Personal Update - November 2009

As all 2 of you who read my blog know, Beau and I separated at the beginning of June, so about six months ago. We never really stopped talking, and neither one of us were happy with the way things turned out. I won't go into all the gory details, and I doubt much people would care. But just to make sure the progression of this blog make some sense, things are coming back together....slowly...which includes us.

We're in therapy, which is intense and interesting and sometimes hard as hell (what happened to the fun kind of therapy where you get to blab your guts out and told how unfair the world was to you?). The therapist is sympathetic and thorough, yet she doesn't let us get away with anything, which I think is great. I think she's pretty awesome, and besides, how many of them allow you to bring your dog so it can have a playdate with the therapist's dog? It's not always easy to find out some of the stuff you do is really fucked up and needs to change, and that goes for BOTH Beau and I, but I'm pretty proud how both of us are facing it and making a sincere effort.

So, we talk every night on Skype, and nearly every weekend one of us drives to see the other (5 hour journey) or we meet halfway in between where the therapist is and spend the day there. Beau's going to be working at his school in the bush for quite some time yet, and my current job ends either at the end of December or January. There are a few options we're discussing like my moving back to the bush (and Beau...and Tonks and Fern), my staying here and getting a permanent job, or my moving to Tauranga, the city halfway between us, and getting a job there (since we'd like to actually live there permanently someday - the bush is not a long-term option), etc. There are LOTS of variables influencing our decisions, some which we can't force, which makes me crazy, because I hate not knowing the projection of my life, at least in the short-term. And the pro's and con's seem to be evened out no matter what we do. Argh!

In other news, it looks like our permanent residency status will come through in a matter of days or weeks (depending on fast they cash our "migrant levy" check). That's fantastic news for a number of reasons, one big one being that someone will actually be interested in hiring me for a real job instead of trolling for low-paying temp jobs. It also means cheaper and better health care, MUCH cheaper schooling (if I want to go back for teaching), the ability to buy a car/home/expensive furniture or appliances if need be, and a general sense of peace knowing you don't have to apply and pay for work permits every few months. I'm really excited about that. I want to do something big and celebratory for it. In New Zealand, that only means getting completely shit-faced drunk. I don't mind that part, but I need some food and entertainment thrown in too.

:)

Prairie Dog Days

Life keeps truckin along, nothing too exciting, THANKFULLY. It always seems when you're at your lowest financially and emotionally that shit seems to snowball. I've had a few bad events, but nothing that will wipe me out. It's just forcing me to be even more of a hermit than usual.

The new job is kind of interesting. It's exam time and my main duty is to type them up to Very. Specific. Specifications. Overall, the professors are nice, except for one ol' curmudgeon who I seriously considered strangling and dumping his body in the ocean, but quickly realized that I might lose my temp job, so decided against it.

The best part are my co-workers, who are the most amazingly motley crew in age, ethnicity, and attitude. There's the sour but witty ginger gal; the strangely apathetic yet hard-working young Maori woman; the tiny, silly Filipina; the barely-audible, ethereal-voiced older white Kiwi woman; and the highly-detailed yet easily confused and gullible Vietnamese woman. And me, the smart-ass, goofy American with the ever-changing hair (I just re-dyed it back to brown because I'm so damn broke I couldn't keep up with the blonde highlights -- *sniff*).

In my usual way, I immediately befriended the Filipina and Vietnamese women by speaking their own languages to them, even going so far as to sing the folk song Katakataka in its entirety to the the former. My smart-assiness fit in well with the ginger gal and anyone could get along with Miss Ethereal. The Maori woman, though, is a tough nut to crack.

When I started the job, I had already been carrying a stupid cold for over a week, so figured I wasn't contagious anymore. Still, it was pretty damn embarrassing to be new at a job and find yourself bellowing phlegmy coughing fits every 15 minutes and snorting buckets of snot into dozens and dozens of tissues. Also, I sounded like a 75 year-old Lucky Strikes smoker with lung cancer -- and this is me after feeling much better!

When 2 days later, Miss Ethereal came down with a wicked cold, I felt like a complete fucking jerk. But when you're a temp, sick days aren't an option. I had gone to great pains not to touch anyone and washed my hands with OCD-faithfulness. Still, what an ass.

Another week went by and though I was feeling even better than before, I would still find it hard to breathe when I exerted myself and would get chest pains. The worst part? About 1/2 deaf! My ears were hopelessly clogged. I waited it out for a couple days, then gave in and bought ear drops. God, ear drops SUCK! Squeezing a slimey liquid into your ear and then encouraging it down the canal is one disgusting feeling. Another 3 days went by. Still deaf. I could tell it was becoming annoying to my co-workers, who working in one large room, were used to just shouting to each other. I lived like a prairie dog, occasionally catching something that sounded like my name on the wind and then promptly popping up from chair, head above my cubicle, head swiveling around for the origin. Then I would usually have to walk over to the person so I could actually comprehend what they were saying.

I realized I would have to see a doctor, but was concerned since having no residency, health care costs were a major issue, and I was, as usual, low on cash. My co-workers surprised me in their sweetness -- all of them simultaneously started either calling their own GPs (general practitioner) or searched on their computers for a cheap, local one. Withing minutes, various printouts and notes were being pushed my way, until we found one not too far from my house that charged just $40 for a "casual patient." A few hours later, I was off, squirming about missing the several hours of work from my paycheck, but knowing it was necessary.

The medical centre was like walking into a Cambodian rural clinic. It wasn't exactly...dirty...but had a run-down, dirtiness about it. It was packed with some scary looking people and several screaming babies. Many people did not speak English, which made me think this is where immigrants (like me) came for cheap health care. I was told the doctor was running "a little behind" which made me wince. I was right too -- I would sit in my chair, my clothes soggy from the downpour outside, for well over an hour waiting for my turn.

When I got in, I was greeted by a Filipina who must have been pushing 100 years old. I explained to her about my 2 week+ cold and she immediately launched into a scolding rant while I listened, as best I could, with jaw agape. Who goes to the doctor for a cold unless it gets to this point anyway? After a short exam, she started scolding me again, telling me I was on the verge of developing pneumonia. PNEUMONIA. Great. JUST great. Look, give me the prescription and let me be on my way. Lecturing just pushes my homicidal button.

I finally got out of there and made it to the tiny pharmacy where 2 people I recognized from the waiting room were already there. One girl, talking to the pharmacist, was holding up a heavily-bandaged finger, where I caught part of her conversation: "...and every time I tell someone it happened because I got bit by a pig, they start laughing at me."

I burst out laughing.

The girl whirled around, where next to me, the other woman was chuckling too, though a bit more furtively than I. I laughed harder.

"HOW did you get bit by a pig?" I asked. I mean, back in the bush where I lived and pigs were either raised or hunted wild, I get it. But in Auckland?

Apparently she had been at some sort of petting zoo and got chomped there. Still funny.

So, it's been several days since I started taking my antibiotics and...well, my ears are still plugged, I still occasionally cough, and I still can't exert myself too much. But there's some hope -- every once in awhile when I yawn one ear will pop deliciously open for a brief 1-2 seconds before clomping closed again.

sigh

Waiting to Exhale

I never realized what an impact one of my bosses had on me until it was announced he wouldn't be in today. I suddenly find myself feeling remarkably more relaxed and at ease, despite the fact that I'm the lucky one, because where I sit is separated from everyone else, so I don't get the grief that they do. He's one of those bosses that make you feel like you have to sit up a bit straighter in your chair when he's around and be careful you don't do or say anything "inappropriate" (like me stuffing a doughnut in my face).

