Chronicles of Kitty, Chapter 1: Carol and my Loaf n' Jug Adventures
Once again, it has been a very long time since I wrote anything in this journal. I think every entry from now on is going to automatically start this way.
And as always, a ton has happened since the last time I wrote. For starters, I think that I should mention that the main reason I am going to try to make an effort to write in this more often is because I feel that the older I get, the more important it is to keep track of what has been going on in my life. I have a terrible memory, one of the worst I have ever seen, and I feel like it would be easy for me to forget a lot of what has happened in my past if I don't write it down. Not to mention it is always kind of fun to sit down and read a bit of what I was doing when I am feeling nostalgic, which is fairly often these days.
Lately I have been feeling somewhat melancholic, though I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because I've been listening to some depressing audiobooks at work. Life has been pretty good to me the past year or so. I moved in with a boyfriend of almost two years and... well, maybe I should start from where I left off from my last entry.
I moved out of Dana and Brian's house to move back to Bozeman and work for this lady named Carol as a caregiver, tired of feeling like a burden to them and anxious to begin my life. I had never done that sort of work before, but I had always thought that it would be fun, maybe even fulfilling. To take care of someone, and let them become a part of my life, a friend. She was in the throes of a very advanced stage of MS. I remember calling her after seeing her ad on craigslist, and I was definitely not planning on getting the job, or even reaching her, for that matter. She sounded so nice and sweet on the phone, and after we talked a little while, she asked if I could come see her for a real interview. I didn't have any money at the time, but Rick offered to take me after I told him that I wanted to go. He and Dana accompanied me as we made the drive from Ashton to Bozeman, and I remember when we arrived I thought the house she lived in was a retreat of some kind for disabled people because it was so grand. I remember thinking her husband was her representative or something, and when I found out it was her husband, I was shocked. He was such a good-looking guy, and she was so shriveled up and... well, old. I realize that that sounds pretty superficial, but it is the first thought that I had, and it's what I'm going to write down because it was what was on my mind at the time.
They asked me several questions about myself and my experience. They didn't seem very concerned about whether or not I had worked in the medical field before, which I was kind of surprised by. I wondered why they didn't just hire a home care nurse, because they obviously had the money. Carol decided to hire me that day, and I told her that I could move right away if I had some money to help with gas and a trailer for moving my stuff. She offered to help, and before I knew it I was moved into the four bedroom house that she'd built nearby specifically for caregivers. I should have seen the red flags early on, that it was too good to be true, but I was desperate to get out of Dana's house, and I hate to admit it, but I really wanted to be closer to Chris. I knew that it was one step closer to maybe getting back together with him again if things didn't work out with Rick, and I needed to jump on the opportunity, because it was the only way I was going to be able to do it.
(A note on the house. It was very big, but not as big as the house Carol stayed in. It was definitely bigger than any house I'd been in in a while, anyway. I only used two of the bedrooms; one for my computer, one for where I slept when Rick stayed with me, which was only for a few days the whole time I was there. I had a couch that I'd bought at a second hand store, and I mainly slept on it in the living room. I watched DVD's on Rick's old TV that he was letting me use so that I would have company. The nights were so quiet sometimes if I didn't have a movie on that my ears would ring from the silence. I remember it was was very creepy at night in that house, as it was surrounded by empty forest. The shades didn't cover much of the windows, so I draped blankets over them so I couldn't see what was outside. I felt like a little kid in that big house at night all by myself, like my parents had left me all alone without a sitter. It was a very unpleasant experience for someone who was used to always having someone around, at least in the same house.)
The first week was fine working for Carol. Two other girls worked for her, one an older black woman who was very nice, but didn't talk much, the other a college-age girl with a typical college girl personality. I remember having a lot of difficulty lifting Carol from her wheelchair, partly because it grossed me out to touch her (I know, great idea getting a care-giving position when I don't even like to touch people, huh?) and partly because I was afraid I was going to drop her. She looked so fragile, almost like she was made of glass and paper. She told me that the ability to lift properly was more in body mechanics than it was in how strong you were, and that one of her best girls was only about five feet tall. She was pretty forgiving the first week, but after the second week or so of failed attempts to lift her and transfer her to her bed, the pool, the shower, etc, she began to become short with me.
I started cooking for her when she found out that I enjoyed cooking. I remember her kitchen being big, just like the rest of the house. It was beautiful, with marble counter tops and a view of the mountains. Sometimes bears would congregate outside the window to try to eat birdseed from the bird feeder, mere feet away from the house. They raved about most of my cooking, but I did end up preparing a couple dishes that they weren't fond of. One of the dishes I made, carrot ginger soup, she described as 'disgusting', which I thought was a little harsh. Way too much salt, she said, but they were both on a very low sodium diet, and me being the salt lover I am disliked the way the food tasted without salt, and I admit I did tend to tailor the flavors to my own palate rather than theirs. The soup had tasted too salty even to me, but one thing about salt is that you can always add more, but you can never take away, and it was too late for me to make another batch.
The longer I worked there, the more I heard about the horrors of working for Carol. The black lady (I wish I could remember her name so I could address her in a different way) explained to me one day when we were cleaning the house and away from earshot that Carol had pretty much exhausted all of her options in the Bozeman area, which was probably why she was willing to move someone from Idaho over to work for her. She had driven all of the women in Bozeman away and was forced to look outside of town for help now. Everyone in town had seen her ad in the paper and on craigslist, and knew better than to apply. Suddenly things were all starting to make sense. Carol became more and more unpleasant with each day, and I remember walking by her office one day only to overhear her crying to her therapist over the phone that she was stuck with incompetent help.
