Dumb questions

I haven't applied for a job since 1990 and I haven't worked a cash register since 1964. But there I am, old and weary applying for a cashier's job at a Halloween specialty shop. I am old enough to remember when the Halloween decorations came to the door demanding candy and then went away. But holiday decorations have gone way past the Polk Brother's Santa that sat on our front porch. I need a job, they need a clerk. it's part time and season, and pays a whopping $8 an hour. Who knew that during the interview the harried manager would actually ask me, "Why are you looking for work." I should think the fact that I am unemployed was sufficient, but she wanted an answer. Always happy to spin a tale, I told her one. I'm bored with retirement, which is less dramatic than "I am desperate and broke."

Even when I was somebody who hired people, I never asked that job. I might ask what it was about the job that attracted the applicant. But I never asked, "Why are you applying," because when the applicant is unemployed, it seemed obvious. I also never asked anyone "Where do you hope to be in five years?" Obviously, the hoped to be gainfully employed.

Anyway, the manager took a long leisurely up and down look and me in my decrepitude and asked "Are you up to this?" So, I suspect the other, younger, more physically fit applicant gets the job.

Look, I am glad, glad, glad not to be where I was and should have left there long ago. But, I've made such a has of my financial life that I need something, and need it soon. I am looking for work because I need the money and because I am no longer able to find something for which I may be more qualified. Although, I gotta tell ya, I ain't feeling qualified for much lately.

Jayne Mansfield redux

The world likes nothing better than a hot celebrity meltdown and Britney Spears is the gift that keeps on giving. Yesterday, she lost custody of her two sons to their father. That's how bad it is. A gigolo was determined by an LA judge to be the more competent parent--and no doubt with child support from Britney. She reacted in true pop tart fashion by turning over the kids to their pop and going to a tanning salon. Reportedly, she is under a suicide watch--whether at the tanning salon or not, the news stories do not say.

How the hell did this happen?

You might want to begin when her parents put her into show business, stage parent being the job of choice for underskilled parents with champaign taste on Pepsi money. Anyway, the kid gyrates herself into some sort of adult stardom and then finds true love with one of her back-up dancers. What Kevin Federline lacks in talent, he makes up for with street smarts. Yes, he was co-habitating with another woman, and yes they had children, but there was Britney all lush and flush with cash, the darling of the tweens and with a future and, according to sources, SHE asked HIM. Can you blame the guy? So they get married, have two kids and do not live happily ever after--well, she didn't anyway.

The thing is, K-Fed's initial grab for bags-o-cash was woefully mistimed. All he had to do was wait for the time bomb to explode, which it did, giving us all an unwanted gynecological education. So now he's got the kids and access to the cash. Is this a great country or what?

All that's left now is for him to bleed her financially dry and for her to end up doing dinner theater in some cheesy Louisiana location. I see the ghost of Jayne Mansfield before me and it ain't a pretty site.

Used tissue

I suppose this is the natural response, but I feel crumpled like used tissue. I have looked into what might be available and find not much. This week, I have devoted my time to getting organized, dealing with insurance and financial issues and exploring. Next week, I begin my job search in earnest. Other people manage to find rewarding careers after their shelf life expires. I am not one of them. Apparently, I lack imagination because all I seem before me are the terrors of looking into temporary work and I was never a good "new kid on the block." This is a learning experience, that is my mantra. I cannot curl up and die, well, I could, but I won't. I don't know which way to turn and there is no one who cares enough to listen, and I cannot keep repeating myself. Had I been a better person. this would not have happened. That's in the past. It's gone. It cannot be relived. Whatever happens, I will die alone, unwanted and unmourned--my worst fears realized. The good news is, I'll be dead, so I won't know.

On the upside, I do 15 minutes on the exercise bike, so when I die, I will have one really good knee.

What doesn't kill you will leave you writhing in pain

Yesterday's to-do list went quite well, other than the frustrating conversation about my 401/Pension Fund account. But eventually even that will work out. I filed for unemployment benefits online, and according to them I have 45 skills. An automatic message suggested I look into adding to my skills to make me more marketable. It didn't say more marketable as what. And five, count 'em five boxes of personal belongings arrived. Now, I know of two, and I know I took what I wanted with me, so those five boxes should be interesting. On today's list: me and the trash barrel going through those five boxes. Or maybe I should just dump them unopened.

It occurs to me that I worked in the same place for 17 years and three months and came away without one friend. Not one. I think that says a lot about me--a lot I'd rather not explore at the moment. Yesterday, someone I knew suggested I take in a room mate post haste. She wouldn't want a room mate, but she suggested I get one. Can you imagine anyone who would want to share anything with me? Neither can I. The hospital bill came, so this will not be a day without spending money.

Yesterday's conversation about my pension fund was frustrating. I wanted to get everything done before the blackout, which I was told was on the 30th--but they moved it up to yesterday. Convenient, don't you think? But the guy in charge told me to call this administrator and that administrator and they told me to call him. Then I get a snotty note about how I can't do anything until Nov. 11, which he did say, right before he told me to call someone else. I end up feeling jacked around and they end up feeling I am a pain and all of it means I cannot roll that money over until November. Somehow, I think this does not bode well for me.

I've explored the employment opportunities available to me and think maybe the Eskimos have it right when they put the elderly on ice floes. Something will come up, I will survive, and everything happens for a reason. At least I did not wake up with a panic attack. I count that as a minor victory.

17 years working in one place and all I have to show for it are five boxes of crap and a sense of foreboding. I suppose it could be worse.