For the most part, I've thought that he hasn't really affected me as much as he has the others, both because of the seclusion of my desk and because I don't care as much (being a temp keeps you somewhat emotionally detached...somewhat). I've also been lucky that he hasn't blown up at me yet. One guy even mentioned, "Man, I've been surprised he hasn't gone after you yet. I keep hoping he won't." Naturally, I don't typically do anything that would warrant any kind of "blowing up" in the workplace, but the kind of bosses who do that, aren't always entirely predictable. I've suffered several sarcastic, condescending remarks which were fairly uncalled for (usually having to do with him being unintelligible), but those don't bug me much considering the circumstances.

So, when it was announced he wouldn't be in today, I felt like a tight balloon that had just deflated a little. Ahhh. It surprised and slightly disappointed me at how strong the relief was. But oh well, might as well enjoy it.

I know I've been pretty hush hush about my current long-term temp day job, but that's mostly to save my own butt. And because I do like working at this institution and would hate for some ridiculous person to take my words and make a bigger deal out of them than they truly are. I was talking to April (hi April!), a childhood friend of mine on the phone the other night and I told her about how in the past year or so, I've noticed an upsurge in people "finding" my blog and responding (typically through the email account I provide). Most of it is positive, but sometimes someone gets offended if I didn't say something swimmingly spectacular about something they hold dear. And you know how the internet is - people can be vicious, and show a side you don't typically see when confronted face to face. Mean people suck! I've also had very interesting emails, usually from people who don't identify themselves, who either have additional, intriguing information after reading one of my blogs, or have followed up on something I've written. It's both flattering and a bit startling. The world is a big, fantastic, kinda scary, place.

So, today should be a good day, since I don't work at Shop-n-Smile tonight (Praise God!), and Scary Man won't be here. (Enter doughnut!). The only downside is that I never have enough to do (*ahem* hence the near daily-blog). I will be given a project to do, will do it and hand it back, and after getting one of those ,"Man, that was fast," comments, will wait while someone scrambles to give me something else. It's a weird line you walk as a temp. Do something too fast and too efficiently, then you become this annoying person that they have to keep "finding work" for. Do it too slowly, and everyone hates you for being a drag on the office and a waste of cash. So, although I do feel guilty for blogging, emailing, and taking care of personal finances and "stuff" during the day, I don't know what else to do besides sit here and look cute, and well, come on, I already do that!

Things should get better when the other boss (the female one) gets back and gives me one of her cool, "thinking" projects to do (as opposed to something that involves a copy machine or three-hole punch). That always makes me feel like I'm really earning my keep, and they tend to be interesting to boot.

Until then, blog on sister, blog on!

Work and Such

I've been DYING to post about my current job in the VIP office, but I just can't. I know now it'd be a sure-fire way to get my ass canned, not to mention a lot of school publicity (the newspaper here is pretty fantastic, ...and thorough). But the cast of characters in my office is right out of the movie, Clue. Not so much for their flamboyance or craziness, but just utter umm...uniqueness and comic value. I'd love to describe this cast of characters -- a writer's dream! But alas, I don't think it will be so. Maybe someday. Like, after I'm fired.

For now, things are going okay. I am a bit uncomfortable because the woman I replaced did not exactly leave of her own volition, and naturally, she had friends in the office, so there's quite a bit of tension. And me being the person who replaced her makes me a target. A few have been very nice to me, in fact, extremely nice, and a few have been difficult. It's one thing to be cold to the newcomer who replaced your friend, but I think some others are acting out their unhappiness in other ways.

Basically, it's the, every-misstep-is-noted-and-heavily-criticized thing. There's one woman, that every time I ask her a simple question, and I mean simple question, will give me a five-minute, utterly condescending lecture that makes me want to claw my eyes out. I've totally avoided asking her anything at this point.

But for now, I will try to be understanding and patient. I'll take it for awhile. For awhile. It's not the kind of atmosphere I'd tolerate forever, but I understand this place is in radical transition, in a lot of other ways besides my own piddly position. And I also am trying to get used to their VERY. PARTICULAR. way of doing everything, and anything. It's fine, despite the fact that it doesn't exactly fit my personality. I can adapt.

While at Shop-n-Smile, I got a compliment I have never heard from an employer before, despite my years of promotions and merit raises: "Thanks for having such attention to detail!" I wanted to laugh. If there was ever a weakness in my administrative quiver of skills, it's my lack of attention to detail. In fact, my very first job in college was with the American Heart Association where I worked as the assistant to an assistant. She was a super nice woman named Mary who had big giant blue eyes and a big giant heart. At some point they gave me a performance review, something I had never experienced in my life after my high school jobs at movie theaters and Arby's. I was praised over and over again for this and that skill, for my hard work, etc. But what do you think it was I remember? Of course, me, The Queen of Darkness only remembers the single criticism I received: "You could probably pay a little bit more attention to detail." It stung pretty badly at the time. Now I laugh because it's true.

It's really just impatience, I think. I actually enjoy working hard and doing a good job, but I just don't have the patience to be meticulous, to have that slow hand, to move with great deliberation. Thankfully, I am much more organized than I once was, but details bore the snot out of me. It's affected a lot of my artwork 'cause I just can't be bothered with some of the steady hand, slow movements necessary in painting or pottery.

Anyway, as for the job front, the only thing that's really irking me now, is that my "good job," the day job, which has much higher pay and the potential for more, is just that, potential. I'm still a temp with no benefits. This job opens up as a permanent position in another month or two, and there's no guarantee it's mine. I've been dying to quit Shop-n-Smile, but can't, knowing it's my *irk* "stable" job. Furthermore, I just saw ANOTHER university position open up that fits me so well (it has to do with international students), but the thought of applying for ANOTHER university job and then quitting THIS (another) university job just makes me want to vomit.

It's funny, we moved to Missoula so that we would have these stable, successful, enjoyable lives, and so far, it's been wildly unstable, not even remotely successful, and we haven't had any time (or cash) to enjoy it. I've never been in such a confusing, crazy job market (and I thought NYC was tough!) where everyone's a low-level temp and yet everyone thinks they're living in the Garden of Eden. It doesn't cease to blow our minds.

I was just reading the "letters to the editor" section of the local newspaper, and someone wrote in complaining that children were all fucked up not because of the parents, but because of the teachers, and get this, the writer complained bitterly that the teachers get decent benefits and that a starting teacher's salary was an indulgent $32,000!

Oh yeah, $32,000! Beau and I will be taking bi-annual trips to Bermuda on that kind of cash!! Woo hoo! The gluttony of over-paid, underworked teachers!

Asshole.

Out, Out Damn Nostalgia!

"For every job, so many men
So many men no one needs."
-----------------

So, I've been here in the, let's just say, VIP University Officials Office (From now on referred to as VIPO) for a few days. As usual, since I moved to this city, my feelings are mixed. Decent job in important office that can show me a lot and as I've been told like 10 times, set me up to get to know the whole campus as a whole and get an even better job. I guess that's how things work here. People kept telling me how difficult it was to get hired by the university, but once you were in, you were in. Now I guess the deal is to float around until you find a nice job to land on. I find the whole thing unsettling. Yeah, me, Ms. Move-Around-The-Universe-Every-1-2-Years.

And with the way things have been going, I've tried to be really positive about getting ANY work at all, even if it doesn't fit me. Let me say that again, trying. It's interesting how I can overdramatize my life sometimes (don't laugh, Beau). When you're looking for work, and you keep lowering and lowering your standards ('til you end up working at Shop-n-Smile and start saying to your mate, "Hey, look, we could deliver newspapers at 3 in the morning!"), I start imagining strange scenarios. I love history, particularly individuals in history and how they react. And I have been imagining the long, depressing lines for work during the Depression. Those grey photos of men with vacant, hopeless stares hoping that today they'll be picked to do some shit labor job. And for a split second I'll feel like that, temping at some lumber yard for 1/3 my NYC salary and having to defer my student loans AGAIN, and eating oatmeal for breakfast AGAIN lets me feel a fraternity with those men. How I have been doing all these jobs I hate, that are boring and tedious, and that the pay is crap.