Once, I remember her best girl (the college girl) was out for vacation for almost a full week. The other lady and I were her only help during that time, and she was only slightly more experienced with getting Carol ready for the day than I was. Carol spent hours every day getting ready. She needed to be dressed, deodorized, toileted(x_x), teeth brushed, she required several different creams be applied to her face, as well as clairisonic treatments and a myriad of other things that probably wouldn't make a difference. She needed her hair styled and make-up applied, and that's not even counting her baths, which were three times a week. This other lady and I, we were not very familiar with the process. I had helped her a little in the mornings, but my co-worker had been there longer, so we decided to let her do most of the work, with me helping when I could. One morning, when the college girl was out on her vacation, this other lady and I needed to style Carol's hair. The other lady was the first to try doing it. Carol was patient at first, but as her hair was not turning out the way she wanted, she became more and more frustrated the more she tried. Carol had a layered bob that was not very easy to style for people that don't style hair (ie myself and the black lady, who had wash and wear hair.) It required a round brush and a hairdryer, and I had never styled hair like that in my entire life. I barely knew how to style my own hair. Carol was in tears after several minutes of this lady attempting to do her hair, shouting about how 'she would do it herself'. Carol's MS had progressed to the stage where her hands were little more than gnarled knots that could barely move. Her arms moved like they were attached to heavy marionette strings, and she struggled to lift them at all, but she held the brush and tried to do it herself. Giving up and in tears, she had me try to do it. I somehow pulled it off out of sheer luck, but seeing her become belligerent like that over hair had me scared for a while. Then it just made me feel a sick sort of pity for her, as I imagined myself in her situation. It would be a very unhappy life if I was unable to so much as scratch myself if I had an itch, or wipe myself in the restroom without someone's help. I understand that her life is very difficult, and that she had been dealt a pretty rotten deal. To be honest, if I were in her situation I would rather be dead. In spite of this, her meanness made it very difficult for me to sympathize with her. She reminded me a lot of my mom; cheerful and friendly on the outside, but on the inside she was judging you and nitpicking everything you did. I hate two-faced people.
As time passed her attitude got worse and worse. I had since proven myself useless when it came to lifting her, so they stopped asking me to try. I mainly stuck to cooking and cleaning towards the end. One day I was asked to go grocery shopping. I was to take their expensive BMW (I didn't have one at the time) to several different stores to pick things up after cooking dinner for them to eat later. An hour or so into my shopping, I received a phone call from Carol.
"What is wrong with you?"
"...Excuse me?"
"Are you trying to make me angry? You left all the lights on, and there are pieces of food all over the counter! I cannot believe how incompetent you are. I am so upset right now that I'm shaking!"
Admittedly, I had been in a bit of a rush to get out of there, but seriously?
She told me that she was extremely unhappy with me, in tears all the while, and that I should just come back, and then hung up. I was on edge as I drove back with the groceries. I didn't understand how someone could think I was out to get them because I left on a few lights by accident and hadn't cleaned everything spotlessly. I had literally every single day up until that day, so it obviously wasn't intentional. These people seriously thought that I was consciously trying to make their lives harder, when all I was trying to do was please them. I wish I could have proven to them that I was doing all that I could to be the best I could be for them, but from what I heard, there was no pleasing these people. Didn't they get the hint when they had gone through so many girls already?
Carol sat me down not long after that to tell me that she didn't think it was going to work out. I was relieved in a way to escape this horrible woman, but I also felt rejected, unwanted. All my life people have told me that I wasn't good enough. All my life I have seen others succeed where I have failed. Once again, I had fallen short of someone's expectations. Just once, I wanted to be the one that someone relied on. Someone who would say to friends and family "Don't worry about me, I have Kat. She's a Godsend. I don't know what I'd do without her." I don't think I've ever heard anyone say anything even remotely along those lines about me, now that I think about it...
Aside from my bruised pride, I was also afraid. I didn't have anywhere to go. I had a little money I'd saved up from working for Carol, mostly because I had no car to drive anywhere to spend it, thank goodness. I had no bed and had been sleeping on pillows and cushions that Carol had lent me, when I wasn't sleeping on the sofa. I had no job and no friends with which to live until I found a place. Carol was nice enough to offer me her computer after one of my last work days was over to peruse craigslist for a place to live, and maybe a job. No job prospects, but I found someone looking for a roommate in Bozeman. I e-mailed him, and he immediately offered for me to come look at it. I said that I didn't have any way out there, and then he offered to come get me.
First, I was at least twenty minutes outside of town. Second, I was a little wary of some stranger coming to get me by myself. I was uncertain, but I knew I needed a place to stay, and he seemed nice. Something I have always had, I've noticed, is very good intuition about people. I get this weird feeling about someone I should stay away from, and it's kept me out of trouble my entire life. I didn't get that feeling from this guy. He seemed genuine, or maybe he was just as desperate as I was to find a roommate. I hesitantly agreed to give him directions to the house I was staying in. His name was Chris (Ironic, eh?) and he was a little older than me, but looked younger. He was really friendly, and we talked some in the car on the way to Bozeman. He worked at a grocery store in town, and was really into outdoorsy stuff. I found out later that he was single and had been for quite a while, but he wasn't my type. That, and I was still with Rick at the time.
He showed me the apartment and the room where I would be staying. It was a tiny, cramped room that would barely hold my things, but it was the cheapest place I could find so far; about $500 a month. A girl who'd just graduated from nursing school occupied the larger room and was planning on moving out soon, and another roommate had moved out before then, which was why he had needed two new roommates. She actually ended up being pretty fun to talk to for the short time she was there.
