Part 24 (1/2)

”Did I tell you my mom called first thing this morning?”

”No. What did she have to say?”

”I got the 'You have to do something' speech again. I told her about selling the car and my purses and coats, and then I read her the list of all the places I'd applied, yet she still wasn't satisfied. She kept repeating, 'You have to do something,' and I pictured her clutching her knees, rocking back and forth, all hot-water-burn-baby-like. I finally hung up on her because she was giving me an anxiety attack.”

”Sometimes I can't believe she's a licensed therapist.”

I shrug. ”She's really good in a professional setting. But with me it's like 'The cobbler's children have no shoes.' Remember when she didn't hear from me for a few days, and she wanted to send Todd up to Chicago to look for me?”

”Weren't you traveling on business that week?”

”Yes, and that would have been any normal person's natural a.s.sumption. Instead, she thought I'd run away from home.” Bob reappears. ”Shh-it's on.”

The next contestant wins a trip onstage by bidding $2 when the person before her bid $1. ”That's dirty pool, missy!” I shout at the television.

”What just happened?” Apparently Fletch did not spend his childhood stalking Bob Barker, which probably contributed to why it was such an unhappy one.

”When the first few contestants bid an amount that seems too high, another contestant can choose to bid $1. Which is fine. It's almost a guaranteed win, and it's a good strategy when competing with morons who have no idea how much stuff costs. What's not fine is when a $1 bid is followed by a $2 bid, which totally screws the $1 person.”

”Doesn't the $2 person generally win with that maneuver?”

”Yes, and that's why it's wrong. Look...see? That jacka.s.s just won the washer and dryer. Hmph. I hope she gets the putting challenge. No one ever wins the putting challenge.”

Fletch yawns deeply. ”Explain to me again why it was so important that I get out of bed to see this.”

Before I can answer, the dogs start to go wild Vegas-style. I peer out the window and see a guy wearing a tool belt bending over our air-conditioning unit with a giant screwdriver. Unfortunately, it's not the kind of wild you'd hope for when a total stranger appears unannounced on your deck, holding a blunt instrument. It's more of a tail-wagging, dance-in-your-pants, could-this-be-the-happiest-momentin-all-of-canine-history? sort of wild. The dogs had this same exact reaction when the crackhead pulled a rubber knife on Fletch when we lived in Bucktown...utter and complete joy at the pleasure of making the vagrant's acquaintance.

”So much for their careers as guard dogs,” I say.

Fletch goes outside to talk to the contractor while I watch the end of the show. The jacka.s.s makes it to the showdown and totally overbids on her showcase, which includes a new car and a boat. HA! Justice is served.

”You won't believe what the problem was.”

”What?”

”No one hooked our unit up to an electric source after it was installed. Although we could get the fan to run because of the furnace, it wasn't connecting to the AC's compressor, which is chilled by freon, hence all the warm air. The contractor's putting in a fuse now so we should be up and running within the hour.”

I mull over this information. ”What you're telling me is the blowery thing worked fine but it never made the big whoosh full of cold, cold air so the pipes didn't get sweaty and the issue was a lack of access to the chilly-making juice. Which means I was right.”

Fletch nods. ”Too bad Bill doesn't speak gibberish, or this could have been resolved weeks ago.”

I've feared this day for many months. But each time our savings dipped to the level where possibility turned to reality, some sort of miracle occurred such as the arrival of a long-lost commission check and I was able to stave off the inevitable. I consider myself lucky to have been able to hold out for a professional job as long as I have.

But the day has come.

It is time...to work retail.

I imagine the hiring process will be easier for a retail job. Instead of being asked about my five-year plan, I'll simply have to confirm I can work on Sat.u.r.days and can lift fifty pounds. To land the gig, there's a good chance I won't have to do a PowerPoint presentation about market segmentation because their potential customers will be the ones who walk through the door. Although I don't know that a retail job will be easy, I'm confident that the search parameters will be a lot less stringent.

I'm off.... Wish me luck.

To: Michigan Avenue Pottery Barn From: [email protected] Date: May 3, 2003 Subject: Sales a.s.sociate h.e.l.lo, Attached you'll find my resume sent in con sideration for open positions within Pottery Barn.

I'm an ideal candidate for employment because I paid my way through college by working retail.163 I have almost seven years of retail experience and became famous within my old company for creating the ”Ten Commandments of Customer Service.” I'm particularly proud of Commandment Seven-If a customer tells you to dance, strap on your tap shoes and ask if they'd prefer show tunes.

I seek retail work now because I've gotten off the corporate fast track. When I was laid off from an executive position back in 2001, I worked a variety of temporary a.s.signments 164while searching for a position commensurate with what I had. But in so doing, I discovered I had a pa.s.sion for writing and now getting published is my priority.165 However, I can't write all the time, so I seek a part-time retail position. Pottery Barn is the natural choice for me as it's my favorite store, not only for the merchandise, but also because of the service provided by its team members.166 And with my service background, I could never work for a store that didn't treat its customers well.167 I'd be delighted to discuss my qualifications in person, should any opportunities be available.

Best, Jennifer A. Lancaster

I haven't heard a peep from any of the stores where I applied last week. I think I may have gone in smacking of anxiety with a bit of crazy about the eyes. Today I'm changing my tactics. Maybe if I look like I don't need a job, my indifference will drive them MAD to hire me.

I stack all my jeweled bracelets on my wrists, make my hair big, and exchange my very average-sized wedding ring for the one Lagos ring I haven't yet sold. It's a large white topaz, and everyone a.s.sumes it's a gigantic diamond. I put on a cute-but-casual khaki skirt and the new sweater my mother got me last month-the only truly stylish-right-this-second item I own at the moment-and squirt myself with my few remaining drops of J'Adore Dior. (I hope it's enough to cover up the stink of desperation.) I sail out of a cab and into Barnes & n.o.ble on State Street. I chat up the information booth guy and, in what's supposed to look like an afterthought, ask for an application in my best bored-society-wife-looking-for-a-bit-of-a-diversion-and-if-this-doesn't-work-out-I'll-just-nail-the-gardener voice.

I turn in the application with a flourish, cursed Prada bag causally slung on my shoulder, an iced latte clutched in my freshly manicured (by me) hand. I a.s.sure the desk guy again what a jolly good lark this working thing would be for a restless, kept woman, before sauntering out the door.

Then I walk ten blocks to the bus stop so I won't have to pay an extra thirty cents for a transfer.

Faux casual didn't work either.

Now what?

”Why is someone calling us so late on a Wednesday? It must be after midnight.” I glance at the caller ID.

”Who is it?” Fletch is half in the bag on a school night. I tolerate this solely because it's about the only time he smiles or laughs anymore.