Sunday, October 26, 2008
Distant Smoke
"Bad day; mind if I smoke while I drive Miss?" he asked.
"No." she answered from a distant, cool place farther away than the backseat she where she sat.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Tnemyolpmenu
Hot day to be pacing Canal St., upward eyes searching for the number, that magical number; 70. Fate would have it that, in numerology the number 7 signifies someone who evaluates situations very quickly, and with amazing accuracy. This bldg marked 70, is home to the New York State Unemployment Office. One who evaluates my status every Sunday. Feeds me, if I'm worthy. I see 110 and that's it, no 70. I enter and ask the front desk attendant. He indicates I'm in the correct bldg and for me to go to elevator number 2. Capt Ironic strikes again; number 2; the fixer.
A guard checks me in, he writes sideways, I mean, with the paper sideways. Passing that check I come upon another guardian. A fragile, short, elderly man, dressed from the cover of a record older than myself. Blondish-white thinning hair, or fuzz rather. A clipboard with a fun form is shown to my hand and a grouping of folding shares is given my attention.
The area is divided into two sections and I'm on the right. To the left of the aisle, or border so-to say, are several Spanish speaking folk. Odd...we're in America still, right Toto? Or Totito is it? Ha, ahhh...yeah.
Flopping into the front row, to witness what seems like the most depressing experience of my life, I almost fold with the chair. Startled, I flounder, catch myself quickly and straighten up. Promptly finishing the form, I'm told I can leave and come back "without losing my spot in line". "Greaaat, thanks!" Upon exiting, I almost burst into tears. Is this what my life has come to? And, forms? I loathe forms! Checking in, strangers judge if I eat that week or not? I'm certainly worthy but having to go through it sucks porcupine quills.
Anyway, anyway, I end up in the cafe next door, IM'ing a friend and eating a salad. Once back into the "depression chamber" a room with several long stables and a couple dozen parked chairs is where I'm told to go. We're ushered in like students going in for quarterly headcount. Gotta make sure the school district gets it's fair share of taxes. Right?
So anyway, I feel like I'm back in high school. How I feel about the color of the walls, setup, people, teacher, preacher, that odd little creature. She is at the front of the room wearing a full-on hat and a scarf on top of two shirts, a blazer, ankle length skirt, socks and sneakers, handing us papers, more forms, I cringe and pull a pen from my bag. I'm one of few wearing dress pants and a blouse. Others are wearing jeans, khakis, etc. Preferring an aisle seat I've chosen to sit next to a man
wearing a wrinkled, short-sleeve button up and khakis. He says he's a musician, looks like one. Toussled, soft and sandy brown hair, thin-framed glasses. Nice looking, in the softy, creatively lazy way. We also have the slacker, the smoker, the drunkard, teachers pet, etc... I'm fidgety, feel the need to leave. Teacher says there'll be a video in a minute, figuring I can miss it, I ask for directions as she passes and make my exit. Returning I'm told to complete the homework on my desk and turn it in. Finishing I leave and feel relief as they call my name to meet with one of the recruiters. She asks me a few questions about my qualifications and availability.
Through the brief conversation I learn that she doesn't actually help me find a job. She only posts my resume and the info I gave her. It's up to employers to find me on their website.
To date, nothing's come of it, which is kinda depressing, and not just for me but for all the others that go through this exact process.
Reentering the sunny day, feeling the warmth, I'm reminded that I have to go back to work at some point in time. Which I fear and anticipate for the same reasons. What if I get a job, it doesn't work out and I have to go through all of this, all over again? Not sure I could handle that again, repeatedly.
A guard checks me in, he writes sideways, I mean, with the paper sideways. Passing that check I come upon another guardian. A fragile, short, elderly man, dressed from the cover of a record older than myself. Blondish-white thinning hair, or fuzz rather. A clipboard with a fun form is shown to my hand and a grouping of folding shares is given my attention.
The area is divided into two sections and I'm on the right. To the left of the aisle, or border so-to say, are several Spanish speaking folk. Odd...we're in America still, right Toto? Or Totito is it? Ha, ahhh...yeah.
Flopping into the front row, to witness what seems like the most depressing experience of my life, I almost fold with the chair. Startled, I flounder, catch myself quickly and straighten up. Promptly finishing the form, I'm told I can leave and come back "without losing my spot in line". "Greaaat, thanks!" Upon exiting, I almost burst into tears. Is this what my life has come to? And, forms? I loathe forms! Checking in, strangers judge if I eat that week or not? I'm certainly worthy but having to go through it sucks porcupine quills.
Anyway, anyway, I end up in the cafe next door, IM'ing a friend and eating a salad. Once back into the "depression chamber" a room with several long stables and a couple dozen parked chairs is where I'm told to go. We're ushered in like students going in for quarterly headcount. Gotta make sure the school district gets it's fair share of taxes. Right?
So anyway, I feel like I'm back in high school. How I feel about the color of the walls, setup, people, teacher, preacher, that odd little creature. She is at the front of the room wearing a full-on hat and a scarf on top of two shirts, a blazer, ankle length skirt, socks and sneakers, handing us papers, more forms, I cringe and pull a pen from my bag. I'm one of few wearing dress pants and a blouse. Others are wearing jeans, khakis, etc. Preferring an aisle seat I've chosen to sit next to a man
wearing a wrinkled, short-sleeve button up and khakis. He says he's a musician, looks like one. Toussled, soft and sandy brown hair, thin-framed glasses. Nice looking, in the softy, creatively lazy way. We also have the slacker, the smoker, the drunkard, teachers pet, etc... I'm fidgety, feel the need to leave. Teacher says there'll be a video in a minute, figuring I can miss it, I ask for directions as she passes and make my exit. Returning I'm told to complete the homework on my desk and turn it in. Finishing I leave and feel relief as they call my name to meet with one of the recruiters. She asks me a few questions about my qualifications and availability.
Through the brief conversation I learn that she doesn't actually help me find a job. She only posts my resume and the info I gave her. It's up to employers to find me on their website.
To date, nothing's come of it, which is kinda depressing, and not just for me but for all the others that go through this exact process.
Reentering the sunny day, feeling the warmth, I'm reminded that I have to go back to work at some point in time. Which I fear and anticipate for the same reasons. What if I get a job, it doesn't work out and I have to go through all of this, all over again? Not sure I could handle that again, repeatedly.
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