THINK OUTSIDE THE BOX

Since quitting my job last Thursday, I've been spending AT LEAST 2 hours a day applying to jobs. I have yet to get one.

When everywhere you apply to doesn't want you, what do you do? Do you let the constant rejection you've been facing cause you to re-examine your life, to really look inside yourself and honestly consider your best and worst qualities so as to determine what you need to change about yourself to become more desirable to potential employers? NO! Instead of re-inventing yourself to be a perfect fit for a job, invent a job that's a perfect fit for you. You're not being lazy or unrealistic. You're being an entrepreneur.

So what do you like? What are you good at? The crazier the job sounds, the better. The more ridiculous it sounds, the less likely it is that other people will be able to do it. I'm going to give you a few examples of perfect jobs for ME along with the reasoning behind them. Use these examples as a template to come up with the perfect job for you.

JOB: Creator/Star of a reality-show version of Scooby Doo

WHY: You don't need a good idea to create a reality show. You just need an idea original enough to attract viewers but familiar enough that producers won't think investing in it is risky. Scooby Doo is a familiar brand, and as of yet, there are no shows about a group of hippies and a dog driving around in a van, exploring abandoned amusement parks (although Ghost Hunters is kind of similar). I'd be a perfect real-life version of Shaggy. I'm great with dogs, I look good in bell bottoms, and I'd probably spend way more time looking for sandwiches than trying to solve mysteries. ZOINKS!

JOB: James Franco Double

WHY: James Franco is famous for doing billions of things at once. If he keeps going at the rate he has been, he's going to need the ability to be in two places at the same time. Until he invents cloning, this is an impossibility. He needs another version of himself. I realize that I look nothing like James Franco, but that doesn't matter. At this point, the man is a legend- people will believe any weird thing you say about him. I'll just tell people that The Franco appears in different forms to different people- To some, he takes the appearance of a ruggedly handsome man. To others, he appears in the form of a goofy-looking girl. Sure, it's crazy... CRAZY LIKE A FRANCO.

JOB: Substitute Earl for Odd Future

WHY: OFWGKTA has had a vacancy ever since Earl Sweatshirt's mom grounded him and told him he couldn't be in the band anymore (or something). Not only am I a phenomenal rapper, I'm too old for my mom to tell me who I can and can't hang out with or which controversial rap groups I can and can't be a part of. Admittedly, Earl uses a lot of words that I wouldn't be comfortable saying, but I could just use creative substitutes. For example, instead of saying "Fuck that faggot shit, my niggers on that savage shit",  I would say "Fuck that ferret shit, my tigers on that savage shit". Not only are the lyrics a little nicer, but now people who don't like ferrets will be more inclined to listen to Odd Future.

JOB: Traveling Bard

WHY: Hipsters have a bizarre tendency to be nostalgic for things they've never actually experienced. This is why they listen to vinyl records, sport 19th century facial hair, and bitch about how New York isn't as edgy and dangerous as it used to be. Hipsters also have a tendency to spend their money on stupid outdated shit, like fanny packs or beepers that can be worn ironically. It stands to reason that pretentious posers would shell out some serious cash to experience the most ancient form of storytelling (if only so that they could bring it up to make somebody feel guilty about buying a Kindle or something). I would make a great traveling bard because I'm a good storyteller and because I'm homeless.

JOB: Entrepreneurial Entrepreneur

WHY: All of these jobs ideas are brilliant. Clearly, I have a knack for this. If you need someone to help you come up with a unique business venture for yourself, I'll do it for you. You don't have to pay me up front, but you will have to give me 15% of every million you make. And if you follow the career path I set out for you, you WILL become a multimillionaire, much like I will as soon as Scooby Doo but for Realsies debuts on the Travel Channel.

ADRIENNE GETS A JOB INTERVIEW. SHIT GETS WEIRD.

If you read yesterday's post, you'll know that I had two job interviews. If you've been following this blog for awhile, you'll know that nothing ever goes normally for me. Ever. So, it should come as no surprise to you that in one of those interviews, shit got weird. Here, in three parts, is that story.

The interview was for a job as a front desk receptionist at a dentist's office. Not exactly a dream job, but after my last work experience, all I wanted was to get a quiet desk job where nobody would call me names. I straightened my hair. I put on a classy black dress and a pair of heels (my only shoes without any holes in them). Before leaving, I looked at myself in the mirror, and was pretty satisfied with what I saw. Nobody would ever guess that I was (technically) a homeless person! Surely this job was mine for the taking!