And then in the very next moment I feel like a giant asshole. I'm not an idiot; I know there is no comparison of me now to what people then went through. When I'm picking up the 12 rugs that someone has left strewn all over the floor at Shop-n-Smile, I remind myself that a) this job is easy, b) this job is an a climate-controlled environment, c) I don't get that dirty, and d) I don't have a bunch of starving kids to feed.

I still want to quit Shop-n-Smile every single night though.

It's funny, when you're in a situation where your current job situation sucks, you start looking back to your old jobs with a great deal of romantic nostalgia and wondering why you ever left, despite the fact that at the time you were DYING to get out of there, for whatever reason.

Remembering how happy I was at UW-Madison and how it was the only time I really felt a part of a tight-knit, warm community, but forgetting that the job I was in had no growth potential, EVER; and that I was surrounded by either 50-something's or 20 year olds, but never anyone my own age; and how I was in a relationship that needed to end, but wouldn't as long as were in the same city; and that after I got my Master's I thought it might be time to move to Southeast Asia, since, what's the point of spending all that time and money studying it and not ever experiencing it in any meaningful way?

Remembering my great jobs in NYC that did have growth potential and lots of interesting and caring people to work with, but forgetting that it was still low-paying; that at times I felt as if I was treated like a glorified secretary and not an equal; that I lived in a tiny, cockroach-infested apartment that would make the guy on Fear Factor wince; or that my second job (teaching) really fulfilled me, but also forced me to travel way out to Queens, only to return to my home on the subway at around 11pm at night every night; or that the love of my life was living in a totally different state; or that as much as I loved NYC, that I wasn't really a NY'er and didn't really fit in anywhere; and that I couldn't afford the damn place!

Or even remembering my brief job in Missouri with four beautiful, funny, and unbelievably kind and caring women (I used to call them the Missouri version of Sex & the City, the waaaaaaay toned down version), but forgetting that the pay was less than half what I made in NYC, that the job was often slow and boring, that most of the time I was itching and burning to leave for New Zealand and join Beau, and that I had to commute (something I really really hate).

Yeah, nostalgia's a real treat.

And I'm a nutjob. You ever wonder if it's even possible that you could ever just be happy? Ever? Not deliriously happy, but a long-lasting, unending, flowing stream of contentment? Peace? I have periods where I am, but.... ugh. Normally, I don't consider myself unhappy, but I also don't usually consider myself truly happy. Or that I have happy days. Usually I feel restless, like I haven't really reached my potential and there's so much more to be accomplished, worked on, figured out, paid for, learned. I could attribute this constant restlessness to my ADD, how when doing my work at Shop-n-Smile, my mind, which is usually going going going, feels like letting out a bloodcurdling scream from the boredom. But more and more I feel like that's just a cop-out, even if it is true. I've been somewhat fascinated by those at Shop-n-Smile for whom this is their "job," (most are younger than me and have children), and who have a kind of contentment with that. They are making single-digit, per hour wages, they do the same thing night after night, and there's a sense of okayness with that. That fascinates me, because every time I think about working at Shop-n-Smile, as a full-time provide-for-my-family job, FOREVER, I want to stab myself. I envy that kind of peace.

I used to poke fun at Beau, because he'd make these comments like, "When this happens, I'll be happy." Then it would happen. And he'd go, "Okay, when THIS happens, I'll be happy." And then THAT would happen. Rinse. Repeat. Is there just something in us that is so spoiled and screwed up that happiness is completely unsustainable? I sometimes think of people years and years ago who basically worked their asses off every single day, simply to survive, and I don't think they had long periods of self-musing over their own personal happiness. They just did. Or, so I think. Sheesh, right now I'm thinking so much I'm all turned around.

Blah.

Winds of Change

Over the past couple of months I've shared with you my struggles, ill luck, and disbelief over our misadventures in Missoula. And believe it or not, I haven't told you everything. Some because it's too private, and some because I was starting to feel like a big whiny baby. Though both Beau and I have felt a range of negative emotions from discouragement to outright Depression (with the BIG "D"), as Beau says, "You just gotta keep plugging away at it. There isn't any other choice." Of course, he's right.

When I got my temp job at the university and began that familiar walk across a grassy collegial campus, I felt my first sense of relief, and for a moment, a spark of hope and happiness. Something good had finally happened, something that was headed in the right direction.

And then, the second job at the university came along, much faster than I expected. What I haven't told you yet is the drama of the past few days -- of my first experience with some aggressive poaching (I had some non-aggressive poaching attempted on me in NYC). I'd love to write some of it out, but I'm a bit cautious. Knowing my luck, I'll detail all that went down and some university official will read this and I'll be canned in no time. I've felt so unlucky lately that I think I'm becoming superstitious. *rubs rabbit foot*

Just a sidenote, but did you all ever own a rabbit's foot when you were a kid? I can remember owning SEVERAL (though not at the same time). Now when I look at the photos, I'm a bit grossed out. I carried a dead rabbit's foot, complete with pointy toenails and an outrageously-colored dye job, around as a key chain -- as if I owned any keys then -- rubbing it happily here and there. Ewwww!

*cough* Anyway, poaching is a familiar phenomenon on university campuses, though typically it's the professors who are sneakily snatched away by an outside university, not a temp snatched away from another department. I'm certainly flattered and thankful to get a higher position with better pay, and with the possibility of benefits, something that has become a VERY big deal in every American's life, but the whole process has left me feeling awkward, embarrassed, and uneasy.

And my good luck continued when the two women in my current department were nothing but gracious, kind, and supportive of the whole thing. Sure, they weren't thrilled to lose me, but they understood that this was a chance at a really good job and what I was doing for them was helpful, but not rocket science. I felt so thankful toward them I bowed and scraped all day. I wanted to do something for them, flowers, candy, a plaque. And I'll be sorry to be leaving them. I've come to really like them in the past few weeks.

I don't know why I always expect the worst from most people, that people will be angry, uncivilized, will misunderstand. I don't consider myself a pessimist, but I think Beau does. He's not the first to tell me I always imagine the worst out of every situation.

I read that Michael Douglas calls Catherine Zeta-Jones the Queen of Gloom and Doom or something to that effect. Even better, once upon a time, Sting and his longtime love, Trudie Styler, were in lawn chairs sunbathing. Suddenly Sting says, "Look, there's a little black spot on the sun today." And Trudie responded, "Oh god, here we go again, it's the King of Pain."

And a song was born.

So, I guess I'm not the only one.

Anyway, tomorrow is day one in "The Serious Office." I will up my clothes from office casual to office professional. I will keep my head down and do what I'm told 'til I get my bearings. I will work hard. I will impress. I will kick some administrative ass.

Maybe my luck has finally begun to change...

Hi's & Lo's

The ups and downs of Missoula continue. I'm beginning to wonder if the dust will ever settle and Beau and I can be normal people, each with one, decent, full-time day job, working toward getting a house, not running around all the time, etc. I had that interview last week for the good position in a very high office in the university (I know, vague, but I have to be). I didn't worry about a conflict with my current job here, which I like very much, for two reasons. For one, I thought no matter what, if I was hired, the new job would work with me. After I declined an interview for another job here so I wouldn't have to quit the one I'm at now, a friend said, "Why did you do that? They're both in the university system, I'm sure they could work something out with you." Then I felt like a giant idiot, but it was too late. Plus, I was still feeling kind of bad about leaving that non-profit temp job so suddenly and wasn't keen on doing that again. So, when this high-up job came up, I thought things could be worked out since my present job is only til June 1st anyway.

Secondly, the new job is connected to the hiring of an important university official. Knowing how universities work, and so far my experience here has been very similar to my experience at UW-Madison, I knew that these hirings, especially the higher up you go in the hierarchy, can be long, drawn-out, and unpredictable. They can go through months of multiple interviews and negotiations, think they finally have their (wo)man, only to be turned down by the applicant in the end (often applicants are courted by more than one university at a time). So, I figured, sure, I'll go to the interview, and by the time they get this person hired, I'll probably be ending my job where I am now.

