hired! (lyn)

Last night I had a college information meeting at Alexander’s school.  Barely had time to gulp down dinner:  a tuna sandwich, pickle, and 14 Pringles light.  Zelia was driving and I did not want to be late.  As I was getting ready to leave, the phone rings.  It‘s the Census Bureau again.  Third time.  But this time I’m available to take the call.  I’m ready.

Brian, the interviewer, says he’d like to ask me a few questions regarding my recent application and completed test (the one where I scored a 97% which probably makes me an attractive candidate for the job).  So the brief interview begins.

Brian asks about my availability (yes, I’m free nights and weekends), my willingness to ask embarrassing questions about income (sure, why not?), my willingness to be fingerprinted since it’s a federal job (fine; I’m not a felon); my ability to navigate the public  transportation system (no problem; I do it everyday); and my acceptance of the pay rate with taxes deducted of $18.75/hour (I am so desperate to work that yes, even this pay rate will do).  

I must pass Brian’s scrutiny because he tells me I can now start work as an enumerator…someone who goes door-to-door (in my neighborhood) and interviews people who did not return their census form.   (The transportation question asked earlier now seems superfluous since Brian says I’ll likely be interviewing people within two-blocks of my apartment.  This is a good thing since I live in a nice neighborhood, thus minimizing my fear of being murdered on the job).

Next Brian tells me about the four-day training session.  The first schedule I cannot make, as I have an important meeting with Alexander’s college counselor that I cannot miss, as re-scheduling would be a nightmare, given her availability,  So instead I chose the second training schedule (which means re-arranging only one commitment, a theater date with Meredith).  So now I’ll be in training all next weekend (9-5 on both Saturday and Sunday), and then every night the following week from 6 to 9.  I’m sure it’ll be a lot of fun.  Especially eating dinner at five.

I should be happy but I’m not.  I’m depressed thinking that all my education and experience have lead to this.  An 8-week-part-time job, no skills required, at slightly over minimum wage.  Alexander made almost this much babysitting last summer.  And that involved going to the beach everyday.

I arrive at Zelia’s five minutes late.  She and another friend are in the car waiting.  We get caught in horrible traffic and are twenty minutes late for the school meeting.  Everyone is blaming me.  I feel bad about being late, but even worse about why.