PART ONE: THAT'S WHY YOU DON'T BUY $15 HEELS

My optimism rapidly began to fade about a block later, as I was walking to the train station. I'm currently staying in Queens, and as any woman who's ever been there knows, when you wear ANYTHING that makes you look even the littlest bit nice, at least half of the men you come in contact with on the street will feel the need to express their appreciation. "WOW!" yelled a creepy middle aged man, as I struggled to walk in my heels. I began to sweat, and could feel my hair starting to frizz. "BEAUTIFUL!" shouted another man. I had barely been walking for 5 minutes, and my feet were screaming at me.  I tripped in a crack on the sidewalk and almost fell out of my shoes. At that exact moment a man yelled "NICE SHOES". I was being heckled. Had my wits been about me, I would have told him to go fuck himself, but I was too busy focusing on maneuvering down the street to form words. After what felt like an eternity, I reached the train station. One of my heels got stuck on the stairs. My foot slid out, and the shoe went tumbling down.

If my life were a romantic comedy movie, Zac Efron would have been at the bottom of the stairs. He would have been charmed by my wacky clumsiness and would have picked up the shoe and slid it back onto my foot, Cinderella-style. But my life is not a romantic comedy. It is a sick joke. So, using every ounce of concentration I had, I grabbed onto the railing and used my foot that still had a shoe on it to hop down the stairs. Five minutes and four stairs later, a 14 year old Asian boy saw what was happening, and handed me my shoe. "Thanks!" I said warmly. "These shoes are the worst!" Embarrassed for the both of us, the Asian kid said "Uh. Sure. No problem." and got away from me as quickly as possible.

By the time I got to the train, my shoes were dirty, my hair was a frizzy mess, and I was in a terrible mood.

PART TWO: THAT'S WHY YOU ASK FOR DIRECTIONS

I have no sense of direction. I once spent 20 minutes frantically searching for the exit of a Forever 21 store- getting lost is nothing new to me. To make sure I got to the interview on time, I not only looked up the address they gave me on google maps, I printed out the directions. And a map. And I made sure to get to the general area 45 minutes before the interview so I would have more than enough time to find the building.

The address I had written down after talking to the interviewer on the phone was 12 E 21st street. E 21st street was only 3 blocks away from where the train dropped me off. Pretty close, right? Not when you're wearing a pair of cheap heels that feel like they were designed by Jigsaw. I hobbled down the street as quickly as I could (which was something like a half mile an hour). I saw a 10 E 21st street, but not a 12. I walked into 10 E 21st street to ask the man at the front desk where 12 was. He gave me a strange look. "That building doesn't exist." It was clear to me at that moment that one of two things was true: either I had gotten the wrong address, or my job interview was going to be conducted by wizards. I called my interviewer, explaining that I was lost. "Where are you?" she asked. "I'm pretty close. I'm at 10 E 21st street, I just can't find 12." It turned out I didn't have the building number wrong. I had the street number wrong. I was off by around 20 blocks.

The interview was in 30 minutes. There was no way I could afford a cab, so  I trudged back to the train station (which took me 20 minutes, even though it was only 3 blocks away). After researching directions, printing out a map, and giving myself 45 minutes to be lost, I got to the interview 10 minutes late.

PART THREE: SHIT GETS WEIRD

I burst into the door, out of breath. My hair was frizzier, my shoes were dirtier, and I suspected that if anyone in the room were told I was (technically) homeless, they would have had no trouble believing it. I was asked to sign in, and write down the time that I arrived. Two other girls had signed in before me. One was an impressive 34 minutes early, the other a respectable 9. I was starting to feel like this job might not be mine for the taking.

The woman conducting the interview was very nice. She had been waiting for me to get there, because she wanted to address us as a group before talking to us one on one. I'm no expert, but I would guess that forcing the boss to do something 11 minutes behind schedule is not an excellent way to make a first impression. She told us that the job would be pretty standard. We'd have to "help out at the front desk, help out with online marketing, and help out with a project." She didn't elaborate on what the project was, which struck me as a little odd. She then told us she'd interview us in the order we came.