Wrong. In the interview, which consisted of a very nice administrator and a somewhat stern and stiff high-up university official, I was told the position might be open very very soon, or, might not. If it was open soon, I asked, could they work with me to continue my current position? Perhaps split the day between the two until June?

Nope, they weren't willing to do that. I was pretty bummed, but continued on with the interview nonetheless. Things were still up in the air after all. By the end of the interview, I felt I had done well, but hadn't felt that *click* you feel when an interview just goes so great. You know, when you feel like you connected with the interviewers, and when you walk away in a kind of happy daze, floating along, going, "Yes, I nailed that interview! I got that job!" So, I didn't give it much thought.

Well, the message on the voicemail last night congratulated me and told me I had the job, but that it started....wait for it....Monday!

Great.

My head's in a bit of a spin. For two months Beau and I were in big financial trouble, eating lots of oatmeal and other cheap carbs. Well, we still kinda are since we're catching up. We both ended up, very reluctantly, at our respective retail positions just to make sure we could make rent. Suddenly, in the past couple weeks, I'm one hot tamale. I know as problems go, it's a "good one" to have, but it still sucks.

But I've already decided. Though the job I'm at now doesn't have any benefits or the highest pay, I really like the people, they're good to me, and I want to stick it out 'til it ends. The dean and the department administrator have already shown an interest in helping me find better employment after June, even collecting my resume to pass out to some contacts and making a call. The new, "better" job is promising, but I'm not feeling a great deal of excitement for it. I hate to turn down a pretty good job, but it's what I want to do. Besides, *cough* *choke* I will always have Shop-n-Smile for a back-up.

Am I crazy?

Betrayed by the Missoula Employment Staffing Agency!

(In other words, Cruel Cruel Missoula, Part III)

Missoula is really starting to suck in a lot of ways.

As some of you know, I did something out of character for me -- I abruptly quit my temp job at a non-profit to take a new job at the university here. Though I very much want to work at the university, I really did want the job at the non-profit to work out, but the manager there strung me along and screwed me over on more than one occasion, which led me to change my mind about "sticking it out."

Some of you said I should write both the manager and the temp agency and tell them what was going on. I don't really believe in the "Fuck you, you suck, I quit!" exit, so thought the best thing was to write a polite, diplomatic, but honest letter to Shannon at the temp agency. So, that's what I did. I wrote an email where I thanked her for finding me employment in Missoula, said that although the non-profit was an interesting place and had a couple of great people working there, that there were some serious management issues she should be aware of. I specifically told her not to share my letter with the non-profit, since I wanted to try to leave on a peaceful note and not cause a big disturbance. I also told her that for another reason. When I had gone in to meet her on a previous occasion, I told her how I had applied to the university, but didn't want her to mention that. I found out shortly thereafter she had immediately emailed the manager, Kyle and told him exactly that. Nevertheless, I wrote the letter, then awaited her response.

Her response consisted of two sentences. Good luck at the university, and oh yeah, because you quit without notice, you can never work for us again.

Um, okay.

I wrote Steph, a co-worker at the non-profit whom I liked very much and told her basically what I had done and what Shannon had said. Steph wrote me back several hours later to tell me that Shannon had written the non-profit, told them, "I can't believe J. just quit like that!" and then proceeded to forward them the contents of my "confidential" email to her. So much for my specific request not to do that. So much for being a professional employment agency.

I'm pretty disgusted. Although I knew it would be a bit uncomfortable until the dust settled, I had wanted this to all end on a civil note. I hadn't left the organization hanging in any way, since a) when I did leave, I made sure I had no tasks/projects left undone, and b) I was fully aware of how Kyle had gone behind my back to interview another person for my position.

But I guess, in the end, I did leave abruptly, which I didn't want to do, but couldn't help. It's just too bad that on my way out the door, I had to be stabbed in the back.

Bye Bye Kyle!

So, today was my last day at the crazy organization I've been working for on and off for the past six weeks.

Of course, the boss doesn't know it yet.

In the end I completely wussed out. Lovely Steph, who I feel has been my advocate through all of this, basically told me to just go ahead and let the temp agency take care of it. I originally wanted to tell the supervisor, Kyle, but after hearing his double-talk again today, I thought, Fuck it, Fuck him, and get me the Fuck out of here!

So, come Monday, Kyle will have one less staff member, and I'm sure he'll break down in tears, because I've watched in disbelief as he has played the victim in the past couple weeks. As if the whole organization is crashing down around him and everyone's out to get him. Who knows, with his management skills, they probably are. Just last week he was telling the editor she had to start coming in at 8am (she normally comes in between 10 and 10:30 since her main job is to edit -- something that does not require a 9-5 presence). She resisted, and then I heard him whine in a loud and pathetic voice that startled me, "But I need helllllp!" Do you know what he needed "help" with? Answering the phones. I swear to god, each day when I was there and answering all phone calls from 9-5, I probably picked up the phone a total of a dozen times a day. Tops.

So now I need to move forward. I had the two interviews at the University. A week has gone by, and the "good" one that I was not-so-qualified for (despite the fact that they called ME in after seeing my resume in a temp pool) has already rejected me. What I have left is the guaranteed, low-level, short-term clerical job with what seems to be some very nice people. Then, yesterday I got ANOTHER call. Seems the university needs someone real soon for a very high administrative job for one of the highest-level officials in the school. (Yes, I am trying to be somewhat vague). It's a fantastic opportunity, one that pays much more than low-level clerical one, and it will probably last longer too.

But of course, there's a problem. The clerical job had to wait a week to interview me, then they had to wait another week while I waited for the "good" job to decide whether they wanted me or not. Now I know I'm free, NEED a job, and I don't want to make the clerical job wait any longer (I told them this coming Monday by the latest). But but but...what IF I could get that really high-level administrative job? What if...?

I know...bird in the hand...two in the bush. Fuck fuck fuckaroo!

This is my plan (Beau always laughs when I say that, which is quite often). I'm going to leave a voicemail message with the clerical job, tell them I haven't forgotten them, and will call them by the end of the day on Monday (like I kinda said anyway). That way, it will give me all day Monday to wait patiently for the high-level administrative job to come calling. I was told they were going to move fast, but they couldn't guarantee HOW fast.

*sigh*

Anyway, if I was going to have a problem, this is a good one to have.

Oooh, M*A*S*H is on! Time to go! You know me, party party party!

Oh, and I just put this picture in for the helluva it, cause I think it was so cool. Although it was taken in a city in New Zealand, the photo is just SO Montana that it just fits in so well here. Gore, New Zealand! The World Capital of Brown Trout Fishing! Woo!

Cruel Cruel Missoula - Part II

As previously mentioned, I'm having a helluva time with the job market in Missoula. So, I was pretty thrilled when I got a temp job at a non-profit writers' association. Writers! I love writers! I wanna BE a writer, right?

Most of the time I worked with "Steph" who I liked immediately. She was very friendly and left me to myself most of the day to work on the project I was assigned, which was very interesting since it involved the writers and photographers who belonged to the organization. Like many here in Missoula, Steph was all about the outdoors -- skiing every weekend,hiking the backcountry whenever possible. My god the people here make me feel like a Weeble Wobble. (Weeble Wobbles wobble but they don't fall down!).

As time went on, and I did my best to do a good job, I was told that they had a position that was open. It was only four hours a day, but it had the "potential" to go full-time. It sounded great. Finally, a job! A good job! An interesting job! HOORAY!

Now, it wasn't a perfect job by any means. Just by being half-time, it meant I'd have to get a second job somewhere else. Also, the organization was going through a time of chaos (gee, have I heard this tune before?) due to some internal conflicts. And finally, the entire organizational staff consisted of Steph, another nice woman as the editor, and the boss, Kyle. Up until this point, I had had little contact with Kyle, but he seemed nice enough. Yeah, nice....