Before I left, Bruce, Carol's husband, came to the house as I was packing my things and cleaning it up for the next unfortunate caregiver that would inevitably be moving in. Carol had asked him to bring me the last of my pay, as well as some extra that she had offered me in order for me to be able to move out. I told him that I was sorry that I couldn't be what they needed me to be. Obviously disillusioned and angry, he said he was sorry, too.
Rick helped me move all my stuff except for the couch into my new room (which wasn't much) and despite the fact that I hardly owned anything, the room was packed by the time we were done. I had to sleep on the floor with only a few layers of blankets beneath me. I woke up several times each night with my hip asleep, and my back hurt pretty much constantly.
I remember living on the cheapest possible stuff I could find that first week. Frozen meals that cost less than a dollar a piece, cheap canned soup, several Little Ceasar's five dollar pizzas. It was the middle of summer when I moved in and my window faced the afternoon sun, so it was extremely hot all the time, even at night. I recall a particularly scorching summer day taking what little money I had left for food and driving to Walmart (a place I only go if I am extremely desperate, which I was in this case) to buy a $20 fan so I could sleep.
I spent the first few days of my time there walking around collecting and filling out job applications. I applied everywhere, even some fast food places, which I would have never applied at before. I got an offer for an interview at Taco Time, which I grudgingly accepted, but then I got a call about a graveyard position at Loaf n' Jug. It paid $10 an hour, which was a lot more than I would have made at Taco Time. I went in for an interview that day, and when I was offered the job, I called Taco Time back to let them know I had to cancel my interview.
So now I had a job, and at the time I thought it was pretty decent money. Loaf n' Jug is your typical gas station, in case a reference is needed. I had lots of interesting experiences there while on the job. I remember one time these two twenty-something guys came in covered in blood, asking where the hospital was. When I asked why they needed to know, they told me that they found a girl unconscious on the side of the road lying in a pool of blood, and that she was in their truck. I asked them why they didn't just call 911. They looked at me like it had never crossed their minds. After we called, several police officers, the fire department and an ambulance showed up outside.
Another time when I was working graveyard, this big guy came in trying to buy beer after 2 AM. Since it's illegal to sell alcohol after 2 AM in Montana, I had to deny him the purchase. He started to get angry and I was worried that I would have to call the police as he shouted about how stupid I was and how in Nevada he can buy alcohol whenever he wants.
I sold nachos and junk food to a lot of stupid, drunk slutty college girls that would stumble in at 3 AM after the bars closed, shouting about how they had to pee to their friends, or who they slept with recently.
There were a couple good experiences that I had there, I guess you could say. Maybe not good, so much as not unpleasant. I met a nice guy one day when I was working. His name was Paul, and he was a shorter guy with curly hair and a hooked nose. He had this accent like he was from New York or something, but apparently he'd been in Montana his whole life. We talked for a couple hours while I was on the clock, while I was performing my duties. I had a lot of things I needed to do at that job, it was never-ending. I didn't even get time to take a bathroom break most days, and just when I thought I had everything down, my boss (who I am pretty sure was either gay or asexual, because he never looked at me or any women and reminded me of the rabbit from Alice in Wonderland) would just give me more things to do. By the end of the night I was completely dead.
Anyway, I digress. So Paul was a college student going to school to become a music teacher. He was somewhat good looking, but what I really liked about him was his personality. He made me laugh, and I liked that. I remember we talked a lot about anime and video games, and he had a way of making me want to talk to him more, which is saying something. Usually I try to talk to people as little as possible. We hung out a few times, but since I was still dating Rick at the time we had to keep it platonic. I think that's why he stopped keeping in touch with me after a while. He was tired of waiting to see if I'd become available. What I remember most about him, for whatever reason, is that he was obsessed with the Garfield and Friends cartoon because an ex girlfriend of his used to watch it all the time, and he really liked Scentsy's.
I met another guy one day when I was walking home from work in the morning. I had only gotten a few yards away from the building when this guy called out to me, asking me if I needed a ride. I told him that I was okay, that I only lived a few blocks away. I don't tend to trust strangers inviting me into their cars, but just like my new roommate, I wasn't getting any bad vibes from him, so I agreed to get a lift because I was tired and honestly wasn't looking forward to the walk. His name was Arthur, and he was a taller, slim young-looking guy with blonde, wispy hair, glasses, and short, scraggly facial hair. I noticed that he had a comic book in his car, and I brought it to his attention for conversation. We ended up talking a little on the way to my apartment, and I found out that we had all sorts of similar nerdy interests. We decided to hang out some time after that, and I gave him my number. I don't remember much beyond that, to be honest. I found out that he was only 19, or something like that. I think I just felt weird hanging around someone that young, and we drifted apart after a while. I still think of him sometimes when I see a commercial for a Muppets movie, because he was really into them for some reason.
Anyway, that nursing student girl moved out, and I ended up taking her room. It was at least a hundred times nicer than the one I had before. It had its own bathroom, so I could pretty much live in there almost exclusively if I wanted to. I even tried to once when I bought a microwave and a mini fridge, but every time I used the microwave in there it would short circuit and it would kill the power to the rest of the apartment. The room was much, much bigger than my old one, and it was shadier and cooler too, since it faced away from the sun the majority of the day. I was finally starting to feel at home there, when Chris announced that it was time to find another roommate. I told him that it was really important to me that we both agree on someone. I didn't want to take the first person that showed up to look at the room.