The first girl went. 10 minutes later, her interview was over, and she left. The next girl went. Her interview was also 10 minutes. Then it was my turn. The interview was actually going pretty well. She told me she liked me, that she wanted me to fill out a questionnaire, and that it would take about 20 minutes. I'm in! I thought. She didn't have anyone else fill out a questionnaire! 

There were 200 multiple choice personality questions (the questions were like "Are you easily flustered?" and the options you had were Yes, Not Really, and No). Having recently completed an online job application for Starbucks which also had several personality based questions, I wasn't too thrown off by this. Then I got to question 27. "Do you ever sing or whistle, just for the fun of it?" Oh no. I've definitely seen that question somewhere before. And then it hit me. I saw it on South Park. In the Scientology episode, that was one of the questions the scientologists asked Stan as a part of his personality evaluation test. Sure enough, when I looked at the bottom of the page, it said in tiny print "L. Ron Hubbard. Copywright 2001".

I WASN'T TAKING A TEST TO DETERMINE WHETHER OR NOT I WOULD MAKE A GOOD EMPLOYEE. I WAS TAKING A TEST TO DETERMINE WHETHER OR NOT I WOULD MAKE A GOOD SCIENTOLOGIST.

If I were a reasonable person, I would have left right then, or maybe asked someone flat-out why I had to fill out a survey used to decide whether or not someone can be a part of a fake religion. But I am not a reasonable person. I filled out the rest of that survey for two reasons.

1. Maybe it really was a part of the job interview. Maybe she's a dentist for Scientologists. Maybe if I get the job I can meet Will Smith! (I'll admit this is probably not the case)
2. Straight-up curiosity. This situation is just too strange for me to walk away from. I want to see it through to the end. I want to know what "the project" is.

I handed her the papers. She told me she'd get back to me next week.

After leaving the dentist/top-secret scientology recruiting center, I was miserable. Every step I took felt like a knife going through my feet. My hair almost looked like I had crimped it. I decided to go to an H&M to buy the cheapest pair of flats I could find.

The flats helped out a little, but the damage to my feet was done. I stumbled down the street, wincing with every step. A man stopped me on the corner. He was one of those guys that sells discount salon packages on the street. He began telling me about how for $69 I could get a haircut/blow dry/manicure and several free glasses of champagne, when I stopped him. "Listen, " I said, "I would love to fix my hair. I really would. But I have no money. I'm sorry." I began to walk away. "Wait!" he said. He told me he wanted to buy me dinner and asked for my phone number.

Normally I don't give out my phone number to random people on the street, especially when they're wearing bow ties (yup, he was wearing a bow tie). But at that point, it was clear to me that my job hunt was far from over, and it would have been fiscally irresponsible to turn down a free meal.

PUMP UP THE JAMZ

Good news! I've successfully turned my resume into something that tricks employers into thinking I have something to offer. As a result, I've landed 2 (count 'em, 2!) job interviews for the day.

Even for competent workers, job interviews can be pretty stressful. You have a very short amount of time to convince a stranger that you're incredible. This starts with you. You need to believe that you are amazing. Remember that scene in Space Jam where Michael Jordan tells the looney toons that he's giving them some sort of talent juice to make them good at basketball, but it's really just water? It turned out the toons already HAD the talent they needed to beat the alien basketball team (the Monstars)... they just needed to believe in themselves, and Michael's little trick gave them the confidence they needed.

You're not a cartoon. You don't have the time or the resources to kidnap Michael Jordan. Where do you get YOUR confidence?

MUSIC. Do you really think Michael Jordan could have made that game-winning slam dunk if "I Believe I Can Fly" wasn't playing in the background? You need your own inspirational music. Here are 5 songs guaranteed to give you the confidence needed to touch the sky.

1. Monster by Kanye West- A man who refers to himself as the "best living or dead hands-down" knows a thing or two about confidence. Your interviewer doesn't need to know that you've spent the past few weeks in your boxer shorts eating poptarts and keeping up with Kardashians. They need to know that you're a mothafuckin monstah.

2. Bootylicious by Destiny's Child- Worried about being under-qualified for a job? After listening to this song, the only thing you'll worry about is being TOO qualified. Can the company handle you, or are your vibes to vibe-alicious for them? You could also impress potential employers with this power move: Show up to the interview 15 minutes late. Explain to your interviewer that you didn't think they were ready for your jelly. POW POW POW POW!

