with the other candidates in the board room, thinking the whole time that I was about to be part of a hidden-camera show. If I get called back for a second interview next week, I'll be surprised.
Thanks for our awesome shirts, UFCW
This whole "office job" angle is so strange to me.
Yesterday, when I went to Office Team to try for a Temp Job, I was waiting in the lobby with the receptionist and maybe it was just the fluorescent lighting or the too-white walls or the way the air tasted like carpet-cleaner, but I could already understand why people go postal in places like this. Even before meeting with Joy (irony only I observed), I was already feeling like this place was driving me to homicidal insanity. Joy told me to fill out an online form and e-mail her my resume. So I did. Then I filled out the form for another Temp Agency, feeling all the while like a pathetic liar saying whatever it takes to get noticed and not believing a single word. I've spent seven years in coffee-shops... I can type and I can do office tasks, but whose going to give me a chance when it looks like all I can do is foam milk and make a turkey sandwich?
I'm not discouraged, yet. Today I hit up a handful of coffee-shops and a Noah's Bagels and a bar called the Golden Bear. Yesterday I felt positive about passing my resume to a Scandinavian furniture store and this phone-call I had from West Coast Coffee. I'll be calling the furniture store to check in tomorrow. I also sent out a handful of craiglist responses, but that's like throwing a lasso at the sky and hoping to catch a star. My neighbor, Laura, has insisted I give a call to a woman from the Temp Agency that Laura does work for. Anything is better than nothing. I have bills to pay really soon and not much money saved to keep AJ and I from super-crisis mode (I already have a stack of DVD's ready to sell for gas money).
Fingers crossed that Mike doesn't challenge my unemployment claim, that bastard. Even if I only get a minimal amount of income, it will help. My resources are dwindling rapidly.
- Left to Fry
p.s. Guess what my fortune cookie said?
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