I can't even remember the name of the girl that came to look at the room first, but I do remember that she was tall, blonde and thickly built, like she'd played volleyball or softball her whole life. She spoke with a valley girl accent and said she could take the room as soon as it was available. I had already made up my mind within five minutes of her showing up that I had no desire for her to move in. Before I could say anything, Chris, who was standing right next to me, told her that she could move in as soon as she wanted, and me being a coward said nothing further on the subject. After she left I expressed my dislike of the girl and how upset I was that he had agreed to let her move in without consulting me, but he said that we needed a roommate soon if we were going to make rent, and so I just resigned to the fact that I would be living with this girl that I would probably not get along with.
And sure enough, I was right. The first few weeks were okay and we got along alright, but after a while she started leaving passive aggressive notes about things that Chris and I had no problems with before. I would leave a trash bag by the front door for Chris to take out (I routinely washed his dishes in exchange for this task) and she would leave notes on my door saying 'the front door is not a dumpster', with a smiley face at the bottom and a 'Thanks, roomie!'. Every time I read that girlish, bubbly handwriting of hers, it made me hate her even more. She'd complain about the dishes if there were too many in the sink (I washed my dishes AT LEAST every other day, if not every day) or leaving shoes in the wrong place, or some other insignificant thing that only a woman would find fault in. Chris was one of the easiest people I have ever lived with. He was happy as long as I paid my bills, and that was that.
I eventually ended up saving up enough to go buy a mattress to sleep on, which I desperately needed. I went to a second hand store because I heard that they had new mattresses there, still in their packaging being sold as-is. When I asked why they had them, they said that they had been caught in a train accident, and that the original buyer didn't want them anymore because a lot of them were scuffed up, but otherwise perfect. The one I chose, which had a super-soft pillow top, had a couple black marks on it, but I wasn't concerned about that. Beggars can't be choosers, right?
Once I had the mattress in my room, I soon made my way over to the dollar store (which isn't really a dollar store, so I'm not sure why they call it that) to buy some sheets that I remembered seeing a while back. They said 'Egyptian' on them, and they looked really nice, but when I got home and put them on my mattress, I noticed that they were of an extremely inferior quality, and upon further inspection of the label, they were not actually made of Egyptian cotton at all, but rather a cheap polyester. I had worked the entire night prior to walking all the way over to that store in the scorching sun to buy those sheets, and all I could think of the entire night was how nice it would be to climb into that bed with new sheets and sleep as long as I wanted. After walking such a long way to buy these sheets, I was extremely discouraged because the last thing I wanted to do was walk all the way back to that store again. I begged my female roommate, who I was still sort of getting along with at the time, to take me back to the store so I could return them. She agreed, and when I asked if I could return the item the lady told me that they don't do returns. I cried like an idiot right in front of everyone over sheets that cost only about twenty dollars. I probably wouldn't have normally, but I was exhausted and sore. She felt sorry for me and told me she would do it this one time, but never again. I didn't go back in that store for a couple years after that purely out of shame.
My roommate took me to JC Penney's, and I found a set of sheets that were not a color I liked (a light blue) but were 100% cotton. I have learned over the years that satin may look pretty, but it makes lousy sheets. Cotton is the only material I will use on my bed to this very day. The sheets were three times as much as the ones I had bought at the dollar store and it was pretty much every last dime that I had left to my name, but they were the cheapest, nicest sheets I could find, so I bought them and put them on as soon as I got home.
I remember that being some of the best rest I had ever gotten in my entire life.
Working at the gas station, I met a lot of different people. Some nice, but most of the people who came through were pretty rude. One of them told me outright that I was a moron because I didn't process his credit card the way he wanted me to. I recognized a few of them that came regularly, but one of them I remembered in particular who would come in towards the end of my shift early in the morning. He was an average guy with a cop haircut, but I remember he acted really busy when he came in, like he only had a minute or two to get his Diet Coke and his cigarettes, and then he would rush out the door. He would talk to me a little while I rang up his items, but that was it.
One day when he came in, he mentioned that they were hiring over where he worked. I knew from a previous conversation that he worked right next door, over at Persnickety Dry Cleaners. He was a supervisor in the medical laundry division. He said I should go over and talk to Doug, who was the owner, after I was through with my shift. The job paid $11 an hour, which was a dollar more than what I was making at the gas station. I was getting tired of working with customers, so I figured I might as well look into it. I went over as promised after my shift to meet the owner of the business. I remembered having taken several items there before, back when I was still with Chris. This position was for pressing pants, which I of course had no experience in. Doug was a tall, older man with a sort of demeanor that one could only describe as being 'sophisticated'. He was smarter than you, and he knew it, but it was subtle and almost attractive, in a way. He was willing to hire me with the recommendation of Dan (the guy who had suggested I come in to meet Doug) and I told him that I would be willing to work for him if he would give me Halloween off, because I have my priorities straight.
After we figured out when I would start and I had a basic idea of what the job entailed, I talked to my boss at Loaf n' Jug to let him know that I would be needing to put in my two weeks notice. After some negotiation, we decided that I should work one day a week instead, and since I needed the money, I agreed. All I have to say about that is that I did end up working one full shift at the gas station and a full shift pressing pants back to back, and I don't have the stamina to do it more than one time. I ended up quitting altogether at the gas station, and I still don't use that job as a reference on my resume because I'm sure I would get a less than stellar review from the manager.
Well, it's 3:42 AM, and I am getting tired. I think this is a pretty good place to end this 'chapter', as the next one sort of starts where my job begins at the dry cleaners. :) I doubt that anyone is going to read this, and I didn't try to make it very interesting. It's mostly for my own records, since my memory is so faulty.
