Buy my car wax

It's getting down to desperation time on the job front.  I mean I'm 'this' close to swinging a sandwich board over my head and selling myself on the street saying "Free hugs for food" or "Will give rubs for cash."  Hmm.  Perhaps I'm not quite that desperate.  But it's bad, dude.  Bad.

I went in for a 'test run' as a waitress at a local gay cafe called ICE.  It's across the street from a gay gym and all the occupants are pretty much gay and very, very H.O.T.  I am not gay.  I am not H.O.T.  I am not a male.  This might be the reason that after an hour of setting the tables and doing nothing but making things awkward for everyone by my femaleness, I got the boot.  Head Gay says, "Sorry to waste your time.  I don't think you'll be a good fit."  I also think he said this because of the Wet Dream that walked in while I was "working" and looking for a job.  I was secretly relieved because as soon as I set the first table I thought to myself, "Shit.  This is gonna suck.  I hate waiting tables."  Luckily he did all the awkward bad news bit for me.  So.  I don't think I'll be a waitress.  I know I'm giving up early but I seriously hate waiting on people.  I'd rather eat my dirty sneaker (and it's filthy!).  

The next day I attended a second interview with what I thought was a job in customer service for a phone company.  Wrong.  Those sneaky fuckers.  It turned out to be the marketing company of the phone one and several others.  The first interview was a group interview of about 5 people and none of us knew what the job entailed except you had to have "experience in customer service."  I thought it was gonna be a sit-down desk job talking to clients.  Oh, the ignorance.  There were the stereotypical psychological questions including the crazy inkblot ("What do you see?  A butterfly or a man who has killed his family?"), seemingly random questions that tell them your sexual orientation or some such, and a shitty math equation I'm shit at.

I got a "Congratulations!" text that said to meet for the second interview in the morning.  I rock up to the place in my finest and see about 15 other people in the front room.  There are 4 big screen tvs blasting sexually explicit music videos to the chagrin of all us suits.  It is a very surreal experience to be sitting in an office reception area at 9:30am with suited up strangers watching and listening to the Bloodhound Gang's "Baby, you and me ain't nothing but mammals so let's do it like they do on the Discovery Channel."  Sweet.

We're finally herded up like cattle and brought into a tiny room with the most uncomfortable plastic chairs in existence.  If I hadn't had second thoughts before they are flitting through my head at this point.  But I stay.  Because the guy talking to us is cute.  He's nice.  He's smiling at me.  Aww, isn't that nice?  He must be a really good person.  Hi, cutie, I see you.  But wait.  What is this?  Why are you talking about me selling stuff?  I don't do that.  No siree.  It's not really my thing, see?  I hate people who do that to me.  Pushy bastards.  I am not a pushy bastard.  And I wouldn't want to buy this crap in the first place.

Ooooh. Kay.  Mr. Cute Liar is now telling me I will have to give a presentation to the other 15 candidates on why they should buy car wax from me.  Alarm bells are dinging and it's not so much the fact I have to try to push this product on people who wouldn't want it, anyway, but that I have to do public speaking.  Fuck that.  I'm OUT!  As soon as McGrinburger walks out the door I pick up my purse, walk out the door in front of everyone, signal the deceitful hottie, hand over delicately the pad of paper and pen he gave me and said, "I'm sorry, I don't want to waste your time but I can't do this."  And I left.  Kind of sad, though.  Because now I miss him.  I think we really bonded.

So, sales and waitressing are out.  The search continues...

No sex isn't always bad

I had just turned 19 and was going to uni in the States. It was miles away from anything interesting and as a travel-obsessed youngster I was chopping at the bit to move away. So I got a job. As a front-desk receptionist at a hotel near my campus. Boring, yes. Shit pay, yes. But a job, nevertheless.

There was a British guy in my dorms who I thought I might fancy. Probably only because he was from England. Americans held no interest for me because duh, they were American. I don't think I even thought this Brit was cute. I just wanted his internationality. Talk to me. Tell me what it's like in the UK. Better than here, I'm sure.

We went on a date. To the comedy club in the hotel that I worked at. He was 20 with a fake ID and I got in because of my employed status. I don't remember Britboy's name so let's call him Harry. Harry was wasted already when we met up and using a fake cockney accent. I could tell it was fake because a) there were times when a bit of poshness leaked out and b) I may have been a bit naive but not completely dimwitted.

"'ello luv. 'ow you doing tonight? Let's go piss ourselves laughing." I was jealous that he was so drunk. How dare he get tanked before our date without even inviting me along! I let it pass, though. Because you know. He was British.

We took our seats and the comics are shit. Really, outstandingly awful. Harry's ordered more beers and is laughing like it's the most hilarious thing he's ever heard. I'm getting a sinking feeling in my gut. The whole evening is garish and tacky. I wanted to hit Harry over the head, guzzle his beer, and run back to the safety of my dorm room. I was starting to think that just because Harry was British didn't mean that he was interesting.

The date finally came to an end when we got to our dorms. I headed up to the sixth floor and he headed up to the tenth. I said goodbye, you're very nice--yes, a nice chap, I agree, I'll see you around. Five minutes after having heaved sweet sighs of relief in my dorm but feeling I don't know, a bit lonely, I got a knock on my door.

Harry stood there swaying drunkenly and said, "We're jamming in our room up the apples and pears. Fancy joining?" Apples and pears? Seriously? He's going through some effort, apparently. And that was enough for me. I shrugged my shoulders and said, "Ok."

Harry's room had about four other guys in it and a shitload of weed smoke. There was a cute guy holding a red guitar and I sat by him. Harry fell over the couch and muttered something drunkenly about how the couch always moves on him. Stupid couch. Then he shouts out in front of everyone, "Eh Kathryn! Got any British in you?" I could see where this was going..."No." I answered. "Would you like some? Heh heh heh." Man. He was so funny. That was a good one. Everyone thought so.