Kyle put me through an hour-long interview regarding the job. He told me that he was interviewing another person as well, but that since I already knew the organization, I was the front-runner. Then Kyle began to reveal the aspect of his character which would torture me for the next two weeks....

In one breath, Kyle discussed the many issues and conflicts the organization was facing, first and foremost being a lack of funding which had shrunk the staff from five to three. Due to this, he thought the job may go full-time, but you know, he couldn't guarantee it. I would be expected to take over Steph's job, a job that all admitted was much too much work for her to do in an eight-hour shift (although it was revealed that she almost never stayed less than ten hours at a time), during my own, four-hour shift. I would have to work hard, real hard. And due to the fact that I was still tied to my temp agency, I would continue to make my single-digit wage for the next few months.

It wasn't the most promising job offer I'd ever received.

But it didn't stop there, despite Kyle offering me up a big steaming plate of MAYBE. In the next breath, he began to tell me that despite all this, what he wanted from me was an agreed, sealed, guaranteed, promised, signed-in-blood VOW that I would never ever ever ever quit.

I was stunned. He wanted a 100% guarantee, but he could offer me none in return? I liked the place, and was happy for the offer, but WHO can give such a promise?

But the truth is that Missoula has demoralized me, and on more than one occassion, I've thought, "Why do I hold on to this 'dream' of having a job I love, a job I can look forward to every morning, a job that excites me? We're in some real financial trouble, why can't I just be like every other normal person and just get a fucking job and stop being a princess about it?"

Yet, in the end, I refused to sign over my first-born child. Deep down I knew that his offer wasn't fair, and if by some Act of God I was finally offered a coveted job at the University of Montana, I didn't want to jeopardize that. I believe in loyalty and I believe in my own word, and I just couldn't tell him a flat out lie. I told him the truth, I would be happy to get the job, I had no intention of leaving, and I would work hard. But I would not guarantee I'd never leave. I also told him that I would go ahead and get another job as well, since I couldn't survive on his half-day wages. He was startled and panicked, and told me, "But, you can't do that, 'cause there will be days I'll need you for 2/3 time, maybe even some busy times here and there where I'll need you for the full eight hours!" Um, okay.

So, technically, I was not really offered the job. Never officially. The following week, while still temping there, Kyle gave me another one of his clear-as-mud messages. He stood there and began to tell me he was no longer interviewing anyone else, I was the one (hooray!), and I swear to god, in the next breath, he said, "But we'll keep going with this temp thing and just see how it goes."

Huh?

It gets better.

A few days after that, as Steph was earnestly training me to replace her (her last day rapidly approaching), Kyle talked to me again, asked if I was still interested in continuing "with this," and for about the fifth time, I told him, yes, of course I was. He told me again how this job would continue until around June (but now he added "or July") when it should go full-time. And then to my utter astonishment he said, "Oh, and you know, maybe at that time we'll just open the job up to the public."

All I could reply with was stunned silence.

He continued, "Oh, but you know, you'll have been working here that whole time, so you'll already know the job, so you'll probably be the one who gets it, of course."

The coward that I was faked a smile and nodded and went, "Mmm hmm," when what I wanted to say was, "WHAT THE HELL, YOU PRICK!?" At that moment, the loyalty I had felt toward this job, and the desire to stick it out at the crappy wage and low hours, evaporated. But it wouldn't be the first time I felt kicked in the gut. The temp agency woman I worked with kept contacting me and Kyle trying to figure out what the hell was going on. What could I tell her? I didn't understand myself. And everytime she emailed Kyle, he would bring me in and say, "Well, you know, you should deal with this, you should be the one to talk to her, because, you know, you work for her and all" and he'd proceed to tell me what exactly I should say, adding the occassional, "But don't tell her I told you that!" Hmm.

Just a day or two after that, Kyle closed his door and had a very long conversation. This immediately got my antenna up since that is almost never done. Like I mentioned, it's a tiny office with just a few people in it, and so silent that every cough, whisper, and particularly, every phone call, is heard, word-for-word. And I have heard more than one DOOZY of a phone call go on there, and there had never been any privacy before. I had sat there as a temp hearing it all. So now that Kyle had the door closed, I was suspicious. Paranoid, yes, but also suspicious. For some reason I just felt that he was talking to another applicant, and I am no clairvoyant by any means.

It turned out my paranoia was absolutely correct. The next morning I came to work where Steph was already there (she normally arrived at work at 6am each morning to "catch up"). She looked straight into my eyes and told me we needed to talk. And whan ensued was a 45 minute conversation, where Steph told me how much she liked me, and how she couldn't live with herself if she didn't give me the whole truth. As you can guess, most of it centered around Kyle and his mismanagement skills. "I really like you. You're smart, you're nice, you work hard, and you're way over-qualified for this position. I just have to warn you. I know you really need the work right now, and I'm not going to tell you to quit or anything, but use this job. Use it as a stepping stone to the next thing. Get out as soon as you can."

There was a lot more to it, including her confirmation of Kyle's closed-door conversation, much more discussion about Kyle as supervisor, and what Steph had basically suffered through until she got the point where she was now, just getting the fuck out. I had no idea that she had nothing on the horizon, no new job to go to. "How will you survive?" I asked in astonishment.

"I don't know. I haven't even had time to sit and think and figure it out yet," she said sadly. I felt bad for her, bad for myself, but at the same time, felt a wave of elation. Just a few days before I had suddenly gotten two Two TWO calls from the university from two totally different departments who had found my resume in the university's temp pool that I had registered with nearly two months ago. Suddenly, I went from almost no prospects, to two interviews exactly where I wanted to work. But I had felt horribly guilty that I might actually be going ahead and quitting the job I had said I had no intention of leaving. Steph's words set me free.

There is a happy ending to this story, my gentle reader. Here I am, today, where I have had my two interviews at the university, an hour apart. The bad news is that they are both temporary, but there is much more good news. 1) They both pay more than what I'm making at the writers' association now, 2) One of them offered me a job on the SPOT! *cheer*, and 3) as they both said, this was the foot in the door of the university, and getting a job after their respective positions ended would be no problem. "I know a lot of people at this university," one woman smiled and winked at me during the interview. I wanted to kiss her.

So, all that's left for me now is to somehow tell Kyle that he can take this job and shove it. And despite my rage in my previous post on revenge, the truth is, I'm a real wuss. Though I'd love to march up to him tomorrow and tell him he was a colossal prick who strung me along and stabbed me in the back, I'm actually terrified of telling him, and NOT looking forward to that awkward moment where I have to have him sign my temp agency time sheet. *gulp* But really, there is no choice in the matter....

Well, I could always do what you're supposed to do, which is let your temp agency do it for you, but that seems even more cowardly than I feel I really am. We'll see. Either way, I am OUTTA HERE! Hooray!

And in the end, I am stunned by yet another inexplicable experience in Missoula. Like I told Beau, I feel like there's something going on in this city I don't get, something I'm missing, some secret that I haven't learned yet. Beau was stunned since he had been having a similar view. It's not exactly Stepford, but it's not normal. All I can say for now is...

What. The. Fuck. Is. Going. On. In. This. City?

I'm stumped. It's confirmed, I live in Bizarro World.

Big Fish in a Little Pond

I've always been interested in interpreting my dreams, and with my roommate freshman year of undergrad, we even attempted to create those "lucid dreams" where you realize you're dreaming and take over your dream and have a fantastic time. We were only slightly successful (and it's a surprising amount of work). I used to keep a dream interpretation book in my bathroom magazine rack, and every morning when I got up for my daily ablutions, I would quickly scan the index of the book for the key images in my dream -- particularly since all my dreams fade like fairy dust moments after I awake. I've never gotten very good at interpreting my dreams except when they're fairly obvious, in a symbolic kind of way. Just this morning before I woke up, I had just such a dream.