And as always, a ton has happened since the last time I wrote. For starters, I think that I should mention that the main reason I am going to try to make an effort to write in this more often is because I feel that the older I get, the more important it is to keep track of what has been going on in my life. I have a terrible memory, one of the worst I have ever seen, and I feel like it would be easy for me to forget a lot of what has happened in my past if I don't write it down. Not to mention it is always kind of fun to sit down and read a bit of what I was doing when I am feeling nostalgic, which is fairly often these days.
Lately I have been feeling somewhat melancholic, though I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because I've been listening to some depressing audiobooks at work. Life has been pretty good to me the past year or so. I moved in with a boyfriend of almost two years and... well, maybe I should start from where I left off from my last entry.
I moved out of Dana and Brian's house to move back to Bozeman and work for this lady named Carol as a caregiver, tired of feeling like a burden to them and anxious to begin my life. I had never done that sort of work before, but I had always thought that it would be fun, maybe even fulfilling. To take care of someone, and let them become a part of my life, a friend. She was in the throes of a very advanced stage of MS. I remember calling her after seeing her ad on craigslist, and I was definitely not planning on getting the job, or even reaching her, for that matter. She sounded so nice and sweet on the phone, and after we talked a little while, she asked if I could come see her for a real interview. I didn't have any money at the time, but Rick offered to take me after I told him that I wanted to go. He and Dana accompanied me as we made the drive from Ashton to Bozeman, and I remember when we arrived I thought the house she lived in was a retreat of some kind for disabled people because it was so grand. I remember thinking her husband was her representative or something, and when I found out it was her husband, I was shocked. He was such a good-looking guy, and she was so shriveled up and... well, old. I realize that that sounds pretty superficial, but it is the first thought that I had, and it's what I'm going to write down because it was what was on my mind at the time.
They asked me several questions about myself and my experience. They didn't seem very concerned about whether or not I had worked in the medical field before, which I was kind of surprised by. I wondered why they didn't just hire a home care nurse, because they obviously had the money. Carol decided to hire me that day, and I told her that I could move right away if I had some money to help with gas and a trailer for moving my stuff. She offered to help, and before I knew it I was moved into the four bedroom house that she'd built nearby specifically for caregivers. I should have seen the red flags early on, that it was too good to be true, but I was desperate to get out of Dana's house, and I hate to admit it, but I really wanted to be closer to Chris. I knew that it was one step closer to maybe getting back together with him again if things didn't work out with Rick, and I needed to jump on the opportunity, because it was the only way I was going to be able to do it.
(A note on the house. It was very big, but not as big as the house Carol stayed in. It was definitely bigger than any house I'd been in in a while, anyway. I only used two of the bedrooms; one for my computer, one for where I slept when Rick stayed with me, which was only for a few days the whole time I was there. I had a couch that I'd bought at a second hand store, and I mainly slept on it in the living room. I watched DVD's on Rick's old TV that he was letting me use so that I would have company. The nights were so quiet sometimes if I didn't have a movie on that my ears would ring from the silence. I remember it was was very creepy at night in that house, as it was surrounded by empty forest. The shades didn't cover much of the windows, so I draped blankets over them so I couldn't see what was outside. I felt like a little kid in that big house at night all by myself, like my parents had left me all alone without a sitter. It was a very unpleasant experience for someone who was used to always having someone around, at least in the same house.)
The first week was fine working for Carol. Two other girls worked for her, one an older black woman who was very nice, but didn't talk much, the other a college-age girl with a typical college girl personality. I remember having a lot of difficulty lifting Carol from her wheelchair, partly because it grossed me out to touch her (I know, great idea getting a care-giving position when I don't even like to touch people, huh?) and partly because I was afraid I was going to drop her. She looked so fragile, almost like she was made of glass and paper. She told me that the ability to lift properly was more in body mechanics than it was in how strong you were, and that one of her best girls was only about five feet tall. She was pretty forgiving the first week, but after the second week or so of failed attempts to lift her and transfer her to her bed, the pool, the shower, etc, she began to become short with me.
I started cooking for her when she found out that I enjoyed cooking. I remember her kitchen being big, just like the rest of the house. It was beautiful, with marble counter tops and a view of the mountains. Sometimes bears would congregate outside the window to try to eat birdseed from the bird feeder, mere feet away from the house. They raved about most of my cooking, but I did end up preparing a couple dishes that they weren't fond of. One of the dishes I made, carrot ginger soup, she described as 'disgusting', which I thought was a little harsh. Way too much salt, she said, but they were both on a very low sodium diet, and me being the salt lover I am disliked the way the food tasted without salt, and I admit I did tend to tailor the flavors to my own palate rather than theirs. The soup had tasted too salty even to me, but one thing about salt is that you can always add more, but you can never take away, and it was too late for me to make another batch.
The longer I worked there, the more I heard about the horrors of working for Carol. The black lady (I wish I could remember her name so I could address her in a different way) explained to me one day when we were cleaning the house and away from earshot that Carol had pretty much exhausted all of her options in the Bozeman area, which was probably why she was willing to move someone from Idaho over to work for her. She had driven all of the women in Bozeman away and was forced to look outside of town for help now. Everyone in town had seen her ad in the paper and on craigslist, and knew better than to apply. Suddenly things were all starting to make sense. Carol became more and more unpleasant with each day, and I remember walking by her office one day only to overhear her crying to her therapist over the phone that she was stuck with incompetent help.