Harry's drunken stupor was getting really annoying. So we all put him to bed. Wrapped him up in his blankeys and sang him a lullaby. The guy just wouldn't go away, though. By this time Red Guitar Boy and me were giving each other the roving eye and kind of liking it. Harry was a fly in our ointment and he had to be taken out immediately.

Red Guitar Boy and me went back to his room. Heavy petting commenced to the background tunes of Phish. The banjos and country twangs to Snoop Dogg's 'Gin and Juice' was rolling along, contributing to the already weird atmosphere of the night. I stroked my hand down Red Guitar Boy's back and all of a sudden his body started jerking involuntarily. What the fuck? Is this a seizure? What's going on? A list of things that could go wrong ran through my head and I wondered if I would have to call an ambulance. The jerking last about ten seconds and then all of a sudden he said, "Sorry."

As I was contemplating what that meant, there was a loud banging on the door. "Red Guitar Boy! Get out here! We've called the police on Harry!" Huh? What the hell? We looked at each other and collectively thought, "Shit."

We ran out of his room and instantly the stink hit. Oh. My. God. Someone clearly didn't make it to a toilet in time. Then I looked down the florescent hallway and saw Harry passed out cold with his pants around his legs. Poo was dribbling out of him. It was foul.

Friend of his says to Red Guitar Boy, "We've called the police cuz we can't wake him up. What an asshole, man." I was about to get the hell outta there when Harry gets wind of what's happening. He tries to stand up and slips. Tries again and makes a stumbling way past us to the showers, bits of shit running down his legs into his jeans. I'm looking away thinking this is the crappiest night ever (literally) and that I should've just stayed in watching Friends dvds. Two minutes later and two cops arrive. They go into the showers and I can hear Harry pulling the shower curtain off the rail. There's some incoherent shouting and finally the two policeman are escorting out a very drunk but now clean Harry wrapped up in a shower curtain. They take him down the elevator and I say to Red Guitar Boy, "This has been weird. Yeah. I'll see you later." I took the stairs down two at a time and ran into my room. What just happened tonight?

The next day I ran into Red Guitar Boy walking into the dorm tower lobby. He pretended not to even know me. I was really quite relieved about that. Harry, on the other hand, felt the need to apologize to me. He sought me out and said, "Ah, hey Kathryn. Er, so, yar, um, I'm so sorry. I don't normally act that way. Sorry about that." And he took off. His cockney accent gone along with his dignity. It took the edge off of living in America thinking there are such weirdos lurking in the UK like him. So, actually, he did me a favor.

*This was written due to this post.

Fix

From journal

4.15.09

Had such a nice time in Sydney.  The whole week was a blur of laughing, drinking, and Tim Tams.  It was pretty magnificent.  Now I'm on Travel Comedown.

The Travel Comedown

I would compare the travel high to some quality drugs.  It lifts you up bringing you to new blissful heights full of new people, new places; the strange and magical.  You're flying--coasting.  Surfing the travel waves of wonderment.

Sure, there are some bad trips.  You get stuck in an airport for 3 days in Malaysia.  With no air-con.  Your shit gets stolen in South America and there's no one nearby to immediately help.  Or you get herpes by that hot hottie European guy who you just couldn't say no to.*  Yeah, that sucks.  Real hard.

But despite the pit-falls and perils, the travel is worth it.  Such beauty out there.  Such ugly.  We travel because we want to see both worlds.  I want to see both worlds.  Intense curiousity coupled with extreme motivation makes me move.  On to the next destination.  Show me what you got.  Don't hold back.  It's perfect.  You're perfect.  Travel is my ultimate addiction.  Gimme my fix any day, everyday; just give it to me.

And then...there's reality.  "Normality."  Everyday 9-5 life.  And all the hours in between.  It's this time that I find difficult.  I'm constantly itchy.  Itchy with the travel itch.  I cling on to others who are having a stab at the 'travel thing.'  I pummel them with questions.  Where are you going?  What did you do?  What did you see?  Who are you now?  You know, traveling vicariously.  Waiting anxiously until it's my turn again.  And to be honest, I've probably had more turns than is due to me.  But wait, what bullshit, yeah?  Priorities.  You make 'em.  Travel is my #1 so those turns are due to me.

But coming down from the travel high is crap.  Everyday colors are that little bit duller.  Everyday scents aren't as poignant or meaningful and food just isn't as exotic as you'd like it to be.  There's a melancholy settling in.  A light depression.  Sometimes it's so light you don't really notice it until you're alone and all of a sudden you sigh.  And think, "It's just not as nice here.  I wish I were there."  

Am on the job hunt right now.  It should be interesting to see how this plays out.  And when I can get another hit of my fix.

*None of that actually happened to me but it so could've...

Free hugs and lots of drinking

I had the best time ever in Sydney this last week.  Went back to my old haunts to see some old friends and visit new ones.  And wow, I was totally blown away by how cool the whole experience was.  I also love all the crazy and random shit that was strewn about this hilly city.  From the reindeer busker during a tanty-fight, to the massively littered Kings Cross, and even the enterprising schoolboys in Wynyard station holding up a 'Free Hugs' sign (which, by the way, I fully hugged both of them.  At the same time.).  

It was a fantastic trip.  Can't wait to go back and do it all over again.  All the people I met up with were lovely.  One in particular was quite fun and funny and I would probably hang out with them like all the time if I lived in Syd.  But this person isn't very far away so I can pretty much count on meeting up with them now and then.

Now it's job hunting time... I suppose the 3 months of unemployment/holiday are over.  Let the fun begin and may I strike lucky with a job!  Hellz yeah.