Maybe Next Year

This was written but not published a couple of months ago.

Dine About Town comes to a close at the end of this week, and I haven't gone to any of the restaurants to participate. When the Nutcracker was being performed last month, I didn't go to see it. Grease will be here in March, and I won't be seeing that either. I am upset and embarrassed that I haven't been able to buy people holiday and birthday presents.

I console myself with the phrase, "Maybe next year." I had to say that a lot throughout 2008, and I'm still saying it now. It's the kind of thing someone would say to a child. Can we go look in the Hello Kitty store? Can we get ice cream? Can we go to the playground? It's what you say to console yourself. Only thing is usually you're saying it for extras. Can I pay my PG&E bill? Maybe next month.

Back when I worked with Perky Paula and the Secretly Pregnant Secretary, it was through a temp agency that I hated. The recruiter lied consistently. I liked the firm though, so I continued temping in the hopes they would offer me a job. They didn't. Last week that temp agency sent out an e-mail saying W2s would be available for pickup starting this Monday. They called to confirm my address. I stopped by in jeans and sneakers on Tuesday to pick up that W2. Which they didn't have.

The receptionist couldn't bring herself to tell me, and directed me to the ditzy, lying recruiter I'd hated dealing with months ago. She asked if I was looking for work and I said I was. Pulling my file, she looked at a page and said, "What happened with Lake East? They offered you a job, right?"

Um, yeah. They offered me a terrible job that I would not have been able to do. It was at a desk that had been empty for several months (backlog of work), in a type of law I was not familiar with (complex tort), at a firm that does not do formal training, has no IT or WP departments on site (both crucial for me to succeed), that is headquartered in LA or on the East Coast (I forgot), where basically, they would toss me at the desk and expect me to be up and running. During the interview I remember thinking with certainty, "They would fire me within a month."

I explained this to the recruiter. She pushed me to take the job. At the time I was still temping at the place with Perky Paula, and felt comfortable saying no. Months later she asked again if I was interested. Just the fact alone that they hadn't been able to fill that desk reaffirmed my thought that it was not a good fit.

But two days ago what happened? That's right. The temp she has there now is out with a broken leg, and does she want me to see if she can get me in to temp for the temp? I have tort experience, right? Um, no.

At this point I'm not even thinking, "maybe next year." No, at this point I'm just trying to stay in San Francisco without being homeless for as long as possible. I am falling down a well and holding onto the edge by my fingertips. Next year isn't going to come for me.

There's Some Good

9am sometimes drives me nuts. All that chicken cooking he does in the morning, his inability to leave any of our three counters clean, his penchant for using enough cologne for a small army, etc.

However. I stayed in my room all day today. I've been doing that a lot lately, but today 9am actually noticed. Around 10pm I got dressed and made some eggs and toast. Wait, between the putting on of clothing and the cooking, I took the dirty frying pan out of the sink and washed it. When I first picked it up 9am looked over, asked if I needed the pan, and when I said yes, he said he'd clean it. But I was already standing there holding it, my hands were already wet with water, so I told 9am not to worry about it.

An hour or so later, siting on the couch watching tv, and 9am comes and stands a few feet away. At first I thought he was looking at the tv while standing and eating his cereal, but then sensed he was in fact looking at me.

GY: Hiya.
9am: Hello.
GY: How's it going?
9am: Good. Did you eat today?
GY: Yeah, I just ate.
9am: Are you feeling alright?
GY: Sure, thanks.

9am is somewhat self-absorbed. Dude owns two pairs of shoes, we have a no-shoes home, and he still hasn't figured out I know whether or not he's home based on what shoes are in the entryway. So 9am does not know that I don't have a job. I think he assumes that sometimes I work from home, despite the fact that legal secretaries can't do that. Or maybe he just assumes he didn't notice me the other mornings, since some mornings (when I'm temping) he sees me dressed up on the way out the door, not realizing the reality is I never left the house. He has no idea I don't have enough money for November rent. He has no idea I am deeply in debt. That my credit cards are frozen because I haven't paid them in two months. He doesn't know every time I leave the house I pray to get hit by a car and die and am beyond completely freaking out.

He does not get depression. He told me once about a girl from law school who got depressed and went to therapy. He made fun of her, and made jokes about mental illness. But I am touched he thought I was sick today and asked after me.

Maybe I'm More Powerful Than I Realized

Perky Paula was not in the office today. Her cat has cancer and may need to be put to sleep. She quit abruptly. So now I'm working for one of the attorneys she used to work for.

You Couldn't Have Funnier Timing

HR just came by to tell me that Perky Paula is out of the office today. Her cat is sick, and she has to take it to the vet.

I'm not even making this up.