3. The Pokemon Theme Song- Why? Because you want to be the very best. Like no one ever was. Also this song has great (poorly translated from Japanese) messages, as displayed in these lyrics: Every challenge along the way/ with courage I will face/ I will battle everyday/ To claim my rightful place! The interviewer will have no choice but to choose you.

4. Move Bitch by Ludacris- You're on the fast-track to corporate success. Anybody doing the speed limit had better GET THE FUCK OUT OF YOUR WAY or they'll GET RAN THE FUCK OVER.

5. A Milli by Lil Wayne- Mothafucka, you're ill. Also, if the interviewer asks you if you have any special skills, steal this lyric of Weezy's: "Bitch, I could turn a crack rock into a mountain. DARE ME."


Heed my advice. Download these songs. Prepare to be a young money millionaire.

TUESDAY? MORE LIKE HAIKUSDAY!

Many moons ago, I promised that if I got 10 followers I would write all of them haikus.

They say good things come to those who wait. I don't know if that's true. But I DO know that terrible poetry is about to come to my 10 patient followers.

Hey LAURA GRIFFITH!
Your profile pic's a poodle
which I think is neat!

Hello, CHRISSY KINCH!
I don't actually know you.
But thanks for reading!

What up NIQUELLE ORR?
I haven't seen you in months.
We should totes hang out.

COLLEEN MCCARTHY
Sometimes you say words funny
'cause you're from Boston.

KIMBERLY GRIFFITH
Stop teachin at the pre-school.
Those kids are mad wack!

Hey there, JOANNA
Here are seven syllables
And here are five more!

KAYLA QUINN? HOLLA!
I miss the Kardashians.
Let's fix the TV!

ABIGAIL CORNELL?
Aw gross, I hate that loser.
EL OH EL JAY KAY!

Yo! CARA FRIEDMAN?
More like Cara Fried- DA-MAN
Because you da man!

Sup, AMY KATTAN?
For tweeting about this blog
you get 2 HAIKUS!

So AMY KATTAN
Enjoy this bonus haiku!
Everyone's jealous.

Oh, BARBARA GOSSIN?
Your request for a haiku has been DENIED.
Ya gotta be a follower. Butthead.

Thanks guys, for being followers!
And you're welcome for the haikus.

RAFFLE

My Facebook Fan page is like a slutty girl in high school... It just wants to be liked.

That is why I'm having a raffle.

NEXT SUNDAY, A RAFFLE IS GOING TO TAKE PLACE. THE WINNER GETS A FUCKING PRIZE. WHAT IS THE PRIZE, YOU ASK? IT'S A SURPRISE, OKAY?! BUT IT WILL BE AWESOME, AND THE ONLY WAY TO BE ELIGIBLE TO WIN IS TO BE A FACEBOOK FAN.

LINK'S RIGHT HERE, PUNKS.

http://www.facebook.com/GrowUpGetAJob

And no, this won't be like the haikus, which are a month and a half overdue. THIS SHIT IS REAL

CASE OF THE MONDAYS: NAPS

When you're unemployed, time has no meaning. You have nothing to do and nowhere to be. People with jobs hate Mondays because they kick off the work week, requiring them to be at a specific place at a specific time ready to do a specific thing. People without jobs hate Mondays because they serve as a reminder of what their lives were like when they were functioning members of society. This is why once a week I will explore one of the benefits of unemployment in a segment called "Case of the Mondays".

What time did you go to bed last night? I fell asleep at around 3. Why did I do this? There are 3 reasons:

1. Because there was a My Strange Addiction marathon on TLC
2. Because I have a crippling fear of the mice that live in the apartment I'm staying in, making me afraid to close my eyes (and afraid to open them. Like that girl in the Blair Witch Project).
3. BECAUSE I COULD

When you have no demands on your time, it doesn't matter how much sleep you got last night. Every hour of the day has the potential to be nap o'clock. People with careers spend the hours of 9-5 working. To the unemployed, that's just an 8 hour window of possible nap times. And when it's not nap o'clock? It's snack o'clock.

The unemployed may not have careers. They may not have money.  They may not have hope. But they DO have the freedom to curl up on the couch with a box of Sea Creature Cheese Crackers* and pass out whenever they please. And I, for one, wouldn't trade that freedom for anything in the world**.

