Part 28 (2/2)

Ahem.

Hey, all you companies that decided not to hire me in the past 685 days...remember me? No? Well, I'm the one who sent you all those resumes and clever cover letters. I'm the one who called your VPs of Sales relentlessly to alert them to my availability. It was me who went to every lame, horrific, and uncomfortable networking event just to try to meet some of you live. Those were my ads you saw in the Chicago Tribune and Chicago Reader just to show you I existed. (And if you recall, I was the gal who received nothing for my efforts except emails from perverts.) To refresh your memory, I'm the lady who submitted to your pre-employment quizzes, allowed you to query my credit and education records, peed into your plastic cups, and was grilled by person after person at your company. Remember when you had me interview with six different people? And when you had me present a business plan that you eventually stole?

It was me who smiled through gritted teeth, nodded and said with my heart in my throat, ”That sounds great!” when you told me about base salaries $40K less than I had just made doing the exact same job. And I'm the one who stood by the mailbox, cordless phone in hand, waiting for you to tell me something...anything. Seriously, you don't know that I'm the woman who moved to the 'hood, and sold her jewelry, her car, heck, most all of her stuff once her unemployment checks ran out so that I could pay rent while I kept trying to attract your attention?

You don't recall that I'm the one who cried and felt worthless and doubted my once highly sought-after abilities because I couldn't even get a receptionist job? It was me who spent 22 months having the same uncomfortable telephone conversation with my parents about my lack of progress. And you didn't know that between buying pantyhose and taking cabs, I spent a thousand dollars for the privilege of doing so, and yet have nothing to show for the effort?

Well, guess what...I remember you.

So, to all you companies that didn't hire me, I say, p.i.s.s OFF!

You had your chance to hire me, you b.a.s.t.a.r.ds! So don't you come sniffing around here now. I wouldn't accept your lousy, thankless sales job on a double-dog dare! I'm taking every bit of compet.i.tive information I have to my grave! Ha! You will never benefit from my contacts or expertise or professionalism! Your copy machines and press releases and financial services are going to have to sell themselves because I refuse to ever do it for you again! I gave you every opportunity to bring me on board. You had your chance; you blew it.

You're on your own now, Corporate America...

...good f.u.c.king luck.

Fletch has been at his new job now for a couple of weeks. He gets up at five a.m. so that he can catch the bus by six in order to get the train at six twenty. I'm up with him, making breakfast, packing lunch, fixing coffee, and ironing s.h.i.+rts. I figure if he's going to be tired all day, I'll be tired with him. Plus, having the opportunity to pursue my dream of being a writer is a small price to pay.

Our first priority is getting another car, and we should be able to do so within the next couple of months, if we sock away all Fletch's commissions. As the downstairs neighbors have declared war on us since my little comment, I'd like to live elsewhere. However, it's not realistic right now. When we advertised for sub-leasers a couple of weeks ago, no one was interested, so unloading this place will probably be harder than I thought. Thankful as I am to have a Chicago roof over my head, I'm not going to stress about it.

I think maybe we've come out of this unscathed.

”h.e.l.lo?” I reach the phone on the last ring before voice mail takes the call. I almost missed it because I was upstairs wrestling a towel into my overstuffed bag. Shayla and I are about to take advantage of the last nice day before school starts, so we're off to the beach.

My brother is on the line. ”Jen, I've been trying to call you-where have you been?”

”Showering and taking the dogs out and stuff. I'm going somewhere, and I didn't want to get stuck having a boring conversation about Indiana basketball with you. Seriously, if I didn't care about high school sports when I was IN high school, why on earth would I care now?”

”Did you listen to any of my voice mails?”

”No, why would I? All you ever say is 'Pick up, pick up, pick up' because you refuse to accept it's VOICE MAIL and not an answering machine. Anyway, is this going to take long? I've got to get going.”

”Dammit, Jennifer, stop talking. Our mother was in an accident this morning.”

”What? What happened? I thought she was in Connecticut. Is she OK?”

”Auntie Virginia was driving Mom to the airport in Hartford, and they were hit by a truck. The car was totaled. Auntie Virginia is fine, but Mom's in the hospital with broken ribs and a punctured lung. They hit a guardrail on her side of the car. The doctor says she's going to be OK, but it was touch and go there for a little while.” So when I was busy watching The Price Is Right and playing fetch with Loki, my mother was bleeding on the side of a highway? I suddenly want to throw up.

”Oh, my G.o.d, how can I get a hold of her? How is she doing?”

”She's really shaken up and she's in a lot of pain. She's asking for you.”

”What should I do?”

”Dad's going to drive to Connecticut, and he needs you to come with him. Because of the lung, she won't be able to fly for a while, so he's driving her back when she's released from the hospital. He expected you to be on the road already, so get moving.”

But I can't get moving.

I never told my family about the repossession, so they don't know I have no way to get to Indiana. The last thing I want to do is burden them with this knowledge. Since Fletch hasn't been paid yet, I don't have enough money to take a train or fly, and my credit cards have been maxed out for months, so I can't rent a car.

My mom is scared and alone, and all she wants right now is me. But because of all the selfish, foolish mistakes I made in my past, I can't get to her.

This is just about the worst feeling in the world.

Weblog Entry 9/6/03 LEAVING THE DRIVING TO THEM.

”Wait, Jen, I'm confused. How did you get to your parents' house? Did your dad pick you up?”

No.

”Did you fly?”

Nope.

”Did you take the train?”

Negative.

”Did you-heh, heh, heh, take the BUS?”

Yes. Yes, I did.

And no, I'm not kidding.

I was slightly terrified at the idea of riding Greyhound since I'd never done so before. But I also was a tiny bit exhilarated; it just seemed so On The Road, although having not actually read the whole thing, I wasn't sure if I would be more like Jack or Neal Ca.s.sady.

As I figured getting to see my mother would outweigh any risks, I booked my ticket. I caught a cab to the bus station and began to get nervous when the driver a.s.sumed that I was kidding about the whole Greyhound Station destination. When I a.s.sured him that I was serious, he apologized and said I just didn't look like a typical bus rider. I wasn't sure whether to be delighted or offended.

I entered the station and suddenly understood what my cab driver meant. I didn't look like any of these people. The people in the Greyhound terminal certainly didn't seem like the same people I'd b.u.mp into at O'Hare or Union Station. I'm so used to being around happy travelers...families excited to be on their way to Florida, young sales execs ready to fly out to Houston to ”totally NAIL the Pennzoil account, boo-yah!” and amorous honeymoon couples about to jet to Hawaii for a week of never actually getting to see the beach.

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