Once, I remember her best girl (the college girl) was out for vacation for almost a full week. The other lady and I were her only help during that time, and she was only slightly more experienced with getting Carol ready for the day than I was. Carol spent hours every day getting ready. She needed to be dressed, deodorized, toileted(x_x), teeth brushed, she required several different creams be applied to her face, as well as clairisonic treatments and a myriad of other things that probably wouldn't make a difference. She needed her hair styled and make-up applied, and that's not even counting her baths, which were three times a week. This other lady and I, we were not very familiar with the process. I had helped her a little in the mornings, but my co-worker had been there longer, so we decided to let her do most of the work, with me helping when I could. One morning, when the college girl was out on her vacation, this other lady and I needed to style Carol's hair. The other lady was the first to try doing it. Carol was patient at first, but as her hair was not turning out the way she wanted, she became more and more frustrated the more she tried. Carol had a layered bob that was not very easy to style for people that don't style hair (ie myself and the black lady, who had wash and wear hair.) It required a round brush and a hairdryer, and I had never styled hair like that in my entire life. I barely knew how to style my own hair. Carol was in tears after several minutes of this lady attempting to do her hair, shouting about how 'she would do it herself'. Carol's MS had progressed to the stage where her hands were little more than gnarled knots that could barely move. Her arms moved like they were attached to heavy marionette strings, and she struggled to lift them at all, but she held the brush and tried to do it herself. Giving up and in tears, she had me try to do it. I somehow pulled it off out of sheer luck, but seeing her become belligerent like that over hair had me scared for a while. Then it just made me feel a sick sort of pity for her, as I imagined myself in her situation. It would be a very unhappy life if I was unable to so much as scratch myself if I had an itch, or wipe myself in the restroom without someone's help. I understand that her life is very difficult, and that she had been dealt a pretty rotten deal. To be honest, if I were in her situation I would rather be dead. In spite of this, her meanness made it very difficult for me to sympathize with her. She reminded me a lot of my mom; cheerful and friendly on the outside, but on the inside she was judging you and nitpicking everything you did. I hate two-faced people.
As time passed her attitude got worse and worse. I had since proven myself useless when it came to lifting her, so they stopped asking me to try. I mainly stuck to cooking and cleaning towards the end. One day I was asked to go grocery shopping. I was to take their expensive BMW (I didn't have one at the time) to several different stores to pick things up after cooking dinner for them to eat later. An hour or so into my shopping, I received a phone call from Carol.
"What is wrong with you?"
"...Excuse me?"
"Are you trying to make me angry? You left all the lights on, and there are pieces of food all over the counter! I cannot believe how incompetent you are. I am so upset right now that I'm shaking!"
Admittedly, I had been in a bit of a rush to get out of there, but seriously?
She told me that she was extremely unhappy with me, in tears all the while, and that I should just come back, and then hung up. I was on edge as I drove back with the groceries. I didn't understand how someone could think I was out to get them because I left on a few lights by accident and hadn't cleaned everything spotlessly. I had literally every single day up until that day, so it obviously wasn't intentional. These people seriously thought that I was consciously trying to make their lives harder, when all I was trying to do was please them. I wish I could have proven to them that I was doing all that I could to be the best I could be for them, but from what I heard, there was no pleasing these people. Didn't they get the hint when they had gone through so many girls already?
Carol sat me down not long after that to tell me that she didn't think it was going to work out. I was relieved in a way to escape this horrible woman, but I also felt rejected, unwanted. All my life people have told me that I wasn't good enough. All my life I have seen others succeed where I have failed. Once again, I had fallen short of someone's expectations. Just once, I wanted to be the one that someone relied on. Someone who would say to friends and family "Don't worry about me, I have Kat. She's a Godsend. I don't know what I'd do without her." I don't think I've ever heard anyone say anything even remotely along those lines about me, now that I think about it...
Aside from my bruised pride, I was also afraid. I didn't have anywhere to go. I had a little money I'd saved up from working for Carol, mostly because I had no car to drive anywhere to spend it, thank goodness. I had no bed and had been sleeping on pillows and cushions that Carol had lent me, when I wasn't sleeping on the sofa. I had no job and no friends with which to live until I found a place. Carol was nice enough to offer me her computer after one of my last work days was over to peruse craigslist for a place to live, and maybe a job. No job prospects, but I found someone looking for a roommate in Bozeman. I e-mailed him, and he immediately offered for me to come look at it. I said that I didn't have any way out there, and then he offered to come get me.
First, I was at least twenty minutes outside of town. Second, I was a little wary of some stranger coming to get me by myself. I was uncertain, but I knew I needed a place to stay, and he seemed nice. Something I have always had, I've noticed, is very good intuition about people. I get this weird feeling about someone I should stay away from, and it's kept me out of trouble my entire life. I didn't get that feeling from this guy. He seemed genuine, or maybe he was just as desperate as I was to find a roommate. I hesitantly agreed to give him directions to the house I was staying in. His name was Chris (Ironic, eh?) and he was a little older than me, but looked younger. He was really friendly, and we talked some in the car on the way to Bozeman. He worked at a grocery store in town, and was really into outdoorsy stuff. I found out later that he was single and had been for quite a while, but he wasn't my type. That, and I was still with Rick at the time.
He showed me the apartment and the room where I would be staying. It was a tiny, cramped room that would barely hold my things, but it was the cheapest place I could find so far; about $500 a month. A girl who'd just graduated from nursing school occupied the larger room and was planning on moving out soon, and another roommate had moved out before then, which was why he had needed two new roommates. She actually ended up being pretty fun to talk to for the short time she was there.
