Lost in a place in the sun...

Part II

The air conditioning in this place eases the doubt bubbling in my gut. My old job had a nice lobby...nice lobbies should not intimidate me. Yet this one did. I took a seat in one of the leather couches placed strategically near the elevator. My grape juice was bitter-sweet and I gulped the rest of it and rubbed my wailing dogs, surruptitiously. I was a sight to behold: shoving my stockinged feet into my shoes every time someone stepped off the beautiful elevator. I wondered, after a young, gruffy business -type climbed into the elevator and caught me mid rub, if my interviewer would catch me this way. I glanced again at my watch and resolved that 15 minutes early or not, I couldn't hang around here much longer.

I gathered up my empty bottle and stuffed my shirt into the waist of my slacks, dreading the feel of the cheap cotton against my aggravated skin. I wanted nothing more at that moment than to be home, enjoying the fan blowing warmish air through the house and my cat wrapped around one leg of the kitchen table.

Who was I kidding? I was miserable at home. I needed this experience more than I was willing to admit at the time. As I was getting set to climb into the elevator and venture up to the third floor, my phone rang. I was glad it happened there, in the desolation of the lobby instead of infront of a furrow-faced, wrathful and very busy man.

Sonny's sweet voice came through on the other line. He had good news for me, at least. Our wretched kitty, Serena, had come back after a 48-hour disappearance. Sonny smiled on it as a sign that I was up for good fortune at this interview. I believed the same. Grinning now, I climbed into the elevator and pressed button 3. My face ached painfully by the time I arrived at the door and knocked quietly with two trembling knuckles. I maintained the grin.

I was greeted initially (and ultimately) by a grungy young man with dark curls, patchy facial hair and a faded pair of Abercrombie & Fitch jeans. I instantly felt overdressed. Feeling my comfort level lower, I tugged at the collar of my jacket and slid into the seat before his desk. He introduced himself with a firm, business-like handshake and I did my best to duplicate it. I've learned to let the person you're meeting do the 'squeeze'. It's embarassing to give a rough handshake to a person who only flits their hand in yours and never actually 'shakes'. So far this policy has worked very well for me.

We sat in that small, emptyish room, he: glaring in my face with intense curiosity. Me: glaring at the floor with intense discomfort. I knew within 10 minutes that this job was NOT for me. It was a very political job, something I suppose sufficient research would have revealed had I done some. That should be rule number 1 after you get the call back. I was so screwed up that I thought the rules didn't apply to me. I don't know why.

So, I sat before the young hipster, sweating and stumbling over half-assed explanations on a subject I never asserted myself to understand. Ever the professional, he didn't call me out on my grossly embarassing ignorance. Instead, he moved the converstaion along to another open position: Canvasser. It seemed like a sweet deal, and I was just happy I wasn't being tossed out on my ear. I gladly accepted a trial period, to begin on Friday of that week. It wasn't until I was out in the sun and dust, stumbling through the lunch foot-traffic did I realize I had no desire to do this. It just wasn't my forte in the non-profit world. I knew this, even as I passively accepted the try-out.

Disappointed with my own idiocy, I found a planter in the shade and leaned against it to make a phone call. Sonny answered after the 3rd ring. I told him everything: how I had made a fool of myself, how ill prepared I was, and how (after all the hassle of getting there) I never wanted to return. He listened intently, and cooed at me in an understanding voice. "I want you to find a job that makes you happy." Sigh...I could've raced him to the alter at that moment.

I hung around downtown Cleveland a bit, after the interview, soaking up the annoying heat of midday and flagging potential lunch spots. Finally I stumbled into a pizza joint and got myself an order of buffalo wings and root beer, chilly from the freezer. Panting a little, I pressed the aluminum to my forehead and mopped my brow with a tissue in front of the corporate types that trailed in and out of the place. Yes. I had lost my goddamn mind. In my dress shirt and confining slacks I chewed on sloppy wings of desire and worked to keep the sauce off of my ensemble. The meal ended with a very happy me.

With a lack of everything: funds, patience, shade, I boarded a bus heading back for the border of my town. I excitedly basked in the chilly goodness of the blaring air conditioner. All in all, I had to say it was a kind morning. So what, I discovered the job wasn't for me? At least I thwarted entanglement in a job I doubtlessly wouldn't enjoy. And that was the most important lesson of the day: follow your heart.

I wish I could say I got home in one, sane, sturdy piece. The RTA bus was a piece of apple pie with a dollop of vanilla ice cream on top. Little did I knew how grueling the next 3 1/2 hours would be... It took me all of 2 minutes to figure out that the young man in front of me fancied my appearance. I unconsciously clenched all my face muscles into an impenetrable sneer and shoved my nose (quite cleverly) into my little wedding planning paperback.

I clambered out of the bus at our county line stop and hissed again at the heat. The young man was at my heels, commenting when I asked the driver a question and joking at the air as I continued along, having gotten my answer from the driver. I glanced casually across the street and saw two men there, smoking under a shelter. They looked like the type that stalked the streets of Staten Island, jobless and irresponsible, looking for a girl who'd sit still long enough for them to 'rap' to her. I sniffed and exhaled, and when the light turned I crossed the gooey asphalt.

My new friend lingered on the other side of the street watching with caution in his eyes. The two men were smoking cigarettes and swearing profusely, so that I (virgin, I am not) got flushing cheeks. I sat in silence and listened as one (the fully clothed smoker) reveled in discussing his life change of choosing the Lord over liquer, Christ over coke and salvation over sluts. The other one (the shirtless smoker) sweated and nodded, obviously preoccupied, yet wanting to respect his companion. The pair of them looked a tad frightening and I didn't blame my friend for lingering in the blazing heat, instead of hanging out under the shelter. There just was no room for all four of us...I guess.

TO BE CONTINUED...