So. No work since October. Ingrid goes away for three weeks to visit her nephew. I am home alone with the dog. If you look back an entry or two in this journal, you'll notice that I got an interview -- but only at such a time as would inconvenience me.
The universe wants me to know that I can try and get a job, but I won't get any bites until it is problematic for me to pursue them. In this case, I am the only one watching Abby, therefore, I will be needed for ninety minutes of interviews in the city.
IT GETS BETTER.
I did not get that job. That job was for one person, not the usual group hire, and among any group of candidates I'm sure there's enough that looks iffy on my resume' for a hiring partner to turn her nose up at. That's fine. However...
A few days later, I get offered another gig. Mind you, I haven't heard fuck all from recruiters and placement agents in eight months. Now that it's inconvenient for me, twice in one week. [french] Remarkable' [/french]
This job is in Wilmington. I do not live in Wilmington. I do not even live in Delaware. And yet, here is this offer.
I inquire about the possibility of differential pay to reflect the pain in the ass location of the position. My agent does not so much laugh as withhold his full contempt, repeating the pay rate. Which is not impressive. I state my diffidence, but reaffirm that I will take any work whatsoever. At this point, I cannot be a chooser.
A day or two later, I am selected. My agent wants to know for certain if I am on-board. I repeat my misgivings and my desperation, which translates in the affirmative. The first week of work is only two days, so I decide to drive one day, and take the train the next.
Driving to Wilmington from where I live is the Platonic ideal of an inconvenient car ride. You can't get there from here. You have to go a couple towns over, pick up the highway, take that to the bigger highway which happens to be the main conduit for all traffic between Philadelphia and Wilmington (and all points north and all points south). Add to this a recent bridge collapse in Delaware closing the bypass around Wilmington, causing all, ALL, traffic to flow on the main route.
It is not a nice time. It's too long, when you're done you're in fucking Delaware, you have to pay to park, and then you have to go to work. Not that I'm not grateful for the job, but I've been quite content with my job as dog-walker and tea-brewer to Miss Goree. This is a far sight from my last eight months. A far sight.
Then you have to do it all again to get home. At rush hour both times, worse south when going south, and worse north when going north.
I naturally prefer the next day, when I take SEPTA regional rail to and from work. There's more walking involved, but that's good for you and it's nice to spend a little time in the fresh air (or whatever they have in Wilmington) when your job is clicking the mouse for eight hours. Now, sure, the ride home was delayed, and Amtrak screwed up things for SEPTA, and the train I was riding got cancelled while I was riding it, but so what? You just wait for the next train, read your book, work on your afghan (still working on that) and relax. Enjoy.
Now, if you've been following the theme of this post - a cruel universe working to personally inconvenience me - you'll know what happened with SEPTA at 12:01, Saturday, June 14th.
--6:33 PM, EDT, Philadelphia, PA, You're the Great One, I'm Marty McSorley / I make the dough, but you get the glory
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