"You let me violate you... You let me desecrate you... You let me penetrate you.... You let me complicate you..."
I like Nine Inch Nails. Don't tell anybody.
I went out job-hunting today. Why, Helena? you HAVE two jobs, don't you?
Helena's résumé of "reasons for leaving":
August 1997: NYPIRG (New York Public Interest Research Group)
Worked 50 hours a week walking through desolate upper-class neighborhoods in Ithaca and Lansing, New York, begging rich people to give me money so that my employers could pay lobbyists to get rich people to stop using pesticides. Needless to say, this was not a fruitful venture. Paid $100 a week, plus commission if you got people to give you more than five hundred dollars or something, but nobody ever did, so it was basically two bucks an hour for eight hours’ worth of getting doors slammed in my face and two hours of riding in a car with a dirtyhippie who played Phish CDs all the time… I left because it was a summer job, and summer ended.
August 1998 – May 1999: CSF Post Office
Worked 10 ½ hours a week sorting mail and selling stamps… Made six bucks an hour, plus there were perks, like free stamps (when nobody was looking – I didn’t take advantage of that TOO often), and my boss’s willingness to let me grab money out of the register for sodas… Fantastic job, but it was just a work-study thing, so I left when semester ended.
June 1999-September 1999: Manley’s Mighty Mart (gas station)
Thirty hours a week, psychotic managers, duties included trying to find something to do for eight hours instead of standing vacantly at the register, because the managers would watch the in-store camaras to make sure you hadn’t stood vacantly at the register for more than ten seconds a day… Eventually, they wanted me to close the store EVERY night, but decided not to sufficiently train me on how to close the store, and managed to conveniently lose the checklist of stuff to do. Therefore, I forgot a couple of things, and they wrote me up for things like leaving the bathroom lights on. They also wrote me up for leaving full pots of coffee on the counter, although Helena freakin’ Thomas has never in her LIFE abused coffeepots, even ones full of gas station coffee… Three write-ups, and they fired you, so I beat them to it. I worked an eight-hour shift on Labor Day (when they pay you for time and a half), and then quit the next morning.
November 1999-July 2000: Record Town, Oakdale Mall
Nice job, easy hours, perks included having a very cool boss who dyed her hair the same color as me and loved all the same music as me… Also, the two of us sneaked out with a fair number of CD’s, copied them, and brought them back… ALSO, we got to listen to everything we damn well wanted to listen to, and giving people music recommendations is awfully damned fun. My boss left, the assistant manager was on vacation, and the third-in-command, who didn’t like me – presumably because I’d never sucked his cock – left me in charge of the store for two and a half hours while he wandered off into the mall, presumably to get his cock sucked… While he was gone, I did all his duties as well as mine, and the next week, they fired me for having done refunds and things, which I wasn’t supposed to do. Upon finding out what had happened, the district manager promptly called to apologize to me and offer me my job back, but I told her to shove it up her obviously dysfunctional asshole. She said the company would officially list me as “left for better opportunity.”
July 2000 – April 2001: Java Joe’s Coffeehouse
The day after Record Town fired me, Nathan called my house unexpectedly to offer me a job as a barrista at Java Joe’s. Sweet job, got to eat pretty much anything I wanted at half price or less, depending on who was looking, made tons of friends, hooked up with, uh… more than one… customer, worked with mostly-cool coworkers, got to drool over Hot Lawyer Guy every day, got to chat with Geeky Lawyer Guy every night, got a new nickname (“Lady Latté”), got to play my own music at closing time at very high volumes, learned to clean and didn’t actually hate it, worked on my phobia of vomit and other gross glop by repeatedly cleaning out the sinks, and acquired the recipe for Java Joe’s famed “Thomas Quinn Cake.” (*grin*) Oh yeah, and free coffee. Lots of free coffee. Quit because management and the owners decided that they couldn’t trust any of their employees and took away most of my register privileges and started watching me with an eagle eye, which was just fucking creepy, not to mention rather rude.
July 2000 – present: Sharkey’s Bar and Restaurant
I spend two nights a week frying clams and fishsticks for four hours, and then spending another four hours sitting at the bar reading and writing letters. It’s minimum wage, but who can beat it, when all I have to do is work for four hours and then do nothing the rest of the night? I work with a fantastic coworker, who calls everybody “boss” (except me: I’m “sweetheart” or “petunia”), and drives me home every night. Free food, free soda, and the Sunday-night bartender is always willing to teach me to mix stuff… Mudslide, anybody? The only bad part is that most of the waitresses are dumber than dogshit (not all, just most), and my clothing always smells like fish, thus giving people the impression that I have a personal hygiene problem, which I don’t.
April 2001 – present: Coffee Talk Coffeehouse
One of the owners looks conspicuously like a giant version of a G.I. Joe action figure, and the other looks like a geeky lawyer, only he’s got very sexy legs and I bet he watched “Twin Peaks” when it was still on the air. Tanker-boy boss promised me 25-30 hours a week, but Geeky-Hot-Legs-boy boss has only delivered about 8 hours a week. It’s free coffee and free food, but the coffee REALLY sucks. Besides, it’s only free when you’re working, and I’d like to be able to eat more than an eight-hour-shift’s worth of food…
I guess I don’t have the best track record when it comes to employment…
I spent the day calling ads in the paper, and tracked down a job at a little place called the Grand Central Café, a tiny little restaurant halfway between Java Joe’s and Coffee Talk. I donned khakis, a black shirt, and Docs; my patron saint of employment would have recommended those Docs, I think. They bring me luck. I stuffed my lucky sugar-packet (DON’T ask) into my pocket, and went out. I stopped in at Boscov’s to buy nails for hanging posters, and then went to meet the owner of Grand Central. The owner, Shannon, is the twin-sister of Norma Jennings of the Double-R Café, Twin Peaks, WA. Well, maybe not, but she freaking acts like it: such a sweetie! Besides, I happened to have stopped in there for a lunch-date (*wink*), when they first opened, and discovered that they make a very good cherry pie, and the coffee’s not too bad…
“I think you’re my best prospect so far,” whispered Shannon, smiling gently as I put on my jacket to leave. She was glancing over at another applicant, who looked like she’d missed her morning dose of haloperidol. I was suddenly struck by an image of Shelly Johnson and Norma Jennings grinning at each other in the Double-R Diner. If I get that job, I bet I’m going to be accidentally calling Shannon “Norma” all the time. I fingered my keys delicately and wandered over to Lost Dog to tell the folks there the good news… (FYI – I’ve never officially applied at Lost Dog; I like hanging out there too much to work there…)
Wish me luck, although I’m no longer in such desperate fear of losing my house, my sanity, and my will to live because of my employment situation. I’m not afraid anymore. I’m feeling quite warm all over…
~Helena*
PS – Norma… er… Shannon… just called. I start at nine tomorrow