https://www.angelfire.com/art2/dream/index.html
writegirl2000@hotmail.com
or...Pinky Gets A Job
Tuesday I zipped over to UPS located on Industrial Drive in West Allis. Shipping six paintings off to collectors always makes me feel particularly useful as a citizen of the planet and essentially makes me a little giddy.
As I was driving back out of the industrial district I saw sign-upon-sign: HELP WANTED. So I began wondering what life would be like if I actually had to get a job. Say I didn’t have my parent cash, and I had no collectors willing to pay real live dollars for my paintings. What could I become?
Wednesday morning I woke up early and decided to find out. First I guessed that being early would be a good promotional device, it suggests the ready-to-work eager beaver. I wanted to look working class so I wore black jeans, sneakers, a seven-year-old baby blue French cap sleeve T-shirt, and my well-worn athletic jacket that is too huge on me (I stole it from a former boyfriend.) Make-up? None. Hair pulled back into a green velvet scrunchie that one of the women from the shelter gave me for Christmas. There. Oh, and I polished my hails a dark peach to disguise my French manicure. All done.
I decided my resume/application would look like this:
Pinky A. Green
304 Pleasant Street
Old Harbor, WI 53786
Age: 26
Married, two children
Education: graduated in 1993/Eastview High School
Work History: Housewife/mother since 1994
McDonald’s 1992-1993 after school
I couldn’t disguise my car so I decided to park it far from the offices and walk.
First stop…Edgerite…a toolmaking company. The building was brick, red, one metal door, with three shipping bays. I walked in and the secretary was in a serious discussion on the phone. The man behind a big window, I guessed he was the boss, came out and introduced himself. Yep. After filling out a one-page application, the boss asked me to follow him to a long table in the next room. On the table was a metal box sectioned into eight compartments. I was to take the pile of metal things and sort them into the box as fast as I could.
He said, “Go.” and hit the stopwatch.
My fingers flew. When I was done, I looked over at him. “How did I do?”
He smiled and said, “Not even close.”
“Damn.”
“I would have been disappointed if you could have done it in the allotted time.”
I giggled.
“Could I try it again?”
“Sure.”
“A woman like you doesn’t need a job like this.”
Dammit. He had figured out my game. I wonder what gave me away. I was about to tell him about my charade, but from his smile I could tell he was already on to me. Still it pissed me off that I couldn’t sort those damn things!
Next stop…Wilcox Manufacturing. Here was a building with style. A huge sunlight atrium welcomed clients and potential employees. The receptionist handed me a 14-page application and instructed me to fill it out in the adjoining guest room. A man in his twenties sat in a far chair. He was staring at the parquet floor.
As I was writing, another dark-haired woman dressed in a Sunday-go-to-meeting outfit, entered the room and walked directly to the man. “Take this home and have your wife help you fill it out. Then return it to us and we’ll see what we have available.”
As the woman left the room she paused in front of me and said, “hello” as her eyeballs traveled my body. She was obviously accessing me. I wondered if I was company material.
I finished the app which was 90% psychological profiling and handed it to the receptionist. Twenty minutes later the same brunette I had seen earlier came in and ushered me upstairs into a small room. She went over key questions. I must have been passing because she just kept exploring me. I mentioned that I didn’t think I would work well under subordinates and would prefer to work directly under the big boss. She asked me if I was from California! Then she left the room.
I waited and waited and waited. I was getting really pissed when I suddenly decided that this was some sort of test in patience. Forty fucking minutes later she returned. I was offered a job on the spot. I could work directly under the boss on his horse farm in Huntley. He raised Arabians. No, I could not work in the plant. The boss had a staff of one and was interested in employing me. I had 2 days to decide if I wanted to be an office person for $22.50 per hour and a full health package, 3-month review and generous bonuses including stock. She added that she had heard that he takes his staff to lunch everyday.
I was almost tempted to say yes. It was a skate job. Yet, I did have a weird feeling that the building was bugged. I had the feeling that the boss heard and saw everything that went on at the plant. (I think someone had mentioned this at one of the parties I had attended.)
I had actually landed a job! That part was cool. Of course I turned it down. I complained about the 40-minute drive to Huntley.
Stop three…Earhart Engineering…This was a medium-sized brick building with a large window out to the parking lot. I parked in the paint factory lot and walked over. I went straight up to a window with a pass-through, lots of security. I wondered why? The office here was dim and dreary. A puffy middle-aged woman in a cheap, too-tight black suit read over my application from across her messy desk. I had changed my tactic. I told her that my husband had lost his truck driving job and I really needed a job to take care of the mounting bills. I added that my husband was having a helluva time finding a new job.
She said, “You are just what I am looking for. You need the money. You’ll come to work everyday on time.” The woman was nearly licking her chops. She would own me. YIKES!
I was offered another job, $7.35 an hour, no benefits until one year of employment, and the worst part was the job. I would have my hands in chemicals all day doing something with films. Good God. I am allergic to just about everything.
Wait. This is a fake job hunt. I needed to settle down. Still anyone working at this place was merely a cog. That pissed me off.
I was filled up with the nonsense on Industrial drive. On the way home I stopped at three more places.
Lloyd’s Paint & Paper. Ah, now here is a job I was made for. I know color. I am an artist. This was very casual. A one-page application and an interview with a guy about my age. He was the grandson of the owner. I decided to let out a bit more of my real self and told him about my Art History degree. He seemed fidgety. I felt a bit too bold. He said he would call if they needed me.
I stopped at Jewel and applied for a position as a floral designer. They set me up for a run-through on the following Thursday. I would need to create a traditional arrangement, an “S” curve, an Oriental flat dish, and one of those huge triangular wedding/funeral designs. Sounded like fun. I lied and said I had three years experience from a flower shop in Illinois. Ha! I could get a book and figure out how to do it. The woman said that it was important that I be sure and arrive on time since they only do this once a month. “It’s very expensive.”
My last stop was at a garage. Too funny…a greasy, smelly garage. But they had a sign up: Office Person Wanted. So I went for it.
I walked in and a man under a car rolled out and took me to his office. He was straight out of “Thelma & Louise.” Remember the semi driver? Yep, same guy. His dingy office was decorated in rip-out nudes from porn mags. He was fucking drooling. He would hire me on the spot. He said that to my tits, not me. This was so repugnant. PUKE! It would be funny if I was just making this up, but unfortunately, I am not.
The follow-up…
*I received a call back from the horseman’ company rep. They raised the offer to $28 an hour.
*No call back from Lloyd’s, so I returned a week later. An older woman checked for my application. I saw it. Written across it in red ink, TOO INDEPENDENT.
*I bought two books on floral arrangements. I learned about frogs and Oasis and wiring flowers. It was fun. I think I spent over $200 on fresh flowers to goof off with. My house looked great!
I missed the first appointment. The testing spot was in Arlington Heights and somehow I ended up on the expressway, one of those 10-laners. By the time I got back off and around to the location I was 35 minutes late. I went home. I thought that was that, but no. The woman was eager to hire me. She called and said, “If you can just show up so I can show that you were here, I will give you the job. You are just what I am looking for. You would be a real asset to the company.”
She set up a special testing just for me. I went. I passed. She called me a natural. I did feel bad about that one. I mean about not actually even wanting the job. To save my soul I bought another huge batch of flowers and made arrangements for the nursing home over on Third Avenue.
Thank God, I don’t have to work at any of these places. And hehe on Callie, I CAN TOO GET HIRED! Don’t ever call me unemployable again!