First some background. Recently, I've begun talking about my (and Beau's) mind-fucking difficulties getting a decent job here. There was a lot we were unprepared for -- the unbelievably low wages, the high rental rates, the schizophrenic weather, the "special" rules, regulations or ways of doing things here that we've never experienced anywhere else we've ever lived, and the sometimes overly friendly sometimes overly psychotic people. It feels like Bizarro World all the time. But the worst thing at all has been the job situation. It's been a complete nightmare trying to get decent-paying, good-quality, steady work. I've been either an administrator or teacher for about 12 years now, and to BLOW (screw "toot") my own horn, I'm very good at both. I work hard, I enjoy my work, and I believe in doing a good job. In Missoula, all I've been able to find and get so far, are low-skill, low-pay clerical jobs where I spend my day wondering if driving toothpicks under my fingernails would be more enjoyable. I'll talk more about my current temp job soon, but in the meantime, keeping that in mind, here's my dream:

I've got a gigantic fishing pole, kind of like the 12-foot bamboo one I had as a kid in Arizona with my happy bobber on the end. I've got some worms, which are small, and I break them in half to put them on the line.

Now it's time to fish, and I cast my impressive line into the water. The trouble is, the pond I'm fishing in is quite small. Almost immediately, I get a bite, and the bobber dips once into the water and, being as big as it is, bounces jauntily back up. The fish is gone.

This continues, again and again, though I go to different ponds, all diminutive, and all disappointing. Looking into the water of one, I can see the fish, and immediately I'm crushed -- they're so small, barely more than large minnows. "It hardly seems worth all this effort and the worms," I think to myself.

So, there's poor me, with my big impressive pole (my view of my own working credentials) fishing in these tiny ponds (Missoula's job market) with these teeny fish (Missoula's less-than-stellar jobs and pay), who just barely bite, but nothing comes of anything - I never catch a fish (in the end, I still don't have a full-time job).

*sigh*

Cruel Cruel Missoula - Part I

We’re surrounded by lumber and dead bodies.

Beau and I have an apartment which sits in a sort of bowl surrounded by large hills and mountains, with I-90 up above us, two pieces of a cemetery on two sides of us, and various lumber yards and mills on the other sides. On a good day, you can walk outside and smell the pine wood being processed. And unfortunately, now when I smell that lumber, I just get pissed off, as you’ll soon discover…

Anyway, though Beau and I are happy to be in Missoula, we have been facing a harsh, HARSH realty since we got here – there are NO FUCKING JOBS! Here we are: him a certified teacher, now with savvy international experience, and me with my master’s degree and fairly impressive resume in the educational and non-profit fields. And yet, we are drinking from the dregs of what this “big” city has to offer.

The truth is, Missoula is only a big city to Montanans. To anyone you talk to who has come from out of state (which is a good many people), it’s a pretty small place. I find it to be a strange, somewhat cool, somewhat unappealing combination of small, hardcore industrial town and growing, quirky university town.

Since we moved here six weeks ago, Beau has only been able to secure seven substitute teaching jobs (one that doesn’t come up ‘til early March). This is some scary shit for us, struggling to pay for rent, credit card bills, and the dreaded student loans.

It doesn’t stop there. At this moment, I am registered with FOUR, count ‘em, uno, dos, tres, QUATRO temp agencies. How depressing is that! Temp agencies are always such an catch-22. You need them to get you some quick and dirty work when you come to a new city, but then you are tied to them like an indentured servant if you do get a good job. They provide you with weekly wages, but since your employer is paying them several dollars an hour on TOP of what they pay you, you get less money than you would if you were hired from them directly.

And sometimes, the whole thing can just be humiliating…

One of my first temp jobs was a clerical one at a lumber yard of sorts. More like a processing plant that receives wooden boards and then cuts them to order. Naturally, this wasn’t my dream job, but I needed work bad, and it seemed okay. I got there the first day and was greeted by a man with an ear-to-ear smile and a laid back attitude. At lunch, I told Beau he reminded me of Mr. Rogers. The woman who had given her two weeks notice, “Jill,” was not there to train me, which made it somewhat awkward, but Mr. Rogers did his best to train me to do a few things. He was actually a bit freaked out, since the office seemed to be going through a time of chaos. There was the woman who I was replacing, and the other woman in the office was moving into another position, and had just started training her replacement (whom they were not sure would stick around since the woman got the job by being demoted from another department). Mr. Rogers was obviously uneasy about the transitions.

Nevertheless, he began to train me. There were actually some duties I had never done before, but it wasn’t rocket science, and I picked it up fine. I continued working hard all day, and the woman I was to replace finally showed up (she had had some problems at home), and I sat with her for the rest of the day filling out paperwork and such. People there seemed nice, and I thought the job would do for awhile.

Jill and I chatted during the day and were astounded to find out we both came from the same city in Arizona. She told me how she was quitting to start school as a Speech Therapist, which I thought was very cool and told her so. I told her how Beau and I had been having such a tough time finding work and how I was happy to working there. I opened up to her a lot. I liked her and we really seemed to bond.

At the end of the day, Mr. Rogers came up to the both of us and solemnly asked Jill if he could speak to her alone for a bit and for me to wait. My heart stopped. The only thing I could think of was that Mr. Rogers would tell her I was doing such a good job that she didn’t have to fulfill her two weeks notice. He had been telling me all day how I’d been picking up the job quickly and competently. I felt sorry for her, since that probably would be an awkward conversation, but would probably release her as well.

I could see them in the other room, since there was a large window stretching across the wall. After about five minutes of my standing there, Mr. Rogers got up from the table, left the room, and came over to me, his face slightly twisted. Jill remained in the other room, motionless, her back to me. Suddenly, I had an ominous feeling.

Once again I got his broad smile, and the first words out of his mouth were, “Do you have your timesheet from the temp agency?” Aw hell, now I KNEW this was trouble. After a moment’s shocked hesitation, I told him no, since I thought I’d be working for awhile and he wouldn’t need to sign my timesheet until the end of the week.

And so then began his schpiel, and that’s all it was, a big schpiel of horseshit. He went on and on about how he knew Jill had been having second thoughts of quitting, and so that’s why he had wanted to take her aside and talk to her about it and see what she really wanted to do. And yes, it seems she DID want to stay (so much for wanting to be a speech therapist), and you know what that means, I was out on my ass. After ONE day! Mr. Rogers blabbed on, saying how I had done such a great job, and he kept crowing, “But J., you are at the TOP of the list, the TOP of the list!” as he explained that the office was still in flux and maybe just MAYBE I could be called back *wink nudge* to replace the recently-demoted woman if she chose to quit.

He had to be fucking kidding me.

I have had plenty of jobs in my life, and have always strongly believed in working hard and doing a good job. And I have never been fired. At that moment, I felt like I had just been fired for the first time.

I nodded, turned, and left, where Beau was waiting in the parking lot in the car. “Go, just go!” I said, and poor confused him put the car in reverse and drove off to our home, just on the other side of the cemetery.

I spent the next several hours cussing and cursing the name of Mr. Rogers and his whole big stupid lumber yard. Even though I knew it wasn’t my fault, I felt humiliated. The worst part was, I would have to RETURN there the next day so he could sign my timesheet. There was no way I was going to walk away without being paid for the day.

And what was also so depressing, was that once again, I was back at square one – unemployed with no prospects. It just killed me.

The next day I got up, showered and styled myself into a state of professional hotness. Wearing my sharp black suit and high-heeled boots, I drove over to the lumber yard, and with timesheet in hand, I marched in. I immediately zeroed in on Mr. Rogers and headed straight for him like a heat-seeking missile. The other woman smiled sweetly and greeted me and I did the same. Jill barely whispered a “Hi” and studied her desk intently. Mr. Rogers, seeing me, boomed out an over-dramatic “HI J!” that shook the walls and just pissed me off further. I tried to give him a polite smile, but it felt more like a grimace, as I handed over my timesheet like I was handing him a summons. He quickly signed it, mumbling pleasantries, to which I didn’t reply. I snatched the timesheet back, turned, and walked out with as much dignity as I could pull off. Really, the whole thing just made me feel blech inside. I got back in the car and drove off; at least it was over and I would never have to see these people again.

