15 July 2000 ~ The newest member...

"Hello, Helena, this is Nathan. Um, gimme a call at home when you get this message, 555.5555. I'll talk to you later. Bye."

BEEP!

"Hi, Helena, this is Nathan again. I hope this is your number: 555.5555; it's what I have down for you, but it doesn't sound right to me. Anyway, it's very, very important that you call me back as soon as you can. It's not anything bad, so don't be worried. It's about quarter after four now; if you get this message before quarter after five, call me at Java Joe's, 774.0966; otherwise, um, at home. Talk to you later. Bye...."

I ALMOST didn't check the messages on my answering machine. I was in a shitty mood.

I went to pick up my final check at Record Town. Matt was working. Matt defended me all the way, and got written up for it. I like Matt. Matt is a very, very good person; moreover, he's a Nice Guy. Nice Guys get shit upon a lot. I think I will make Matt a pretty card and tell him he rocks my world. Nice Guys ought to get pretty cards more often. Anyway, for as much as he likes me, and for as much as he defended me, and for as Nice a Guy as he is, he still had to make me sign my termination papers. So I did. And Matt and I talked half-awkwardly for half an hour or so. I'm going to miss him. I think I'll say that in my pretty card.

I walked away playing Limp Bizkit on my discman so loud that old people turned my direction and glared. Good for them. I was pissed off. I got SET UP. My job was terminated because of somebody's stupid gripe. Because somebody didn't like me. Because of politics and drama. FUCK THAT SHIT.

Give me something to break.

Also, I really am a little bit too old to be seriously enjoying Limp Bizkit as much as I was. Knowing that pissed me off further, so I switched the CD to Delirium's "Semantic Spaces." I borrowed it from my mom. I listened to the first song about five times until I was mellowed out again.

Talked to Peter for about fifteen minutes. He made me write that thing about the meat, by the way. He forced me, kicking and screaming. I swear to gahd, I'm not always this kinky... Well, okay, I am sometimes... Anyway, whatever. I talked to Peter. Until Peter started in with some crap about homo-DJ's -- you would have HAD to've been there -- and I decided it was probably best to leave...

So I walked to Denny's. What the fuck -- I know I got that other job at Sharkey's, but I cannot survive on 16 hours a week, particularly when I'm 3 months behind on bills and can barely scrape together rent for August... So I walked to Denny's, applied for a job, got an interview set up, and took a bus home.

The bus was late getting downtown. My house ISN'T downtown. My house is on the wes'side. So I walked six blocks to my house, which made me even MORE behind schedule.

I dashed into the house, stripped in the living room, threw my clothes all over the place, threw my mail all over the floor -- a Vikki's Secret ad, an ad that sucked so much I don't even know what it was, a phone bill, and an electric bill... I didn't open any of it. I can't afford any of it. I went to the bathroom, didn't wash my hands, and was about to call for a cab when I noticed the answering machine blinking.

I called Nathan. I knew what he wanted. I'm pretty good at translating Nathan's thoughts before they have a chance to become words. I knew EXACTLY what Nathan wanted... I called him at Java's.

"Nathan, you know, they fired me yesterday from Record town," I sort of moaned. I heard him make a Nathan-shocked-face, and then kind of smile. "Really?" he asked.

"Yes. And it wasn't my fault. People just suck."

"I was calling to ask if you were interested in taking another job?"

I smiled.

I said yes. Nathan handed the phone to his manager, Dave.

I smiled a little more.

I talked to Nathan and to Dave for a minute or two... I'm to meet Dave at 8 AM Monday morning.

Mes amis, you are reading the journal of the newest -- almost official -- member of the Java Crew.

I had about four seconds to squeal in completely infantile joy. I know it's just a job, and I know it seriously doesn't matter if it's Java Joe's or Denny's or whatever, because it's just a job, and it doesn't even pay that well... Look, I cannot possibly explain or justify my infantile squeal, okay? I didn't have time for any more than four seconds' worth of squealing anyway... My cab arrived and I was off to work at Sharkey's.

It wasn't too bad. They gave me too much caffeine, but it wasn't that bad. I had quite a bit of fun, as a matter of fact.

You ever get that feeling like everything was happening at exactly the right time? And somehow, it was supposed to teach you some kind of lesson, or give you some kind of reward, or help you out toward some goal?

I have to go now -- I have to wake up very early tomorrow for my mom's wedding ceremony, and before bed I have to dye my hair (I DO look good in purple!) and paint my freaking nails... I'll tell you about the ceremony soon.

Love and a raspberry javaccino...
~Helena the Java Girl*