* like Goldfish, but for poor people
**except for  a career, money, hope, or an actual reason to be awake during the day.

COMING TO TERMS WITH YOUR BROKEN DREAMS: DOWNSIZING

Remember when you left for college? You had big dreams! And now, well... you've hardly set the world on fire. Face it kid: your dreams were stupid. But you'll be ok. Once a week, I'll help you numb the slow-burning pain of failure in a segment called "Coming to Terms with Your Broken Dreams".

Maybe your boss is a dick. Maybe you can't even find a job and are poverty-stricken. Maybe the thought of part-time lady-puncher/full-time Sisqo-lookalike Chris Brown getting what you get in 10 years in 2 days fills you with rage. The point is, sometimes reality can be a real downer. Sometimes, you might feel like all you do is lose lose lose, no matter what. Sometimes, you just need a win.

I know what you're thinking. But I'm such a loser! Can I really turn my whole life around? No, Assface. You're a loser. That will never change. Fortunately, you can change your definition of winning! You need to take your goals and downsize them, transforming them into something that even a schmuck like you can achieve. Allow me to show you what I mean...

THE GOAL: Get a job.
DOWNSIZE IT TO: Apply for a job.
WHY: Times is tough. Even qualified people are having a hard time finding work. If getting a job is your only objective, the rejection is going to sting. Lie to yourself. Tell yourself it's about the journey. Say, "Well, at least I applied. Maybe something else will open up!". If your goal is to apply for a job, once you send out your resume, you've succeeded! You've won! And it will hurt much less in the highly likely event that they hire somebody else.

THE GOAL: Make something of your life.
DOWNSIZE IT TO: Do something with your day.
WHY: You want it all: fame, fortune, a supermodel spouse, the ability to afford cereal that doesn't come in a bag... All of these things are nice, and they are all out of your reach. So put your effort into something you can actually do. You can't make a million dollars today, but you CAN do a load of laundry. Use fabric softener. Throw in a dryer sheet or two. You may not be on the cover of Forbes magazine, but you just did the shit out of your laundry! Celebrate with a bowl of Honey Nut Scooters.

Do you understand? To the outside world, your life might not look much different, but you'll know in your heart that you are a champion.

HOW TO STAY COOL

Rich people beat the heat in a myriad of ways: traveling to exotic beaches, lounging poolside at a country club, or cranking up the AC in their mansions, occasionally looking out a window to chuckle at the overheated plebeians hired to tend to their lawns. Poor people cannot afford such luxuries. Here are some cheap and/or free ways a broke ass like yourself can stay cool.

BAG O' ICE- For a mere $2, you can buy a 10 pound bag of ice. I realize that eating cups of ice all day doesn't sound like a whole lot of fun, but it is a cost effective way of keeping cool. Plus it's a zero calorie way to stay hydrated, which is good news considering you've probably been spending your day sitting on your ass, sweating like a Kardashian in church.

GO SOMEPLACE AIR CONDITIONED. LOITER.- Museums and movie theaters are air conditioned, but tickets are usually $10 or more. A better idea is to go into a store and walk around, pretending to be looking for something. You can even pick up something small and pretend that you're planning on buying it as you meander down the aisles, enjoying the AC (just be sure to put it back before you leave- I'm not sure if jail is air conditioned). New York residents can just grab a book, head to the nearest subway station, and ride the air conditioned train all day long.

TAKE A COLD SHOWER- Not only because it will cool you down, but because you actually smell terrible right now.

DO NOT GO TO A PUBLIC POOL- You know who goes to public pools? Children, and irritable parents/babysitters who can't wait for summer vacation to end so they won't have to spend every waking minute trying to keep the little assholes entertained. Public pools are only fun for children, who view them as a big toilet that you can also play Marco Polo in.

DO NOT COMPLAIN ABOUT THE HEAT- We all know it's fucking hot outside. Your bitching is only making it worse. Stop acting like a whiny version of Al Roker, and chew on your damn ice.

 

GREW UP! GOT A JOB! SCREWED UP! QUIT A JOB!

Loyal readers will remember a few months ago when I posted a list of 5 jobs that were more depressing than being unemployed. Let me tell you, in painfully drawn out detail, the story of another job worse than unemployment.