Before I left, Bruce, Carol's husband, came to the house as I was packing my things and cleaning it up for the next unfortunate caregiver that would inevitably be moving in. Carol had asked him to bring me the last of my pay, as well as some extra that she had offered me in order for me to be able to move out. I told him that I was sorry that I couldn't be what they needed me to be. Obviously disillusioned and angry, he said he was sorry, too.
Rick helped me move all my stuff except for the couch into my new room (which wasn't much) and despite the fact that I hardly owned anything, the room was packed by the time we were done. I had to sleep on the floor with only a few layers of blankets beneath me. I woke up several times each night with my hip asleep, and my back hurt pretty much constantly.
I remember living on the cheapest possible stuff I could find that first week. Frozen meals that cost less than a dollar a piece, cheap canned soup, several Little Ceasar's five dollar pizzas. It was the middle of summer when I moved in and my window faced the afternoon sun, so it was extremely hot all the time, even at night. I recall a particularly scorching summer day taking what little money I had left for food and driving to Walmart (a place I only go if I am extremely desperate, which I was in this case) to buy a $20 fan so I could sleep.
I spent the first few days of my time there walking around collecting and filling out job applications. I applied everywhere, even some fast food places, which I would have never applied at before. I got an offer for an interview at Taco Time, which I grudgingly accepted, but then I got a call about a graveyard position at Loaf n' Jug. It paid $10 an hour, which was a lot more than I would have made at Taco Time. I went in for an interview that day, and when I was offered the job, I called Taco Time back to let them know I had to cancel my interview.
So now I had a job, and at the time I thought it was pretty decent money. Loaf n' Jug is your typical gas station, in case a reference is needed. I had lots of interesting experiences there while on the job. I remember one time these two twenty-something guys came in covered in blood, asking where the hospital was. When I asked why they needed to know, they told me that they found a girl unconscious on the side of the road lying in a pool of blood, and that she was in their truck. I asked them why they didn't just call 911. They looked at me like it had never crossed their minds. After we called, several police officers, the fire department and an ambulance showed up outside.
Another time when I was working graveyard, this big guy came in trying to buy beer after 2 AM. Since it's illegal to sell alcohol after 2 AM in Montana, I had to deny him the purchase. He started to get angry and I was worried that I would have to call the police as he shouted about how stupid I was and how in Nevada he can buy alcohol whenever he wants.
I sold nachos and junk food to a lot of stupid, drunk slutty college girls that would stumble in at 3 AM after the bars closed, shouting about how they had to pee to their friends, or who they slept with recently.
There were a couple good experiences that I had there, I guess you could say. Maybe not good, so much as not unpleasant. I met a nice guy one day when I was working. His name was Paul, and he was a shorter guy with curly hair and a hooked nose. He had this accent like he was from New York or something, but apparently he'd been in Montana his whole life. We talked for a couple hours while I was on the clock, while I was performing my duties. I had a lot of things I needed to do at that job, it was never-ending. I didn't even get time to take a bathroom break most days, and just when I thought I had everything down, my boss (who I am pretty sure was either gay or asexual, because he never looked at me or any women and reminded me of the rabbit from Alice in Wonderland) would just give me more things to do. By the end of the night I was completely dead.
Anyway, I digress. So Paul was a college student going to school to become a music teacher. He was somewhat good looking, but what I really liked about him was his personality. He made me laugh, and I liked that. I remember we talked a lot about anime and video games, and he had a way of making me want to talk to him more, which is saying something. Usually I try to talk to people as little as possible. We hung out a few times, but since I was still dating Rick at the time we had to keep it platonic. I think that's why he stopped keeping in touch with me after a while. He was tired of waiting to see if I'd become available. What I remember most about him, for whatever reason, is that he was obsessed with the Garfield and Friends cartoon because an ex girlfriend of his used to watch it all the time, and he really liked Scentsy's.
I met another guy one day when I was walking home from work in the morning. I had only gotten a few yards away from the building when this guy called out to me, asking me if I needed a ride. I told him that I was okay, that I only lived a few blocks away. I don't tend to trust strangers inviting me into their cars, but just like my new roommate, I wasn't getting any bad vibes from him, so I agreed to get a lift because I was tired and honestly wasn't looking forward to the walk. His name was Arthur, and he was a taller, slim young-looking guy with blonde, wispy hair, glasses, and short, scraggly facial hair. I noticed that he had a comic book in his car, and I brought it to his attention for conversation. We ended up talking a little on the way to my apartment, and I found out that we had all sorts of similar nerdy interests. We decided to hang out some time after that, and I gave him my number. I don't remember much beyond that, to be honest. I found out that he was only 19, or something like that. I think I just felt weird hanging around someone that young, and we drifted apart after a while. I still think of him sometimes when I see a commercial for a Muppets movie, because he was really into them for some reason.
Anyway, that nursing student girl moved out, and I ended up taking her room. It was at least a hundred times nicer than the one I had before. It had its own bathroom, so I could pretty much live in there almost exclusively if I wanted to. I even tried to once when I bought a microwave and a mini fridge, but every time I used the microwave in there it would short circuit and it would kill the power to the rest of the apartment. The room was much, much bigger than my old one, and it was shadier and cooler too, since it faced away from the sun the majority of the day. I was finally starting to feel at home there, when Chris announced that it was time to find another roommate. I told him that it was really important to me that we both agree on someone. I didn't want to take the first person that showed up to look at the room.