But damn it, sometimes I still SMELL them.

The Eternal Pursuit of the Hot Mailroom Boy (HMB)

Let me quickly introduce again the Hot Mailroom Boy whom we shall call HMB after this for easy typing on my part. The first time I saw him here at my new job, I was totally infatuated. The sweet, shy type with dark hair and beautiful eyes. KILLS ME! He shows a striking resemblance to that sexy, brooding lead actor in the now defunct "Roswell" series. Not only that, but strangely enough, he even has nearly the same voice, that kind of soft, breathy thing. Oh man, let me take a moment away from the keyboard to get my stupid self under control.

....

...................

........................................................................!!!

Okay!

Anyway, I did something marginally immoral. Probably akin to sexual harassment. It certainly would be if a guy did this in my place. I tried to get the HMB to replace me in the job I am doing here since I?m moving into a "higher" position in the same office. How perfect! I would have him within close proximity all day everyday. How could I fail to seduce him with my sultry, feminine wiles and razor-like wit now? Okay, he?s like seven years younger than me, I think he already has a girlfriend, his flirting with me can only be considered marginal, etc. But oh well! Besides, this romantic nepotism wasn't totally without cause. Another guy who is in the same position as I was (basic administrative slave), also began as the mailboy and moved his way to the same slave position (in a different department) when an opportunity arose (though I don?t think he was promoted for potential romantic reasons. He?s nice, but a bit like a thick, piece of wood). So, it wasn't completely out of line for me to suggest the same for HMB. Alas, my boss was not as excited as I was and decided in the end to go for a new, shiny person from the temp agency. I believe the reason is that HMB is painfully shy and this position sort of calls for a perky, patient sort. I rallied for him a bit, saying he was smart, friendly, etc., but I think his ginger manner is what lost it for him. I tried! At least I still get 4-5 wild fantasy-filled, heart-thumping moments per day as he lumbers in, picking up and dropping off the mail.

I have tried almost every excuse to talk to him and am getting to the point of feeling ridiculous and obvious, as I have ordered every type of envelope, had empty boxes delivered, files taken down, courier waybills searched for, etc. etc. etc. anything to initiate contact with him. Knowing me, no one even has a clue. Normally, I wouldn't be so shy about letting someone know I like him, but the age gap, his timidity (which I can't tell if it's self-consciousness or an attempt to avoid my advances), and the fact that I work in a modest office which works like a small town in terms of gossip and know-everything-about-everyone, I just can't take the chance.

I'm terrified of the very real possibility of rejection.

Not to mention, having to sit there immersed in humiliation, trying to force a stupid grin on my visage as the guy who rejected me strides by FOUR or FIVE times a day! That's too close to some sort of Greek tragic punishment a la Sisyphus or Prometheus for me!

The thought of rejection has also been forefront in my mind since the recent "asking-out" of me by one of the security guards here. I was so stupid; I should have seen it coming when he asked me 5000 questions about myself, including the "do you have a boyfriend?" and "are you looking for anyone?" etc. One of these times when he was interrogating me in a jovial way, I thought that the HMB may JUST possibly be within earshot (we were in the basement where the HMB dwelling is), and so, speaking in a loud voice, I was secretly hoping HMB would hear all the answers to these convenient questions and POSSIBLY get some sort of encouragement or useful information from it. What I so foolishly missed was that the person actually collecting this information was the one asking it, and he in turn used it just an hour later to ask me out. In a really stupid way too. I had told him about my unbelievably massive student loan debt (nearing 70k), and this is how it went down:

*phone ringing from Security desk* Me worried about why Security might be calling me.
(all is spoken in a very rapid fashion, as both parties were nervous for different reasons)

Me: Yes?
Security guard: Oh hey, Iris
Me: *suspiciously* Yes?
Security guard: You know, I feel so sorry for you.
Me: Huh?
Security guard: Yeah, let me take you out to dinner, you know. I feel so sorry for you because you have all that debt and stuff, so let me take you to dinner.
Me: *splutter* Um?well, um. Okay. I mean, I?m really busy and?
Security guard: Can you go on Saturday?
Me: Um no, I have a second job and all so um, no, I can?t Saturday, maybe ?later. And?uhh?.
Security guard: Okay. See you later.
*click*
Me: Fuck.

Since then, with the intrepidness of a Cold War spy, I have shamefully dodged him, using alternate routes when moving from department to department where I would have previously intersected him. I felt like shit, but to outright reject him to his face seems unbelievably cruel to me. He seemed to get the message, and I eased off my cloak and dagger ways a bit. I always say hello to him and try to be cheerful and kind, but at the same time keep my distance. I know; I'm scum.

When I was in my early twenties, I was filled with confidence. I'd thinned out a bit from my jock-like teens, I had recently had my braces removed (something I?d yearned for as child but was never able to afford), and with the mass meat market of college and the occasional aid of the internet, men were easy to score. I had a great time. I had wonderful relationships. I got laid a lot.

Now, for the first time ever, I?m very conscious of my age. Men, whom at any age were always a possibility, an option, are now too green for the picking. When I found out HMB was 24, it didn't seem like a big deal, but then after a quick calculation in my head, I realized that he was SEVEN YEARS younger than I! Holy fuck! Is that even allowed if you?re not Susan Sarandon or Demi Moore and/or gorgeous and/or rich? I am neither gorgeous nor rich nor a celebrity. I'm okay looking, but need to lose weight, I have just enough money to make it each week, and the only celebrity status I'm likely to get is if I happen to fall down a well.

Back to HMB, I feel renewed in my endless, yet fantastically subtle pursuit of him. I just found out today that the reason one executive wasn?t getting an executive officer her Economist magazines in as timely a manner as I, is because HMB has been hording them in his mailroom cave in the basement, reading them, and then finally passing them on to her after he finishes. The executive, the type of person who becomes rather shrill when agitated, once again freaked out today about her MIA magazine. Due to the fact that I toss mine promptly after reading them (even if I've barely had the chance to read a few measly articles), I decided to just hand them over to HMB. Hey, it's fantastic for him, and again, it's a selfish ploy to get closer to a man I want to bed.

*A few weeks go by*

A couple weeks have gone by and the truth is, it hasn't done much for our creative non-relationship. He continues to be evasively shy, and I have begun pulling back a bit due to my reluctance to continually feel like a pathetic and eager lovelorn fool. I don't know why I'm so sensitive to show my feelings for someone in public, especially around people I know (it's a bit easier around strangers), but now that a couple people in the office know of my attraction (I have only let on to attraction, no my full-on lustfest), I am too ashamed to actually let them see me slobber in his wake. Besides, after I told one woman about my crush, she exclaimed, "Him? He's just a baby!" I blushed a deep red. They got a big kick out of that. I blush easily and deeply. My skin is as pale as a corpse, which allows maximum redness! Ohhhhh HMB. I have a feeling we will never be. Alas! Alas! Alas!

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

Does it Count as a Promotion if You’re Just a Temp?

I’ve been working at this financial institution for nearly two months now. As I’ve mentioned before, the people are cool, the work is easy, and the pay is decent. The drawback(s)? I’m a temp and therefore have no benefits. The customers are vile and finance is a field I have zero interest in. I get paid every week, which also has its pros and cons, but I couldn’t go to a doctor even if I needed to.

After working here about four to six weeks, I was given a promotion of sorts. Really, I’m taking over for someone who will be on extended maternity leave (massive déjà vu!), though they said they would probably still need me anyway even after she returns. It involves a small pay increase, which is nice, of course. And hey, it feels good to be recognized in some way, even if the promotion is just more of a “right place at the right time” rather than stupendous merit.

