Thoughts of chicken fill my job hunting head...

Right now I am sitting here in my office experiencing a pretty serious panic attack in relation to job searches. Everyone gets this feeling and I do not consider myself "special" in anyway when it comes to this. It is f'n scary out there! Everyday I check the websites I deemed worthy of the hunt, search around others, write endless cover letters in between job tasks and customize resumes, contacting people I don't want to talk to etc. I have been sending out at least 3 resumes a day for over a month. Yes I know I need to step it up and try another approach but when you are feeling crushed by life it gets really hard... damn excuses... however if I am in this office in the fall, well lets just say I will not be a fun person to hang around.

As I sit here digesting myself from stress and worry I can't help but think of the first time "job hunt sickness" came over me and I was left paralyzed and desperate. I was 18 and fresh out of high school. I needed a summer job to earn some extra cash for spending money. My parents had let me take my senior year off from working (I worked all through junior year at various awful mall stores) so I could audition and focus on my studies. Now they were on my ass like a dirty old troll to get a job, any job as soon as possible. I went all over freaking Providence RI dropping off my resume, filling out applications, I even called phone sex lines and asked how people got their jobs (little did I know it was just a hook up line and the men on the other end would be like "what job... my only job is too hook up with you" or just hang up).

I was mildly pissed because my Sister got her summer jobs through hook ups from my parents. Of course I, looking for a scapegoat, called out this injustice and they were taken aback- for a minute. Once again, stupid stupid boy, smart parents. My mom was offended at my indignant requests- after all she flipped the bill for my fancy school, gave me gas and spending money, paid for my car insurance etc.- She rose to the challenge I presented her and unsmilingly took note. After a moment to collect her thoughts about her ungrateful son she said she would help me look - and that she did.

The next morning after a nice long shower and a ride to the coffee shop I received a phone call from my mother.

"Rand, I saw a job for you, the Shell station is hiring, and you should go there"

(I only wish I could have seen my snotty 18 year old expression at the mere suggestion that I work at a gas station- I am sure it was a good one)

"Mom... that’s a Gas Station."

"Rand, you need a job, it has been a month since graduation and nothing. Now, you asked for help, I suggest you go and fill that application out and see if they will hire you, you have a lot of job experience so I don't see why they won't" replied my mother.

Her voice was stern and clear. It was a tone reserved for the most austere conversations and usually meant "I am putting down this glass of wine and you are about to get yelled at so loud your ears will bleed". I fumbled for a moment and then thought of my car being taken away, college being taken away and my mom hating me forever, the later did not seem bad as I was fuming at her suggestion but then again I do love my mom. That afternoon I hopped into my little Volvo and went down to the gas station to fill out the forms.

When I arrived and inquired about the job the heavy set woman behind the counter lit up with delight.

"Well look at you young man, right this way, right this way" her pudgy hands forked over a greasy clip board and a blue pen with its top bitten off.

"My, my, we could use your help, I got a truck load of chicken that needs marinating" she grinned.

My hands went dead on the paper.

"Chicken?" I meekly replied.

"Yeah Chicken, we serve rotisserie chicken and I need an attendant here to marinate and serve it."

(Again if I only had a picture of my face- beyond priceless)

Jaw to the floor, disgusted and slightly nauseated I replied "Umm you serve chicken at the gas station?"

"Well with all those Boston Markets opening up around we figured it would be a good thing. You almost done with that application?"

I finished filling out the form before I passed out in disgust and handed her the slimy clip board. She looked it over, gave a few ho's and hums then marked it up a bit to make it seem official. Her eyes met mine. Through her thick magnified lenses I could see the wear of the years at the station and it was not glitz and glamor, it was scary frightening stale times.. There was no sparkle, there may have never been a sparkle, it was gone. There was a glaze of film over her glasses hiding the weird specks in the whites of her eyes as well as the yellow crust formed at the corners. Her hair was bouffanted and high with two tones that went from highlighter orange to dark brown roots deep inside her crusted scalp. I was transfixed.

"Well you seem like a nice man, here come in the back and we'll talk about a schedule". When she moved you could hear her hair- it was that dry and stiff.

I was lead to the back room which really was a glorified janitor’s closet with a desk. She informed me I was to be on "Chicken" for the month of July to break me in, after that they would see if I was ready for the register. I was to come in early and "rack up" the chickens and set them on the roaster so they would be ready for the lunch rush at which time I was to stand behind them in an apron and try and sell the delicious treats. I was sweating like crazy and could only think 'This is what happens to people, you just wake up one day with no skills and you end up serving chicken in a gas station. oh my god I need skills!' I stared blankly at the pin up calendar over the chubby ladies buffont as she went on and on.

