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Pony: Differently-qualified
8.2.2003
Yesterday I signed up with my 4th temp agency. I must say, however, and this is not to brag, but I am getting increasingly higher scores on the MSoffice tests.
Temp Agency #1 arranged an interview for me with a person starting a software firm. No, nothing like OpenCola. Actually, I am not sure what "custom solutions" is exactly, but they are a 10 minute bike ride from my house.
So, I got the job. A three month contract. He says I am overqualified, but we had a really good rapport, there is always a chance to find your niche at a new company, and I start next week. Yes, Virginia,I will be a secretary. But work! Paycheques! A new direction!
Last night I also worked my first and possibly last shift as a bartender at Zen lounge. My neighbour Tilo set up the job for me, as he works there as bouncer. I made 50 dollars in 5 hours. I smelled like an ashtray when I left.
I got shunted into the back room where a portly 40-something DJ spins 80's "retro" tunes while 30-somethings in off-the -shoulder shirts twitch in slightly awkward appreciation.
I can't complain about the music, except that "I'm so in love with you, I'll be forever blue..." (Erasure) threatens to take up permanent residence in my head.
I am playing Interpol this morning in an attempt to get rid of it, but perhaps I should take Cory's advice and purge the song by singing it out loud and giving it a big, jazzy finish.
As for bartending, it was very slow. I had maximum 10 customers, and three of them asked why I was so happy. Damn, I practiced my sulky bartender scowl for about 5 minutes before I left the house, but I couldn't shake my accommodating smile-habit.
I won't even talk about the "shooter girls" who walked around in push-up bras and bikini-bottoms like sex-trade workers in denial.
I am not going to use the term over-qualified in this case. In all fairness, I think my feminist sensibilities made me "differently-qualified".
I walked out of the bar, past the best friends threatening to beat some other girl up over a vomit-on-shoes incident. A woman and her drunken boyfriend were on the stairs when she tugged him back up again, nearly losing her footing.
"We have to go back," she slurred, "they're playing Tool!"
I'm so in love with you
I'll be forever blue
That you give me no reason; you know you're making me work so hard
That you give me no(X4) . . . Soul
I hear you calling
Oh baby please, give a little respect...to...me.