I can't even remember the name of the girl that came to look at the room first, but I do remember that she was tall, blonde and thickly built, like she'd played volleyball or softball her whole life. She spoke with a valley girl accent and said she could take the room as soon as it was available. I had already made up my mind within five minutes of her showing up that I had no desire for her to move in. Before I could say anything, Chris, who was standing right next to me, told her that she could move in as soon as she wanted, and me being a coward said nothing further on the subject. After she left I expressed my dislike of the girl and how upset I was that he had agreed to let her move in without consulting me, but he said that we needed a roommate soon if we were going to make rent, and so I just resigned to the fact that I would be living with this girl that I would probably not get along with.
And sure enough, I was right. The first few weeks were okay and we got along alright, but after a while she started leaving passive aggressive notes about things that Chris and I had no problems with before. I would leave a trash bag by the front door for Chris to take out (I routinely washed his dishes in exchange for this task) and she would leave notes on my door saying 'the front door is not a dumpster', with a smiley face at the bottom and a 'Thanks, roomie!'. Every time I read that girlish, bubbly handwriting of hers, it made me hate her even more. She'd complain about the dishes if there were too many in the sink (I washed my dishes AT LEAST every other day, if not every day) or leaving shoes in the wrong place, or some other insignificant thing that only a woman would find fault in. Chris was one of the easiest people I have ever lived with. He was happy as long as I paid my bills, and that was that.
I eventually ended up saving up enough to go buy a mattress to sleep on, which I desperately needed. I went to a second hand store because I heard that they had new mattresses there, still in their packaging being sold as-is. When I asked why they had them, they said that they had been caught in a train accident, and that the original buyer didn't want them anymore because a lot of them were scuffed up, but otherwise perfect. The one I chose, which had a super-soft pillow top, had a couple black marks on it, but I wasn't concerned about that. Beggars can't be choosers, right?
Once I had the mattress in my room, I soon made my way over to the dollar store (which isn't really a dollar store, so I'm not sure why they call it that) to buy some sheets that I remembered seeing a while back. They said 'Egyptian' on them, and they looked really nice, but when I got home and put them on my mattress, I noticed that they were of an extremely inferior quality, and upon further inspection of the label, they were not actually made of Egyptian cotton at all, but rather a cheap polyester. I had worked the entire night prior to walking all the way over to that store in the scorching sun to buy those sheets, and all I could think of the entire night was how nice it would be to climb into that bed with new sheets and sleep as long as I wanted. After walking such a long way to buy these sheets, I was extremely discouraged because the last thing I wanted to do was walk all the way back to that store again. I begged my female roommate, who I was still sort of getting along with at the time, to take me back to the store so I could return them. She agreed, and when I asked if I could return the item the lady told me that they don't do returns. I cried like an idiot right in front of everyone over sheets that cost only about twenty dollars. I probably wouldn't have normally, but I was exhausted and sore. She felt sorry for me and told me she would do it this one time, but never again. I didn't go back in that store for a couple years after that purely out of shame.
My roommate took me to JC Penney's, and I found a set of sheets that were not a color I liked (a light blue) but were 100% cotton. I have learned over the years that satin may look pretty, but it makes lousy sheets. Cotton is the only material I will use on my bed to this very day. The sheets were three times as much as the ones I had bought at the dollar store and it was pretty much every last dime that I had left to my name, but they were the cheapest, nicest sheets I could find, so I bought them and put them on as soon as I got home.
I remember that being some of the best rest I had ever gotten in my entire life.
Working at the gas station, I met a lot of different people. Some nice, but most of the people who came through were pretty rude. One of them told me outright that I was a moron because I didn't process his credit card the way he wanted me to. I recognized a few of them that came regularly, but one of them I remembered in particular who would come in towards the end of my shift early in the morning. He was an average guy with a cop haircut, but I remember he acted really busy when he came in, like he only had a minute or two to get his Diet Coke and his cigarettes, and then he would rush out the door. He would talk to me a little while I rang up his items, but that was it.
One day when he came in, he mentioned that they were hiring over where he worked. I knew from a previous conversation that he worked right next door, over at Persnickety Dry Cleaners. He was a supervisor in the medical laundry division. He said I should go over and talk to Doug, who was the owner, after I was through with my shift. The job paid $11 an hour, which was a dollar more than what I was making at the gas station. I was getting tired of working with customers, so I figured I might as well look into it. I went over as promised after my shift to meet the owner of the business. I remembered having taken several items there before, back when I was still with Chris. This position was for pressing pants, which I of course had no experience in. Doug was a tall, older man with a sort of demeanor that one could only describe as being 'sophisticated'. He was smarter than you, and he knew it, but it was subtle and almost attractive, in a way. He was willing to hire me with the recommendation of Dan (the guy who had suggested I come in to meet Doug) and I told him that I would be willing to work for him if he would give me Halloween off, because I have my priorities straight.
After we figured out when I would start and I had a basic idea of what the job entailed, I talked to my boss at Loaf n' Jug to let him know that I would be needing to put in my two weeks notice. After some negotiation, we decided that I should work one day a week instead, and since I needed the money, I agreed. All I have to say about that is that I did end up working one full shift at the gas station and a full shift pressing pants back to back, and I don't have the stamina to do it more than one time. I ended up quitting altogether at the gas station, and I still don't use that job as a reference on my resume because I'm sure I would get a less than stellar review from the manager.
Well, it's 3:42 AM, and I am getting tired. I think this is a pretty good place to end this 'chapter', as the next one sort of starts where my job begins at the dry cleaners. :) I doubt that anyone is going to read this, and I didn't try to make it very interesting. It's mostly for my own records, since my memory is so faulty.