"You got it?... Huh, YOU GOT IT! you need to pick out your uniform shirt- its a loner and we take the money out of your check for it, dark pants on the bottom, you supply the pants ok?...OK?!... For a good looking boy you sure don't seem to understand much" she chirped and giggled.

"No, no, I got it... yeah thanks" I stumbled.

"Well then go ahead, the box of shirts is over there" she pointed to a worn out cardboard box marked with dark spots and thread worn sleeves hanging over the side.

"Oh oh, yeah ok" I said as I slowly walked over to pick up my Shell shirt. I had willingly worn gas station attendant shirts with great pride in the past year. I owned two and even a jacket with the name "Mike" sewn on it. It was the cool look for the mid nineties at my school- the whole grunge thing. However, when actually faced with having to wear this item for work purposes, it was a whole other story. I dug a little in the box and wondered if I really wanted to venture down to find my size and the body burried in the bottom. I grabbed a medium shirt by the top with the fewest stains and tried it on, it fit.

"Perfect, we'll see you tomorrow mornin' at 7?".

"Sure..." again in a daze.

I walked out of the station slowly removing my shirt, smiling, then ran to my car in a panic. I paused a moment for reflection- this was not so bad, it will be fine, that lady seemed nice enough. It is only for the summer, it is only for the summer, it is only for the summer.

When I arrived at my place I walked up the long narrow stairs to the apartment in defeat. I reached the door and decided the only way to get through this was to laugh. I put on the uniform and called out my best friends name. When she saw me in the uniform and heard about my job she confirmed my fears.

"You can NOT work serving CHICKEN in a GAS STATION! What the HELL was your mom thinking! Take OFF THAT SHIRT, we are going to the Emerald City Mall and getting you a job- lets go!"

The mall was a half hour away so I had not thought to go there and look before but was relieved at the option. I was happy my best friend was there to help me make the judgement call of good and bad, steer me away from the food court and spot the signs in stores I should work at. I was quickly snatched up by a lecherous older woman who wanted to do me at Gap Kids where I was to be the stockroom attendant- a whole other story. Then I found a job a week later for extra cash working at a gay club (see "silver sailor" post).

The next day I arrived bright and early at Shell with my shirt in hand, not on my back.

"What are you doin' you are supposed to wear the uniform" hissed the old bag.

I had rehearsed my speech over and over again so as to still be a nice young man and calmly give resignation. The last time I was this nervous I was resigning as an alter boy because my family was moving.

"I am sorry, I ...." I lost it; the speech was gone, out my head, out the odorous station, gone.

"You what! Now put it on!" she barked

“I just can't do this, sorry. I quit!" and just like that it was done. A wave of relief rushed over me. I was free- but I spoke too soon.

"Quit- YOU CAN'T QUIT! I have you on CHICKEN FOR THE MONTH OF JULY!!! NOW WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO! GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE! IF I EVER SEE YOU IN THIS GAS STATION I DON'T KNOW WHAT I WILL DO YOU BASTARD!"

and run I did, back to my apartment, to my best friend, never to visit that gas station again. Whenever we passed by there the rest of the summer we would peer in to see if the crazy lady was working and laugh like the bitches we are. A narrow escape from a job that was all too easy to get and just as easy to quit.

Now in this "hunt" I think of that desperate move and wonder if I will make that mistake again, not trust my instincts and take the first foolish offer thrown my way to get out of a bad place and into a worse one. Thankfully all I have to do is picture life as a gas station attendant and know- everything will be all right because I made sure I have skills and my best friend nearby in moments of job judgement weakness.

Where will Nomi Malone go?

It seems that the good people of Las Vegas have demolished the "Stardust Hotel".

As you may or may not know this is the hotel where Nomi Malone's (Elizabeth Berkley) tale of a hooker who wanted nothing more than to be a "dancer" played out (but really she just turned into a giant spastic bitch hooker who spits, fucks and fights her way to the top- gets there - then spits in its face). I am very sad. Whats next- The Cheeta!

"I don't know how good you are darling, or what is is your good at but if its at The Cheeta, it ain't dancing, I know that much"

Well Crystal, apparently "You don't know SHIT!"

Oh Nomi, Crystal, Zack, Molly and Gaye I will miss you.

Seeing that shit hole (the stardust, not Elizabeth Berkley's ass), going to Versace, eating in the forum and standing outside the "Krave Club" were the highlights in my self guided "Showgirls" tour during my brief (and horrible) visit to Las Vegas . I now have no reason to ever visit that pit again (not that I would have anyway).

The demolition comes at a poignant moment in my life as well as I too undergo change, Oh "Showgirls"- always leading the way...