I arrived in New York last Thursday night. The next morning, I woke up at around 7 am in a panic, thinking "holyshitIdon'thaveajob, holyshitIdon'thaveanymoney, whatamIgoingtodo, fuckfuckfuckfuckfuuuuuuuuuuuck". So I put on my pair of shoes with the fewest amount of holes in them, and decided to try my luck at the local businesses, asking if they were hiring. I scored a full-time position as a cashier at an Italian bakery. It was only the second place I went into. Sure, it would only pay $8 an hour, but it was better than nothing, right? The manager told me I could start training the next morning at 7. I was so relieved. If I were wearing a hat, I would have thrown it into the air Mary Tyler Moore style. I was going to make it after all!

Only I wasn't. I arrived bright and early on Saturday. The woman working was not expecting me. She was one of the managers, and was unaware that the other manager had hired me. To say she was not pleased to see me would be an understatement. Immediately she started yelling "He hired another damn 21 year old! I wouldn't have hired you! I don't want to waste my time! Kids your age go out at night and they don't get up in the morning! They don't want to work! Are you here to work?!" I stared at her for a minute. "Um. Yes?" "Yeah, sure, that's what they all say." She continued to yell at me about how 21 year olds were irresponsible and how they stayed out all night. I was offended because I did in fact stay out until 4 am the night before, but I got my ass out of bed and I got to work on time. I hadn't even started working yet, and already I was a bad employee. She eventually stopped yelling. We stared at each other for about a minute before she snapped "Well if you're gonna work, put on an apron. If you're gonna waste my time, leave now." I thought about leaving, but realized I had no money, and decided to try to win her over with my dynamite work ethic and outta sight customer service skillz. By the end of the day, she had sort of warmed up to me. I was glad I had stuck out the day, figuring that things would only get better.

Only they didn't. I stopped working with her, and started working with her brother, the manager that hired me. The first thing he said to me: "that apron you're wearing looks fucking retarded". Unbeknownst to me, nobody ever wears a work apron there. I laughed it off, saying "Please. I look great", but I took the apron off the first chance I got. He told me to make him a coffee "Dark. 2 Splendas." So I made it and handed it to him. "I don't need a fucking lid on it, I'm going to drink it now." So I took the lid off. He took a sip. "It's really hot." I asked him if he wanted me to put a sleeve around it. "No, I want to be able to fucking drink it! Dump out some of the coffee and put more milk in it." I don't know how many of my readers speak coffee, but when somebody asks for DARK coffee, that means they don't want a lot of milk in it. So I was annoyed that he was yelling at me for following his directions. But I pressed on, figuring that if I stayed positive, he'd have no choice but to respond positively to my winning attitude.

Only he didn't. Two days later he told me I could start preparing and serving food to customers (deli food, like toasted bagels and rolls. Sandwiches were still too advanced for me). The toaster was located on a shelf about a foot over my head, so I couldn't see where the slots were. He was watching me try to put bagel slices in it, and shouted "Hurry up! You're going too slow!" I crammed the bagel slices in "You'd better not burn those!" But as the day progressed, I felt I was starting to get the hang of it. Only I wasn't. One woman gave back a bagel that I had prepared for her, saying I hadn't put enough cream cheese on it. The manager ran over, grabbed the bagel, opened it, turned to me with a look of horrified disbelief, and said "What is this? This is horrible. Understand? Horrible." I figured I just wouldn't make that  mistake again and everything would be fine.

