Candy and Nuts
On the train this morning, I, along with the other inhabitants of the car, were accosted by a four-foot-tall black man, wearing two jackets (one said "Baller" and the other had the logo of the New Orleans Hornets) and a Yankee hat. He ran around the car with a box in his hands, giving out - of all things - candy canes. He refused any attempt to pay for them, or even to tip him, and wished everyone a wonderful day. I asked him, as I stared dubiously at his gift, what the occasion was. He grinned and crowed, "It's 'cause I'm a marine, I'm home for the holidays and I'M STILL GAY!" Then he donned one white glove and stood in the bend at the middle of the car, holding forth about Michael Jackson and the reasons America seems willing to forgive him for anything until he got off at Skidmore.
I like it here.
Last night, after failing for the third time to repair my slow-draining dishwasher, I called the landlord. While setting up for his man to come and fix it, I asked how much my rent would increase if Morgana were to move in. He said, "It wouldn't," and there was a silence between us.
This is a good thing, once Morgana does move in, because my boss showed up today to sit at my desk for a heart to heart about what I've suspected for quite some time: I will not be hired on in July. Until then, I continue to temp, with a modest raise, and then I must either get a job with a different department or return to my agency to help some other outfit, like Pete's Dragon.
This does not upset me.
I'd begun to feel rather trapped here, especially with my duties as part-time receptionist; I have worked very hard here, and I didn't much appreciate being told that my work wasn't considered important enough to be a real position. My boss is now trying to figure out how to manage without a support guy (he can't) and his boss is trying to figure out how to hire someone for two nonconsecutive hours of work per day without using temps (he can't.) I actually suggested contacting Portland State U to get attached to a work study program; he considered this "exploiting a loophole," and said he wanted to do this honestly. He is dug in, and I feel sorry for him.
In any event, I now have nineteen months of work in an office for a government agency to put on my resume, and excellent references to back it. I have a temp agent who worships the ground I pee on. And I have confidence, a resource I never had much use for before, because what little I had never did anything for me.
And I have Morgana.
And I have the Work.
"And we're gonna start a revolution, okay? And you're gonna be a funny little footnote on my epic ass!"
[jumpkicks crash cymbal]
-- Jack Black, School of Rock
I like it here.
Last night, after failing for the third time to repair my slow-draining dishwasher, I called the landlord. While setting up for his man to come and fix it, I asked how much my rent would increase if Morgana were to move in. He said, "It wouldn't," and there was a silence between us.
This is a good thing, once Morgana does move in, because my boss showed up today to sit at my desk for a heart to heart about what I've suspected for quite some time: I will not be hired on in July. Until then, I continue to temp, with a modest raise, and then I must either get a job with a different department or return to my agency to help some other outfit, like Pete's Dragon.
This does not upset me.
I'd begun to feel rather trapped here, especially with my duties as part-time receptionist; I have worked very hard here, and I didn't much appreciate being told that my work wasn't considered important enough to be a real position. My boss is now trying to figure out how to manage without a support guy (he can't) and his boss is trying to figure out how to hire someone for two nonconsecutive hours of work per day without using temps (he can't.) I actually suggested contacting Portland State U to get attached to a work study program; he considered this "exploiting a loophole," and said he wanted to do this honestly. He is dug in, and I feel sorry for him.
In any event, I now have nineteen months of work in an office for a government agency to put on my resume, and excellent references to back it. I have a temp agent who worships the ground I pee on. And I have confidence, a resource I never had much use for before, because what little I had never did anything for me.
And I have Morgana.
And I have the Work.
"And we're gonna start a revolution, okay? And you're gonna be a funny little footnote on my epic ass!"
[jumpkicks crash cymbal]
-- Jack Black, School of Rock