I had dinner with a friend last night. Here’s a picture of it:
I’m out sick today. I got bloated from the salt. That calls for down time to write in cafes with the unemployed and seeing matinees.
I’m sitting in the most pretentious Starbuck’s in all of Dallas. It’s the one in the vapid West Village full of card-maxed 20-something ladies and $30,000 millionaire dudes a/k/a douchebags. I chose this one because I wanted to upset the norm by wearing Levi’s and white Keds and I’m going to see the one o’clock showing of Solitary Man.
Two women to my left are loudly engaged in an interview discussing the myriad of PR they’ve done for their sororities. It’s chock-full of upspeak and the word “like” and the girl interviewing doesn’t stand a chance.
I guess it sounds like an interesting job. They’ve discussed how you’re going to have suck up to some other bitches and how you can’t be opposed to getting coffee and dumping the trash. Sounds similar to what I’m destined for in LA.
Interviewing and looking for jobs sucks. This underlines a little of the panic I have about dumping my secure paycheck and moving away with no job lined up or anything. But on the other hand, the mass of opportunity, the possibility of failing, and being fully engaged in following where the day takes me is as exhilarating as anything Humbolt County has to offer.
Fear of the unknown was one of the topics over dinner and my friend offered this little story. Er well… not really a story as it is an inspirational tidbit.
Once upon a time there was a girl who moved to Los Angeles with no real goal except to live and work there. She got a job working for some company that allowed her an introduction to a very famous and spoiled star of the screen and local drug den. She became the princess’ personal assistant. Not only did she fetch coffee and dump trash, she was sent on a number of drug pick-up runs and traveled to Europe with the star only to get slapped in the face. The girl promptly quit and absconded with a smidgen of dignity back to the US.
The girl then acquired a personal assistant job with some real estate tycoon, followed by her present position with another person who is more famous for her workout routine than her acting (and she is good actress – I like her very much). The point here is that the girl was open to everything and ended up traveling around the globe, making a very decent wage, living in a nice apartment NOT in the valley, and accruing a variety of interesting stories, not to mention some serious tabloid shit.
I listen intently and we sit in silence for a moment and then the fear of NOT knowing where I’ll be tomorrow gives way to waves of excitement and I smile Cheshire Cat-like and embrace the euphoric feeling. I’m not accustomed to feeling like this without an aid of some sort. Feels good.
Meanwhile, back at Crackbucks, the interview ends and just to emphasize to the incorrectly-dressed-for-a-Dallas-PR-job young woman that she didn’t get the job, the manager woman shakes her hand then promptly sits back down to wait for her next appointment. I hope she didn’t want it too too badly. I really hope I’m totally fucking wrong and she gets the job and knocks them all off their thrones.
And I hope that as I near the day of departure that my rigid, goal-oriented self continues to fade so I’m open to new possibilities and stories and I’m not just living to pay student loans. Just don’t slap me.