Part 8 (1/2)
Shaken, Not Stirred
From the desk of Miss Jennifer A. Lancaster February 1, 2002 Dear Rush Limbaugh, Not only have I been a devoted listener for ten years but your program inspired me to major in Political Science. I loved using your arguments against my Marxist professors! (Really, anyone who doesn't like Capitalism has simply never been shoe shopping at Nordstrom.) The point is I rarely disagree with you. However, I heard you clash with the President's intention to extend unemployment benefits.
How come? Do you think every unemployed person is a dirty hippie, too busy supporting Chairman Mao to seek gainful employment? Because it's totally not true.
My company laid me off at the end of September, blaming the attack on America. (Which is BS, by the way. A lot of companies used 9/11 as a convenient excuse to lay off good people without looking like ogres.) Since I've been ”on the dole,” I've applied for hundreds of jobs, hit dozens of networking events, registered on every single job-search portal, and hounded corporate headhunters to the point of criminal hara.s.sment. It's not like I'm sitting around the house smokin' fatties, waiting for the guv'mint to cut me my check.
I'm concerned my benefits will run out before I find work and I'll be forced to do something awful like waitressing. It's difficult for me to rationalize going from advising VPs at Fortune 500 companies to inquiring about their choice of salad dressing, you know? Because of this I believe those extra 13 weeks could really make the difference for my future.
So, please, enlighten me on why you feel this is a bad idea. I'm interested to hear your thoughts.
Many thanks, Jen Lancaster P.S. You look fabulous since you lost weight. Hey, why don't you talk about diet tips more often on the show? I bet it would bring in that crucial 18 to 45 female demographic.
I need some time to feel sorry for myself. Flopping down on my four-hundred-thread-count Egyptian cotton, tulip-print bedding, I kick off my Chanel slingbacks and commence moping. While staring at the rough planks of my beamed ceiling, I relive the past year. I try to figure out how I might have prevented this layoff. Could I have worked harder? Did I really give the company my all? My eyes trace the intricate brickwork on the wall while I wonder if I could have been more innovative. My ideas were totally fresh and original, right? I glance down at the gleaming baseboards and continue to brood. Did I take advantage of every opportunity? And didn't I always put forth my very best efforts? I scrutinize the pristine slats on the blond wood venetian blinds while I ruminate on my interpersonal interaction. Could I have built stronger relations.h.i.+ps with my client base? Or with my team of account executives? Or with Kathleen? Was my att.i.tude ever an issue? Looking deep within my soul in the silence of my cavernous apartment, I come to a realization...
...I was absolutely faultless. And my termination? Is their loss.
Having neatly absolved myself from any responsibility, I decide to get to work. Fortunately I transferred my customer database from my PDA to my computer a while back, so I've got a huge list of people I can call about job openings. Feeling loads better, I settle into my home office to start dialing.
Unbelievable. Almost every acquaintance who could hire me has met a similar fate. The few who are still employed are waiting for the ax to fall. Apparently it's been a brutal couple of weeks for everyone in my industry. I'm at a loss as to what to do next. I've already posted on all the employment boards, applied for every single open job for which I'm qualified, and registered with scads of recruiters. In addition, the house is spotless, dinner's prepared for the next three days, I've talked to friends and family, each of my cats has received copious amounts of catnip and chin scratchings, and let's just say any ice cream in the house is but a memory.
I'm left with no other alternative.
It's time to redecorate.
I'm outside watering the plants when I hear the scream.
Fletch joined the Army before college, and the experience instilled in him an icy calm and the ability to maintain a cool head in a crisis. Few things rattle him, so when I hear him shriek, it means he's lost a limb. I dash down the stairs from the deck, half expecting to trip over detached bits of my beloved.
”Honey, what happened? Are you OK?” I call.
I find Fletch standing in the bathroom, mouth agape, staring at the naked wall. Uh-oh. I forgot to tell him about the wallpaper. Or, more specifically, that I removed it.
You know I live in the world's coolest pad, right? Unfortunately this doesn't extend to the bathroom. Fletch and I often debate what it reminds us of-I think it looks like a Scranton, Pennsylvania, Howard Johnson's, circa 1982, while Fletch likens it to a drug lord's lair from the Miami Vice set.
