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Tuesday, Apr. 19, 2005 / 7:21 p.m. ~Mama Needs a New Pair of Shoes~ Frankly, I'm feeling a bit offended. I just turned on my cell phone (which I tend to turn off when I leave work at 5:00, as I leave it on all day because the number is printed on my resume, and I may just get a call... more on this later), because I am online and I needed to call the organizer of tomorrow's bookstore (THE bookstore) employees reunion (egad, this had better be good - network, network, network), RSVP and all that, and there was a voicemail message waiting. Someone called about a job, after hours, because I'd FAXed over my resume yesterday. General office, FT/PT, answering phones, adminstrative work - I can tell you right there, from that little description, this job doesn't pay shit. Just the same way I can read between the lines of personal ads, and housing ads. A 'charming' 1 bdr/1 bath, in an 'older home', with private entrance, is a basement dive that floods every time it rains. I can smell it from the ad. I can. A guy who is looking for a woman who has her own career, and is comfortable in evening gowns or jeans, doesn't want a woman, he wants a trophy. I can see this stuff. The General Office FT/PT thing? Crap. $10/hour tops. But I thought I'd try, you just don't know for sure unless you try. And no one has called me back yet, regarding any of the jobs to which I've applied (I really wanted the newspaper job, even if part-time), until today. So, I get the message, can't decipher the man's name, but I can hear that he's black, and no, that does not matter, but it fits in, you'll see, and I call him back, he said he'll be in the office 'til 9:00, and I tell him really I know little about the job, that I'm being laid off, my manager is emailing job opportunities to us all every day (and driving me batty with it), and what sort of job is it? And he fiddles around for my resume, and asks what I do, which is right THERE on the resume, but I tell him, and not long into it he stops me and asks what I make, sort of, "What are you making now?", and I balk, I pause, er, this is not supposed to happen, not so soon, he's not supposed to ask me what I make, is he? So I tell him, to the penny, and since it's just under the dollar amount, which really pissed me off last year when I got my raise, I mean why not make it the whole dollar, why the seven cents less, eh?, and he says something to the effect of, "Yeah, well, this is $9, $10 an hour, this job, so okay, bye then", not verbatim, but close enough. I was really insulted, I was. And I was thinking, "It's because I'm white, isn't it?" Now, I know that's wrong, it's stupid, it's a measly office job, some home care facility, it's non-profit, maybe, perhaps, which is what I'd prefer, and I prefer small to CORPORATE, and I just wrote that I knew it wasn't a lot, I could tell by the wording of the description, I can tell these things, but he seemed so FUCKING RUDE, ya know? Now, on my way home at lunch today, to check on surgery girl, my phone rang, and I was just about to leave the parking lot, yet I was responsible and pulled over and stopped, but it's so damned startling when my phone rings, the cell phone, any of my phones, no one calls me, it's just weird, but this cell number is OUT THERE now, this is my HIRE ME!, PLEASE!, number, so I answered, and it was someone who'd received my resume from our former HR Manager (who, yes, as it goes, was laid off already, final day last Friday). She wants to know if I want a job out by the airport, working for Delta, some contract thing, and I say, well, it would have to pay really well, because do you have any idea where I live?, and I joke that the train really needs to run an express line, that making all those stops is ridiculous, and I'm not joking, as it turns out, but she says what an excellent time to read, and I think, hmmmm, she's right, I could spend an hour commuting each way, reading. I could READ. I miss reading, books, my EW 'scrip., this could be good, for more money, and it's only two months max. I say sure, fine, whatever, pass along my info, I don't care, not in so many words, and she calls me later, the damned phone rings again!, and asks when can I interview, and pins me down, and then someone else emails me, and there's the job description and I am SO not qualified (and what about all the capitalization in THIS entry, eh?!), and it's at the fucking airport, contract work, and why oh why do I pick up the cube to cube phone and tell what's her name, the coworker who would be friend, or not, just to hear her tell me I'm sacrificing my unemployment if I take this job, and then in two months I'm out of a job again, and I'm thinking, hey, temping could be fun. I could make more money than usual, and I would have no vested interest, I wouldn't care how well I did. Just get by for a month or two here and there, and make a lot of money, and READ. I told everyone, because we do this now, we all want jobs, and we all talk about our interviews, and I said, "If one of you comes in and sees me tomorrow and says, 'You're wearing THAT?!', I am smacking you in the head!", pacifist that I am. I do not intend to 'dress up'. I will wear business cazh. And I should be ironing right now, but I'm full of Chinese food, Curry Tofu and such, and really I'd prefer to have a nap, but we know my "Gilmore Girls" and my "Amazing Race" are on soon, so sleeping will wait. Speaking of, 'Rob and Ambuh' got married, so I just read, and the marriage will be televised. The revolution will not, however. The cat? Eh. She was good at lunch, jumping up on her scratch post perch, and thusly freaking me out with her acrobatics, but now she is lethargic, not moving much. Not eating much. Appearing not to feel too terribly very well. The doc says he'll call when he gets the test results back on the 'lime', but I feel like I don't want to know. Reminds me of when I had my colposcopy, the 'look see' at the surface of my cervix, looking for cancer, and they called and said, "You're cancer free", and I said, "And I'm out $150!", and they said, "Would you rather you had cancer?", and I said, "No, but what a worthless piece of shit test you forced on me, and it hurt, like a motherfucker, and you said it wouldn't, then acted all surprised and everything when I said, 'FUCK, it hurts! Give me something for the pain!', and you said, 'Really? It usually doesn't hurt...'" Maybe G. is in pain? Hard to say. So, there's a new Pope dude, the smoke was the color of staunch conservatism, and homosexuals can all safely head straight to Hell again, no reprieve, saaahhhrrrry. No women priests, no birth control, no divorce without annulment (did I spell that right?), but aging priests can still sodomize young altar boys. Whew! Hey, I don't make the rules. Be agnostic, it's the only way to live. In fact, we're recruiting, there are signup sheets next to the coffee and crullers on the table in the corner. I cannot believe I am going to waste my time interviewing for this thing tomorrow, driving all the way to the airport, trying to get past security (had I best leave my pocket knife at home?), lying my way through, or maybe telling the truth? What if it's like this guy on the phone, the one who didn't like me because I'm white? What if I get all the way out there and shake hands and all, and this guy says, "What do you do at your job?", and I tell him, and he says, "Well, okay, then, bye"? Meanwhile, six lottery tickets for tonight, come on, come on, big money, big money, mama needs a new pair of shoes, come on! Maybe if I blow on the tickets? Does that help? Cost of the War in Iraq
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