Perky Paula's Secret

She is in therapy. She must be, I am sure of it. Here's how I imagine one of her therapy sessions:

Perky Paula: I'm just so lonely at work! The attorneys close their doors, and none of the other secretaries sit by me.
Therapist, zoning out: Because you smell?
Perky Paula: What?!
Therapist: Are you having a hard time geling with them?
Perky Paula: I guess so.
Therapist gets excited to use her favorite line: And how does that make you feel?
Perky Paula: I don't know. Lonely?
Therapist: Is there anyone at work you feel comfortable with, or could see yourself making overtures towards?
Perky Paula: I don't know; it seems like all the other secretaries have been there for four or more years and that intimidates me.
Therapist: How does that make you feel?
Perky Paula: Intimidated?
Therapist: Good for you!
Perky Paula weakly smiles.
PP: There is this one secretary, who I think started only a couple of weeks before I did. She seems kind of nice
Therapist: Great! Why don't you ask her to lunch?
PP: Well, umm... I could. I don't know, I'm scared.
Therapist: Why do you think you're scared? Is it because of your relationship with your father?
PP: My father? No. I'm scared because what if she says no?
Therapist: How does that make you feel?
PP: Scared?
Therapist: Good for you! What you need to do Paula, is start slow. How about if this week, you focus on saying hello to this person each day. That's your homework assignment. Each day, try to engage her in a short, casual conversation.
PP: But what would we talk about?
Therapist: What do you think you'd feel comfortable talking about?
PP: Well, there's my cats. Needlepoint. My cats. The outlet malls?
Therapist, sighing and checking the time: How about talking about the weather? Ask if she lives close by to work - people love to talk about commutes.
PP: Ooh, I could ask if she likes to walk her cats outside in nice weather.
Therapist: No! No cat talk. In addition to commutes and weather, you can also ask where she likes to go for lunch.
PP: I think she eats in an empty office. Maybe she feels lonely?
Therapist, resisting urge to roll eyes: Yes, maybe she's just hoping each day that you'll come talk to her and break the ice.
PP beams at the thought, completely missing the sarcasm: Okay. I WILL go talk to her about lunch.
Therapist: Then see if she's reading something, and if so, ask what she's reading. People who read love to talk about literature.

Perky Paula leaves therapy with a spring in her step, excited to ask her target (poor, unsuspecting GY) about the weather and commutes. As she lays in bed at night trying to figure out what to wear to work tomorrow, Perky Paula decides that if things go well asking about the commute, she'll also ask if GY has a cat. And if she likes cats. And if she wants to see the pictures of Paula's cats on her memory stick that she carries around as a key fob. Perky Paula laughs out loud - of course GY will want to - after all, who doesn't like cats?

It's Just Lunch

A new person named Perky Paula has taken over for Jeepers and she commutes all the way into the city from Petaluma (which is far away, for the non-CA people).

When I was in high school I was friends with a girl whose name was also Greane and the closer we got, the better I got at knowing when I'd be able to reach her at home. At the time I thought it was magic, but as I grew up, realized the more you pay attention to the things people tell you about themselves, the better idea you'll have of where they'll be.

Perky Paula has no concept of timing. She will come by my desk, see me on the phone, working on a document, with two partners standing over me - each asking about a different client naturally, and still try to bullshit with me. I don't know whether or not I'm right, but I feel like that reflects badly on me. Like the lawyers are thinking, "Geez Green, tell your little friend to run along already - why are you hanging out with someone who's got no sense of timing?"

A few times Perky Paula has asked me to lunch. I don't want to go with her. I bitched about this to a friend, and she encouraged me to suck it up and just go to lunch. She said it won't take very long (an hour, obviously) and will mean a lot to Perky Paula.

She's right. I know she's right. It just seems ... I don't like Paula. There's nothing *wrong* with her, but we don't click. I don't know why she's picked me to befriend. Why not the secretly pregnant secretary? Or the really cool associate who's super easy to talk with? Or the quiet, helpful Asian secretary who is the only person to be able to deal with Bitch on Wheels? She just has so many options! How did I get chosen?

When I look at Perky Paula I see someone who has many cats and talk with them as she watches television. I see someone who inspires neighbors to plan when they'll get their mail so they won't run into her, lest they get roped into a long conversation with Paula.

Also it seems living in San Francisco has turned me into a tiny bit of a food snob. A food snob in training, if you will. First Perky Paula suggested we go to The Cosmopolitan for lunch. I know like four people who've gotten food poisoning there. So I let Paula know that, and suggested we come up with somewhere else. She then suggested "an Italian place" that I am telling you, is *NOT* real Italian food. It's a place where you can order a sub and chips (I don't eat subs) and they also have spaghetti.

Is Petaluma considered part of the Bay Area? Since moving here I've never met anyone who's less snobby about food than I am, but Paula's changing everything.

Paula makes me feel comfortable standing up and saying, "Hi, my name is Green and I LIKE Kraft Macaroni & Cheese!" Christ.