The bones of the bathroom are fine-white tile floors, attractive brushed chrome fixtures, clean marble counters, etc.... and then there's the wallpaper, obviously designed by a borderline psychotic. The only way to replicate it would be to take a roll of s.h.i.+ny, mirrored cream paper and have a chicken step in black paint and scale the wall like Batman. Next, invite a couple of schoolchildren over and encourage them to finger paint fuchsia-and-teal check marks. Finally, smear it all together with some dove gray Nike swooshes...and voil! Welcome to my nightmare.
”I'm giving the bathroom a face-lift,” I tell Fletch.
”I can see that,” he replies. ”What brought you to this decision?”
”Well, I was kind of bored. I decided we needed a change around here, but since you refuse to float me $6500 for the couch, I can't do a thing with the living room.”
”Give the couch a rest already.”
”It's OK. I'm totally over it. Anyway, you know how much I despised the wallpaper. We both hated it. I mean, what kind of hostess suggests her guests visit the bathroom in the bar across the street rather than use the one down the hall?”
”And?”
”And I realized I couldn't stand to look at that awful paper for one more minute. From where I stood in the shower, I saw a loose piece behind the toilet so I gave it a wee tug.”
”Continue.”
”And, um, nothing really happened. I pulled a little harder. Then I yanked, and finally a huge section came off in my hands. It was incredibly liberating! I got out of the shower, wrapped myself in a towel, and started ripping. A half an hour later, the walls were totally bare.”
”Now what?”
”I'm going to sand down the walls and paint them.”
He snorts. ”You're going to paint?”
”Of course! I'm, like, practically an expert. Didn't I tell you in my Alpha Delta Pi days our pledge project was to refurbish the rec room, and I was in charge of painting?”
Gently he reminds me, ”Jen, they kicked you out of that sorority.”
”Not because of the paint job. I rocked the paint job. They booted me because of the Sigma Nu wine-and-cheese party.”
”Do I know this story?”
”Remember I hated my evil pledge master, Stacey?”
”Why, again?”
”She always gave me the dirtiest ch.o.r.es, and I was hazed far worse than anyone else. She talked my pledge sisters out of electing me pledge cla.s.s president when I SO had it in the bag. Then she a.s.signed me more phone duty than anyone else even though I never mastered the switchboard. When I was supposed to be the chapter's nominee for Grand Prix queen, Stacey decided I couldn't do it because my GPA wasn't high enough, even though I had the most pageant experience and honestly could have won. She constantly singled me out.”53 ”Jen, if I've learned anything about you, it's these things are never one-sided. What did you do to contribute to the situation?” he asks.
”Well...I started dating her roommate's ex-boyfriend. Since they hadn't gone out in over a year, I wasn't violating any part of sisterhood code, especially since I met him before I pledged. Stacey and her roommate, Lisa, were just spiteful old hags. Anyway, Stacey always wore the same outfit to our functions-ugly checked cropped pants and a weird sleeveless red cowl-neck sweater that clashed audibly with her frizzy orange hair and freckles. I mean it, she wore it to every single party, and it didn't even look good on her.54 On wine-and-cheese night, I had too much wine and not enough cheese and suddenly writing a check to Stacey for a new set of party clothes seemed like a capital idea.”
”Which broke the camel's back.”
”Yep. The one thing that really got me is the girls who kicked me out were the same ones laughing so hard at the check. What a bunch of two-faced C-U-Next-Tuesdays. Anyway, I had the last laugh when I pledged Pi Phi, especially because the Alpha Delts eventually lost their charter and were thrown off campus. HA! Served 'em right for not having a sense of humor. Anyway, what was my point?”
”You had a point?”
”Of course! My point is I'm a really good painter. As soon as you tell me where your belt sander is, I can start smoothing down the walls.” Fletch has hidden all his tools from me ever since I broke his Dremel wheel a few years ago. But how could I resist using something that looked like a turbocharged pumice stone on my callused heels?
”I'll get it from storage after dinner,” he says.
”Kool and the Gang. Hey, now that you're home, I'm going to take your car to Home Depot to gather paint samples. How do you feel about dark blue?”
”Anything would be better than what he had.”