Tuesday, February 07, 2006

messy confessional (part. 2)

I awoke at 7 a.m. with a headache, bloodshot eyes and lots of misgivings about the night before, but I couldn't let that stop me: I had a new job to get to in a couple of hours. So I put on my nice pants, a pressed shirt and tie and got myself out the door. I was sweaty and looked rough, but I had to work dammit!

So, it's at a mid-sized pharmaceutical company, the same one where I had my first temp job, but this time I was being trained to replace someone's administrative assistant. (I don't dare name said pharm-farm, maybe I need the job longer and don't want to blow it? Let's just say a dash of anti-depress mixed with memory for the aging).

Now, I've said I wanted a job like this: easy, straightforward and with nothing to do with my writing life. But for some reason I began to freak: it was so shiny and corporate, the people were so nice and shallow, I had to wear a tie again.

It was nearing the end of restaurant week so when the other admins asked me if I wanted to dine with them I agreed, although it meant blowing my week's lunch allowance in one sitting. Joe, the only other male admin (and it so happens queer as all get out. He's from Domique which also gives him an intriguing accent) chose Le Colonial -- a swanky French/Vietnam restaurant with a three course menu, fine china and attentive waiters. While I probably would have been better off with Mickey D fries than shrimp wraps, it was a great meal ($24 plus tax) and I got through without anyone thinking me too daft.

But as the day waned, so did I. I waited for the bus to take me xtown and began to freak: what was I doing? was I meant to be an admin? What if I ended up working this job fulltime? What did that mean about me? It didn't help that during the course of the day I received no less than five calls from other prospective suitors, wooing me about potential fulltime gigs. Why when it rains, does it so confoundingly pour?

By the time I reached our apt. I just wanted to collapse on P, wail about my confusion and ask him to never make me go back to that slick world of corporate infallibility. It wasn't so easy.

"You don't take us seriously. What were you doing last night? What were you thinking?"
Yeah, I finally got P mad at me. And I deserved it.

So I prostrated myself to him, begged forgiveness and explained my plight and how I needed to discuss my crisis of career as well as my crazy night. He relented. We understand each other too well and felt like it was a way of me acting out before having to go back to the soul numbing office environment. Perhaps, but I just needed to pour out my conflict of conscience. And, good as always, P was there to listen and help.

But not for too long because I had to leave in a couple of hours to make it to the bookclub. And I couldn't miss it because I had chosen the book (The Long Night of White Chickens and the author (Francisco Goldman) was invited to be there to answer questions.

So, after being forgiven, and getting my shit straightened out, I left to a strange apartment and met up with Robin (her first time at the club) on the Upper West Side. Hany's apartment is incredible: A corner unit in a former residence hotel at 73rd and Broadway, it has a domed living room with a staircase that wraps up to the outdoor terrace with a view of Midtown and beyond. He'd agreed to host the event and it was a wonderful evening.

When Goldman showed up we got down to business and began asking questions. I enjoyed listening to him discuss the book he'd written decades ago and was moved by his inspiration words that "fiction is an art form that celebrates life" and why it was vital to have people creating. I bumbled and was inarticulate but it all turned out right in the end.

I made it home but the evening wasn't over. I needed to finish up my story for HX on sex workers and a new course to help them manage their money, build their own website and even figure out how to date while selling their stuff. Yeah, Trayb thought it's be a perfect story for me to want to cover. So sorry to disappoint but the night ended late, but a little bit sober, a lot tired and me too exhausted to worry much about what the next day may bring.

3 Comments:

At 6:24 AM, Anonymous suz said...

Aw honey, you're breaking my heart! But yay P for giving you some tough love. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that pt. 3 has a happy ending...the fairytale kind...

 
At 7:58 AM, Blogger Dee said...

GIRL.

 
At 12:03 PM, Blogger Guillem said...

We all love P.

And you are a writer no matter how you earn your money! You know that.

 

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