Words, once they are printed, have a life of their own.
At least this time it was only an overnight stay. Not having a job and trying to figure out how I'm going to keep paying for my apartment, gas, meds, car repairs, and student loans along with trying to actually find a job and worrying about Bradley just pushed me into a crisis. I should have known it was going to happen. One good thing about all this is at least I had a crisis at my parents' house and they, out of anyone besides Dr. Reynolds, know what to do. Plus they had said earlier that evening they would pay for the hydrocortisone and fludrocortisone. That's a weight off my shoulders.
I have an interview for a bartender position at The Outer Zone later today. Here's hoping this ones goes well.
Her dad always said that dressing up for an interview helped. But since this particular interview was taking place at a bar, could she appear in jeans and a t-shirt? Asking around and Googling didn’t help answer her question. So Margaret wore what she always wore for interviews - black pants, black boots, and a white button-front shirt with a navy blue tank top peeking out. Her heeled boots made a tapping against the cement that calmed her, oddly enough. Going into a crisis during the middle of an interview wouldn’t impress her future potential boss.
Reaching the front doors of The Zone, she pushed the door on her right open. Stepping in, she slid her sunglasses off her face and into her purse. Walking further into the bar, Margaret cast an eye around. It was bigger than what she expected it to be. Granted the only times she had stepped into The Zone was when it was opened and packed. Reaching the middle of the room, she stopped. How much farther should she penetrate? Should she stay here and wait for someone to come and find her? Or should she go find an office or better yet, a person? Her internal argument was settled when a gray haired man came out of the back room.
“Hi.” Margaret said brightly. “I’m looking for Henry. I have an interview with him at two.” He looked at her closely for a moment before realization broke on his face.
“Margaret Washington-Bedingfield.” He said, a slight question in his voice.
“Yes, sir.” A smile broke on her face.
“That’s quite a mouthful there.”
Margaret laughed. “That it is.”
Henry took her back to his office - which could be nicely described as an over sized closet. It was full of posters advertising bands, paperwork for various functions and a few empty boxes of Jack Daniels and Jose Cuervo. The interview went well, Margaret thought. He had quizzed her on several drinks and what she would do with a drunken person. She didn’t tell him what Eric told her; Margaret figured that aggravated assault wouldn’t make a good impression.
Then came the part of the interview she hated with a passion and didn't like to give at all. Henry’s face closed up as she described her diagnosis of Addison disease and what it all meant. This was the part that usually had employers marking a big fat ‘no’ next to her name. Henry nodded after she finished her speech and leaned back in his chair.
To Margaret’s utter shock and surprise, Henry offered her a job on the site. Tonight if she could make it. Margaret hurriedly said yes and the next two hours were spent haggling out forms, details, and her duties.
“Tonight’s going to be one of our busy nights.” Henry explained, leaning further back in his chair. “Protection Detail’s playing here and they draw a crowd. So wear comfortable shoes. Be here at seven and I’ll introduce you to everyone then. PD should be here by then too.”
“All right, I’ll be here with comfortable shoes on.” Margaret replied, standing up and extending a hand. Henry’s handshake was firm but his hands were dry.
Margaret left his office cool, calm, and collected. It wasn’t until she made it to her car that she performed a little victory dance.
It was six fifty nine when Margaret walked in. Henry was talking to a young female behind the bar while the stage was abuzz with activity.
“Margaret!” Henry had to shout because the drummer on stage decided to get in a little practice performing a solo. “I’ve got some people I want you to meet.”