(no subject)
Got in my car and drove to the seven places I've turned in applications in the past week, asked politely at every counter, and met the same set of responses: call back later, we're not hiring, we'll call you in a week.
FUCK you. In desperation, drove up to Target, which I promised myself was a last resort. Asked at the counter, and the intensely pregnant 16-year-old with bad eyeliner who was working there told me to have a seat in the Starbucks and wait for an interviewer to come up to me.
So I sat. And I stared. I sat and stared out the window for an hour, at an ugly parking lot full of ugly cars, intermitent rain, until the less-pregnant girl working in the Starbucks caught a manager walking by and said, "This young lady's been waiting for an interview for more than an hour." I could have kissed her. Ten more minutes elapsed. A man with a broken arm came and sat at my table and said, "Gee, ya know, we're really busy today. Is there a better time you could come back, tomorrow maybe?" He had small, close-set, watery eyes and yellow-brown teeth and sweat stains on his ill-fitting red polo shirt.
I wanted to gouge his eyes out with my fingernails, but I'd spent the last hour furiously biting them all off. And I reminded myself that the best way to NOT get hired is to violently assult a manager, especially if he's got a broken arm anyway. So I politely but curtly responded, "No, thank you very much, I still have a viable soul and I'm quite sure that being employed by this organization would go so far as to destroy it entirely. Good day, sir."
--So I politely but curtly responded, "How does 10 AM tomorrow work?" Then I all but ran for the automatic doors, which didn't open quickly enough, so I ran INTO them instead -- really ran to my car, got in, shut the door and SCREAMED. Came home, sat in a chair in a corner, and sank into a deep, panicky melancholy. Which is where I find myself now. I'm going. to go. completely. insane.
One week down. Only twelve to go.
FUCK you. In desperation, drove up to Target, which I promised myself was a last resort. Asked at the counter, and the intensely pregnant 16-year-old with bad eyeliner who was working there told me to have a seat in the Starbucks and wait for an interviewer to come up to me.
So I sat. And I stared. I sat and stared out the window for an hour, at an ugly parking lot full of ugly cars, intermitent rain, until the less-pregnant girl working in the Starbucks caught a manager walking by and said, "This young lady's been waiting for an interview for more than an hour." I could have kissed her. Ten more minutes elapsed. A man with a broken arm came and sat at my table and said, "Gee, ya know, we're really busy today. Is there a better time you could come back, tomorrow maybe?" He had small, close-set, watery eyes and yellow-brown teeth and sweat stains on his ill-fitting red polo shirt.
I wanted to gouge his eyes out with my fingernails, but I'd spent the last hour furiously biting them all off. And I reminded myself that the best way to NOT get hired is to violently assult a manager, especially if he's got a broken arm anyway. So I politely but curtly responded, "No, thank you very much, I still have a viable soul and I'm quite sure that being employed by this organization would go so far as to destroy it entirely. Good day, sir."
--So I politely but curtly responded, "How does 10 AM tomorrow work?" Then I all but ran for the automatic doors, which didn't open quickly enough, so I ran INTO them instead -- really ran to my car, got in, shut the door and SCREAMED. Came home, sat in a chair in a corner, and sank into a deep, panicky melancholy. Which is where I find myself now. I'm going. to go. completely. insane.
One week down. Only twelve to go.