Only it wouldn't be. The next day, I was supposed to start at 7 am. He called me at 6 "I need you to come in now." I said I'd head right over, and got there at around 6:30. "Good morning!" I said cheerfully as I strolled in. "Customers!" he shouted. There was one customer.  She wanted a roll, toasted with butter. I began slicing the roll. "Make sure you put a lot of butter on it, ok? Not like yesterday." "No problem!" I said. I was going to make him proud of me, dammit! My can-do spirit would eventually make him hate me less! As I was spreading butter on the roll, I heard "WHAT THE FUCK?!" I looked over to see the manager barreling over to me. "I KNOW YOU'RE NOT FUCKING RETARDED. I KNOW YOU'RE NOT FUCKING RETARDED! THIS IS TOO MUCH BUTTER!! WOULD YOU EAT THIS?!" With those words, my can-do spirit was officially broken. Defeated, I mumbled "No..." as he ripped the roll from my hands and scraped a layer of butter off the roll. I debated leaving right then, figuring that 6:40 in the morning was way too early for such language. I decided to soldier on, but things did not improve. At one point in the day, three customers ordered sandwiches. I am not qualified to make sandwiches, but the manager specifically told me he never wanted to see me standing still. The problem was, I had just wiped down the counters, made more coffee, and swept the floor. I didn't know what else to do. Panic-stricken, I looked to the left, accidentally making eye contact with him. "DON'T STAND THERE LOOKING STUPID!" he yelled. "COME HERE, BRING ME THE HAM!" so I sprinted over to the meats. I wasn't positive which one was the ham, and was flooded with terror. "shitshitshitshitshit" I thought, until remembering that I had watched him make a ham and cheese sandwich the day before. Confident that I had chosen the correct meat, I carried it over to him, beaming with triumph. "WHAT THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH THIS? I NEED IT SLICED." "But... but I haven't been taught how to use the meat slicer!" He just sort of grumbled as he snapped the ham from my hands. Eventually, he left for the day, so I got to work with a kid around my age. My co-worker had been there for a few months. He asked me how I liked it. "It's ok... I'm pretty sure [the manager] hates me though." "I'm sure he doesn't hate you." "Well I mean... he called me a fucking retard this morning, so..." the kid blinked at me. "Really? Wow. What a tool. I mean, he's cursed me out a few times, but I'm a guy. And I'm not new. What did you do?" "I put too much butter on a roll." I didn't realize it fully until I said it out loud how ridiculous it was that I was letting myself be treated this way for $8 an hour.

Later that day, the woman manager came in. I was actually happy to see her at first. Then she said "The money isn't right. Why aren't we getting more customers?" And instead of blaming it on the fact that nobody wants to eat Italian deli foods or drink cappucinos in 100 degree weather, she blamed it on me. She told me that she worried I was taking too long to make things, and that the word was spreading that the bakery took too long to get people their food. I was stunned. I hadn't even been working there for a week. I'd only been preparing food for two days. I CAME IN EARLY, ONLY TO BE CALLED "FUCKING RETARDED" AT 6:40 IN THE MORNING FOR PUTTING TOO MUCH BUTTER ON A ROLL. I started to shake, I was so angry. "I need you to come in tomorrow at 6. [The other manager] needs someone to be there while he makes the food, and no one else can come in." I smiled. "I'll be there." I said. I turned and left.

I woke up this morning at 9 am to 14 missed phone calls. It must have been hard for him to prepare the food for the day and serve the customers all alone. There must have been quite a long line. I wonder how many customers they lost. I'm sure they weren't surprised. That's to be expected of an irresponsible 21 year old.

I BET YA MISSED MY "RETARDED" ASS THIS MORNING MOTHAFUCKA!

But yeah. Now I'm back at square one. I need a fucking job.

GUESS WHO'S BACK

Yes friends, it's been awhile. I know what you're thinking: Is Adrienne alive? If so, where has she been? What has she been up to? Where the fuck is that personalized haiku she promised to write me over a month ago? Allow me to answer your questions here:

1. As far as I know, I'm alive. Unless I'm in a Bruce Willis/Sixth Sense situation. If I were dead you guys would tell me, right? UNLESS WE'RE ALL DEAD...

2. I've been wallowing in my own despair. Duh.

3. I've been up to all sorts of things. I spent much of the past few weeks doing odd jobs for my parents, including, but not limited to, preparing the outside of my house to be painted (until they wisely decided to hire somebody competent to do it). A week ago, like any idiot with a dream and a general lack of common sense, I ran away to New York where I am now living like a modern-day gypsy. SPECIAL SHOUT OUT TO KAYLA AND KIM WHO ARE GENEROUSLY LETTING ME STAY ON THEIR BOMB-ASS FUTON UNTIL I FIGURE OUT WHAT TO DO WITH MY LIFE. Since moving back, I have found and quit a job. More on that later.

4. Your haikus will be posted on this here website on Tuesday. Why? So that I could title my post "Tuesday? More like HAIKUsday!" I realize this means you will have to wait longer, but I couldn't sacrifice the hilarity of that title for the likes of you. You may be disappointed, but I know that deep down you understand.

Look forward to reading more about poverty/humiliation/dreams being shit on. Oh and dick jokes. Let's not forget the dick jokes.