Bad Job

I thought I was going to get this good job? But then I didn't get it? And I need to get home, which involves having a job? So now, I am doing it. I am taking... the bad job.
Telemarketing.
I am actually sitting here right now, supposed to be taking notes on these dudes' sales pitches. I'll set the scene a little bit. Often offices are described as "dingy" but all those people who are describing offices as "dingy" better shut the fuck up right now because ain't no office dingy like this office is dingy. If people don't CURRENTLY smoke in the building, they must have in the recent past. The only other people in the room are two middle-aged men who appear to be blatant steroid users. There are motivational posters hung dead seriously around the room and, even more insanely, in fact totally, unbelievably, insanely, one of the guys has this poster on his cubicle wall of a junkie about to shoot up, but JESUS is standing behind him, and Jesus is thrusting his arm out and his face is all like "aaauuggghhh!" and he is taking the evil drug for the junkie and saving one of his lambs! Oh my god that is crazy. That is a crazy thing for crazy people. Holy shit I found it online! LOOOK! I need you to understand that he is NOT MAKING A JOKE WITH THIS! HE IS 4 REALZ!
So, I'm listening to the pitches and one thing I am learning is yes, telemarketers are flat-out lying to you all the time. But for some reason, they aren't big lies. They aren't lies about how much something costs (advertising space, in this case), or when you have to pay, or what they are going to do with your information. No, they lie about other, seemingly less important things, to get you to trust them. First of all, we don't say the office is in Orlando, we say it's in Boca Raton, which is where we're calling. By the way, Boca Raton is supposed to be all fancy or whatever? But the name means "rat's mouth". Yuck. Anyway, back on topic. Lies. Telling potential buyers that they have been "referred" to us rather than "we found your name in the newspaper", which is the truth. I heard one guy say that the advertising booklet was "like Vogue magazine" which I'm sure made Anna Wintour roll over in the hyperbaric coffin she most likely sleeps in.
OK, keep your eyes on the prize, girl! The prize being $8 an hour and a flight back home! It's all I need in the world.
Now I'm in another room. It's not as dingy (how could it be?), but it's still only dudes and the motivational posters are still in place. This room seems to be more for the junior staff or something. The guys are definitely not as slick. Also, I heard someone fart.
As far as FUCKING INSANE cubicle decor goes, there is nothing quite like heroin Jesus (is there anything like heroin Jesus?). But one guy does just have a full page print out of a snap shot of himself. Who does that? Oh my god he just farted again. I hope you guys understand the EXTREME SACRIFICE I am making here! I am about to sign on and get paid to do the devil's work!
I've caught people checking facebook several times. And they're finding people to call off of craigslist. So you know what that means. Talking to friends and looking for better jobs while getting paid!
No, but seriously, folks. I plan to do pretty good at this job. I'm at talker, it's in my nature.
(Hold on, STOP FARTING, YOU FREAK! DO YOU THINK NO ONE IS NOTICING?)
OK, back to what I was saying. I am both communicative and unscrupulous, making me an ideal telemarketer. Oh no, what if I'm like, REALLY good at this? What if it's like my CALLING? (Hey! That was a pun! haaaaaa)
That would be pretty depressing. Alright, need not get ahead of ourselves. For now I am sitting in a smelly, muscle-filled office, sneakily writing snarky bloggage, keeping strict records of all farting activity, and preparing for a job I will most likely hate but still gladly do because I am a grown-up. A grown-up who misses her friends and needs some motha fuckin' ca$$$$h.

Self as Harmonica

This is a "poem" that I wrote during a group, in ten minutes. We had to grab an object out of a bag and write about it in relation to ourselves. And I grabbed a white harmonica.

Oh I was born a ramblin' man.
Dylan as Rimbaud, Lennon as Lewis Carrol.
It may be hollow but it's full of noise. It may be white but it's got soul, brother.
Music coming from the empty. Music as sound and noise, a caucophony until the word "music" has lost all it's meaning.
A hobo, that king of hobos, getting off his boxcar in Ames, Iowa and carving a picture of a cat or my grandfather's fence. A song for a nickle.
A penny for your thoughts?
Just a little handfull of old cliches, sung with a twang.
What was once the Jew's harp becomes the mouth organ. What was once a hole in your face, finally filled by what you always dreaded: Clumsy sounds and the taste of metal.
Stuff it in and blow it out, baby,
Because you've got a harmony in your head.

Volunteerism

So I've been volunteering at this place, Second Harvest Food Bank, and it kind of blows. It doesn't, like, terminally blow, but it does blow.
The first time they had me stuffing envelopes for some event ("Wine, Women and Food". The invitation were hot pink with a high heel on them, barf out.) That was fine until my ipod ran out of batteries and the fucking folding chair I was sitting in started totally KILLING my back. It hurt do bad that I went into the dirty bathroom and lied down on the FLOOR. I'm not really scared of germs or anything, but that's pretty skanky.
Another time they had us putting meals together, assembly line style. That was kind of nice because I enjoy doing simple, repetitive tasks, Oh, you want me to put two cans on a plate and send it down the line? OK! I can do that all day! Just keep on this station that always plays Wings, Blondie, and The Beach Boy's "Kokomo". I hope you are not reading any sarcasm into this because I am not being sarcastic. Yes, I am aware that "Kokomo" was the utter downfall of one of the best bands of all time, but I love it still.
Since then, we have been doing the same thing, which is sorting through the donations. We get boxes of jumbled food products, then we un-jumble them and put the stuff into other boxes, separated by category. This is surprisingly horrible, for various reasons.
Firstly, the quality of food we get. How are these poor people going to be able to go get jobs when you're feeding them, like, Caprisun, canned Vienna sausages, and candy left over from Valentine's day, or, SERIOUSLY, big tubs of corn starch? Is everyone they are feeding obese, lethargic, and dying of scurvy?
And as if that wasn't bad enough, you wouldn't believe the absolutely VAST quantities of food we throw out. About 1/3 of the donations received never get to people in need. Perfectly edible food, in the trash. What hungry person, what person at all, would turn up their nose at Oreos one month past their expiration date, or canned cord with part of the nutritional information on the label turn off? We also toss dented cans, and things that have gotten sticky from some other food in their box bursting. I can only hope and pray that they don't lock those dumpsters, and that some enterprising homeless person or freegan anarchist can benefit from all that waste. If it's actually going to the landfill, that would be absolutely criminal.
Finally, there is the very immediate concern that everything is FILTHY. It seems like every item is sticky, or dusty, or covered in coffee grounds or powdered kool-aid. Every other cereal box (sugar cereal, all of it) is leaking. A box of maple syrup will invariably have one bad bottle, covering the rest in slime. Sometimes... oh I can't bear it... sometimes, there are maggots. AAAHH oh god. And do we get gloves? No we do not get gloves. It's vomit inducing. I have to totally wash my hands Silkwood-style after I'm done.
But like I said, it could be worse. I have a job interview on Tuesday, so maybe I can show my consistency and also get fuckin' PAID, homies.

kJZHCx

so much going on, none of which I can talk about. Send me a message on facebook and i will get you all caught up! Yes I have still been journaling! Just not putting those journals up on the blogggggggg.

The "Photographer" finally takes some photos