Today I had to report to the Employment Commission for a "re-employment interview."I thought that meant that I would have to provide all the contact info I had collected from my job search, but it turned out to be just a formality- all I had to provide was ID in order to update my contact info- they had an old address on file and some letters they sent never reached me. I spent days making sure that I had my Peas and Queues in order, but the Jobs Lady never even asked about that- I was given a few pamphlets with helpful job-seeking tips (Show up on Time! Wear Clean Clothes!) and dismissed a few minutes later.
The strangest thing about the visit was the location of the office itself. The new Virginia Employment Commission office is located in the old State Farm building where I used to work.
Today's interview took place in the very same cube that used to belong to my ex-drinking partner 'Lenore'; the actual cube walls and filing cabinets were all still in place, the cabs even had the State Farm tags on them.
I could swear that the cube still had a trace of Lenore's tangy musk on it; a blend of Orangina soda, Stolichnaya vodka and sex. I used to love that smell... I hadn't thought about her for a long time... right now I'm tempted to call her, but I won't.
It would end badly, again. Lenore was married.
Pictured above is the very cube where I started this blog in 2004. The photograph to the left of my monitor is of Voltairine de Cleyre, a 19th Century feminist, anarchist and poetess. I had a hopeless crush on de Clerye in 2004 - hopeless because she died in 1912. Some of my first posts are about her...it was, and still is, typical of me to have a hopeless, unrequited crush on a dead anarchist...
On the weekends I was usually alone in the building- sometimes Lenore would drop by and we'd go to the Cold Harbor Inn for beers and then go back to the office and fuck around. Other days I'd just sit and watch DVDs that I rented from the shop down the road. I've had worse jobs.
Today, there is a 'job-seeker' computer kiosk where my cube used to be and the area is bordered by the VEC reception area- it's not nearly as much fun as it was in 2004.
Speaking of no fun, I've decided that I'm not doing myself any favors by being publicly hopeful or optimistic about anything. Ever.
Every time I say that I think something good will happen, it doesn't. It's a pattern of jinx.
It wasn't long ago that I was blogging that I thought I had a job lined up; that I had also managed to sell some radio ads and that I had repaired my vehicle. I even speculated that my grandmother was to get out of the hospital in the near future. I also had some private hope that I was nurturing...
I was wrong about everything.
-The job at the music store fell through.
-My radio client balked at the last second.
-I paid a Volvo mechanic 85 bucks to diagnose my car's problems.
His advice?
"Drive it until it dies, which will be soon, then sell it for parts. "
It's a rare car, a 1990 Volvo 780, and the seats are worth more than the engine, which is worthless. If I sold the seats, I could pay for the engine repair, but then I'd have nowhere to sit. Fuckity.
-My grandma's parts are all worn out and it's impossible to find replacement parts for a 1920 Appalachian. She's a rare car, my Granma- and a tough one too- but the repairs she needs are likely to kill her- her heart is too weak for more surgery and for the last few weeks it's been a terrible rollercoaster- one day she sounds good, has color in her skin and a strong heartbeat, the next day she's unconscious and being given blood almost as quickly as she loses it. As long as she has recurring hemorrhages, she has to stay in hospital, and she's not gone two days in September without needing a transfusion. The docs have been quite frank with us- this year has been incredibly hard on her, she's too weak for much more and there isn't any good outcome possible, only the inevitable. It's just a matter of time.
Of course, she was given a similar prognosis in 1990...and '92...and '93...and '96...you get the idea.
As for my private hopes? They didn't work out ...sigh. Perhaps I'll call Lenore and see if she's divorced yet...nah.
That fling is flung.
It was a bit discomfiting sitting in her old cube though. I knew the appointment was in the same building, but in her cube- with all the same furnishings? Even the same decals? Unfair, says I.
I can smell her now. I'd better cut the cord on my telephone and fill the wall sockets with caulk because that thing is becoming mighty tempting...
