Conundrums Abound

Sometimes Sam thinks he's Antonio Banderas dancing a flamenco.  He's not.  After I had convinced him of this and he set about finishing getting ready for school this morning, I got a phone call.  It was a woman from DLG Law asking if I'd like to come in for an interview.  An interview!  Me!  My very first since losing my job at the museum and applying to every job known to mankind.

I dropped Sam off at school ("Make good choices!") and headed to about 4 different stores looking for interview-appropriate attire (threadbare jeans and flowery skirts don't cut it).  Let me tell you that apparently the size 0-10 work force is very well-dressed.  At the first few stores I went to there was NOTHING smaller than a size 12.  At the last store I found that most people apparently believe that leggings are pants, and everything in the size 2 section showed it.  Until Lo!  Three pairs of grey trousers, and only one a little ugly.  I snatched them up and ran to the dressing rooms, only pausing to scowl at a row of discounted knit (as in needles, not that stretchy/flowy stuff) garments passing as shirts.

The first pair fit alright, albeit loosely.  The second pair came to a few inches above my ankles ("city fit" my foot).  The third pair was a size 6 masquerading as a 2.  I decided the first pair would have to do, overly long inseam and baggy rear aside, and it was only $20.  I then wandered the store considering discount scrub brushes (TJ Maxx has great deals on scrub brushes guys) until I realized it was almost noon and my interview was in two hours.

With a little safety-pinning of the hem I was in the car and on my way.  The interview was in Draper, just past Ikea.  Once inside the building and announced, I sat down and stole furtive glances at the employees I could see.  Nose rings.  Threadbare jeans.  Hm...

I interested myself with an oversize encyclopedia of horse breeds where most of the pictures showed horses with alternately majestic and surprised (yes it is possible) looks on their faces.

See?  Nevermind that it's a statue.

I was snickering to myself when my interviewer walked in-- in cargo shorts and a polo.

The interview was easy-- he asked the usual questions about what my strengths are and why I deserve the job and how good my water cooler chatter is and yada yada yada.  And then he offered me the job and asked me to pick a shift, right then and there.  I sat there hemming and hawing before picking a 9-6 shift and agreeing to show up for training on Monday.  He then shook my hand, mentioned that the dress code was very relaxed (thank you Captain Obvious), and showed me the door.

On my drive back home I got to thinking, as Daddy Yankee provided philosophical input.

"Ok, so it's a full time job at $10 an hour, with benefits after 3 months..."

Na na na na na na na na na na na na na Daddy Yankee!

"But it's all the way up in Draper, that's a lot of gas money.  Plus, to be there at 9am I'd have to leave at like 8:15..."

Rompe rompe rompe!

"We really, really need the money.  And I get weekends off!  And they buy us lunch once a week..."

No escondas todo eso que traes; Yo baby, que es la que hay?

"Ugh but it's 100% on the phone, all the time.  All incoming calls, but still.  I'm so awkward on the phone.  And that headset would give me a headache..."

The way she move ella lo; rompe rompe rompe; break it down; go go go go

"Thanks Mr Yankee, you're a real pal."

So it pays the bills.  And it's a good paycheck.  And Sam and I have decided it's time I weed out the awkward phone bit.  What better way to do it than work in a call center?  I just wish it were a lot closer.  I'm showing up for training on Monday, but in the meantime, I'm praying real hard something better will come up in the next couple of days.  If not, at least I don't have to go hunting for any more dress pants.

PS Our new manager just came to collect our rent and indirectly insulted the painting I did for our kitchen.  Harumph.  Maybe I should take it down.