I have such mixed feelings about this place and the whole situation. Damn this job market! One small light is it looks like some local. Jewish NGO is going to hire me. I’m not sure, but I’ve deftly hurdled all their little obstacles so far. The hiring process in this city is so damn complicated and drawn out. It’s totally ridiculous. MULTIPLE interviews, each one involving a small army interrogating you as if you’re an Al Queda member at Guantanamo Bay, writing samples, background checks, long lists of references checked. My god! What if you go through ALL this hassle and realize you hate your new job? It’s not worth quitting since it’s so damn hard to get hired anywhere else!

Since getting this little promotion a few weeks back, I’ve scaled back tremendously from my job search. I’m actually exhausted by my over two months of hardcore researching, applying, interviewing, and then reading rejection letters. I feel at a bit of a loss anyway. I thought I had screwed up the Jewish NGO interview. It’s one of those things where you start reflecting back on the interview and realized you said something REALLY stupid and you just gnash your teeth and think over and over, “Why why why did I say that?” Yet, they called me back again and again.

And I thought I had had an AMAZING interview at NYU. The NYU job was perfect for me, it actually matched my skills and experience (not something easy to find!). The people seemed to really like me and I was walking on air after the interview. Just yesterday I got the rejection letter with its tepid enthusiasm and read between the lines “Piss off!” message.

And in the meantime, I have my current position in the Banking industry, which more and more seems like a place I should just set down roots at and be happy I have a decent job. This is my current dilemma. Simply be happy at the fairly good job I have? Start trying to pay off bills, get settled, etc.? (I have been in the damn city for four months now!) Or do I keep going on these interviews, keep trying to get a good job, despite the fact that I may go through this and end up somewhere that doesn’t pay as much (NGO’s have shitty pay) and may turn out to just suck in general anyway? Bird in the hand…

Lots of Soup For You! Come Back Again!

As I have probably mentioned, my glamorous job is in “Midtown” which basically means what it says, in the middle of (Manhattan) town. I noticed thumbing through my Zagat that the (in)famous Soup Nazi (“NY’s best-behaved clientele”) from Seinfeld fame is only a few avenues away. He's really called "Al, The Real Soupman" at his place called "The Soup Kitchen." Seeing as how it’s a cold and rainy February day, what better time to enjoy a warm and inviting bowl of nourishment? Plus, I was a big fan of the show and it would be fun to see the inspiration for one of my favorite episodes.

I have to admit that I was pretty nervous. I mean, if the guy is anything like he is on television, he’s going to be a harsh and intimidating character. It was a bit of a walk in the rain and wind, but I soon reached the place, which was surprisingly small, a little hole in the wall (almost literally!) cut out of the avenue, maybe only 10 feet wide. When I saw his face, there was no question, that was the man! (I’d seen clips of the “real” Soup Nazi before). I immediately reached in my purse and pulled out my money. It’s true, there are a few signs, in about four different languages, instructing you to be ready! Be quick! And have your money ready! And don’t forget to move to the “EXTREME left.” I knew KNEW I had only $10 in ones (I’d counted it before, but suddenly I wasn’t so sure and started frantically counting it out in my hand. Many of the bills were new and so stuck together causing me to fly into a slight panic. I thought I would get the large soup (really the medium-sized since the third was considered an extra-large). It was $9. In pure Newman fashion a la Seinfeld, I said “Large Muligatawny, please,” and handed him the money as if I was heiling Hitler. He took it without looking at it and placed it in the drawer. I suddenly realized that the soup really WAS $9 (tax must have been included) and that he had $1 too much. *scream* Oh no! Conflict! Just the kind of thing that’s supposed to set him off. But hey, right now EVERY dollar is important to me and I still consider $9 to be a LOT for lunch, so I leaned forward gingerly and said, “I’m sorry, um…I thought there was tax…I gave you $10.” Then, I waited.

With only a blink, he opened the register back up, slid out a buck, and handed to me. Phew! That seemed okay. I dutifully moved to the extreme left and waited for my large cup of nectar-of-the-gods soup. A rather large, brown shopping bag was handed to me by a rushed worker. It seemed a bit big for one cup of soup. I peered inside and saw what appeared to be many different things in there, including a large and luscious banana.

“Ummm, I don’t think this is mine…I only ordered…”

“Yes! That’s yours!” proclaimed the Soupman.

Oooh! Okay! I almost skipped off with my bounty, and it really was. It seemed to take forever to get back to my place of work, all the time trying to protect the precious, paper-wrapped cargo from the rain which was slowly destroying the bag. I finally got there (the balls of my feet burning slightly) and proceeded to the lonely workroom in the basement where I laid it all out. The soup. A large banana. A large piece of fresh bread. A small tub of salad (as in potato salad/coleslaw-like), a small basket of fruit including grapes, strawberries, and a small apple, and finally, a dainty little chocolate. Wow! What a haul! And so healthy and multi-food groupy too! I’d say that was worth my hard-earned nine bucks! Hats off, to Al Yeganeh, “The Real Soupman!” Hooray! No more Soup Nazi for you! It’s King Al from now on!

Hooray Hooray Hooray, I Am Employed!

Happy happy joy joy the world is no longer a black pit of despair. That’s right, drama queen me! I got a job, sort of. My temp agency got me a 6 month “temp job” at the same place I’ve been temping before (major financial institution). The difference is I’m working in their townhouse in midtown and making a dollar less an hour. It’s still a comfortable $19/hour, though naturally, since I’m a temp, I don’t get any benefits (here’s praying that if I get hit by a car, it finishes me off). You know, when you have a steady income, even if it’s a job you’re not particularly interested in (though not despising), it changes your whole outlook on the world. I feel I can do anything again. I guess it goes to show that all my confidence in wrapped up in my job. Lord, if I am ever fired from a job, I will probably have to be committed.

Well now, what happens? Do I end up stuck in a fairly good paying, though unfulfilling job that is well below anything I’ve trained for had experience for? I hope not. I will continue to look for a job I’m more well-suited to, though with a bit less fervor than before.

I have to say though, this townhouse/office space is really beautiful. It used to be some rich family’s home about a hundred years ago and the house is very old-money-looking, complete with dark, thick wood paneling and staircases, red velvet wallpaper, stained glass windows, and a fireplace in the lobby. *sigh*

So, despite the fact that I have a Master’s degree and about $70,000 in educational debit (and a residual $1000 in credit card debt – see my curses about AmEx below), I am now a receptionist in a “make money make money!” organization. I am a receptionist. I am a receptionist.

Oh well, fuck. I have a job. There are definitely worse situations to be in. And I should know.

Sidenote: Okay, I was a total idiot for not remembering this exactly before, but Feingold was the ONLY senator to voice his dissent at the USA Patriot Act Bill – a move I’m sure plenty of Democrats (and maybe a few Republicans) wish now they had made then.

Speaking of Democrats, I’m still on the John Edwards bandwagon. It’s just because he’s soooo cute! *cough* God, wasn’t that one of the said reasons for having Dan Quayle run with Bush? “Women will vote for him because he’s so handsome.” I’m sorry, because I have a vagina I vote with it? I thought the stereotype of voting with your nether regions was left to men. Anyway, I still like Edwards very much and even signed up on his website (so I have been suddenly flooded with emails). I’ll even cough up some money for his campaign (I’m sure my donation will buy a roll of stamps). But hey, if you give him $35, you get his book “Four Trials” for free! Unlike Kerry whom I can’t relate to (I don’t care if he was Forrest Gump in a past life), and Dr. Dean whom I find totally confusing and comical (I LIKED his fanatical speech in Iowa), or the General (I hate his stance on Israel), or Lieberman (ugh), John Edwards is someone I DO relate to and HOPE I can trust (as mentioned earlier, Feingold is the only politician I’ve felt that about).