This six-sentence story was written for and posted on sixsentences.blogspot.com.
Zelda Throo was having a hard time keeping her hat from blowing in the wind, having known full well before she set out that a hat of this type with a wide brim could be trouble in numerous ways; causing her to lose her grounding while attempting to hold it in place, followed by the frantic nervousness if it blew off, then a lack of coordination in retrieving it, made more likely by having worn new shoes, untested on the streets.
Zelda's hat was removed; she knew it would not stay on her head walking on windy Van Ness Avenue so she reluctantly carried it almost wishing she could stash it somewhere - it could become problematical if she needed her hands free - but she could not do that because it had been a rather expensive impulse purchase.
Zelda continued on, her poise a little loosened from her center of gravity and as she gathered speed, was satisfied to see by her watch that she would not be late; she hated late in all its manifestations, was habitually early, but that is not
pertinent to the story and has caused me to use unnecessary words in this sentence which we cannot afford if we are to reach the conclusion of this minor tale of Zelda and her hat in six sentences, and more to the point, reach her
appointment, her assignation we have not yet been apprised of.
Zelda turned on Pine and continued in an easterly direction where the wind died down and she was able to fix the hat in place on her rather large head, made to seem larger from unruly hair, none of this her fault, but with the hat out of her hands she could now try to pull up her stockings which were threatening to wrap around her knees, a serious dilemma because she was wearing a shorter skirt than usual striving for an attractive, youthful look, her legs generally considered better than her hair.
She ducked in an alleyway beside a church thinking surely no one would ogle her there, hoping to fix the mutant stockings, realized they too were seriously problematical, decided to take them off but remembered she didn't have her tote
bag with her and they would have to be pitched in the alley as she was carrying a smart, essentially useless handbag to give a tidy impression although the hat was still in place, she gratefully acknowledged.
Zelda arrived at the office of Granger, Phelps and Ogdon, an Edwardian lower flat that was as quiet and nestled as a spa retreat with a tall, equally quiet Calla lily plant situated on a walnut side table with a silver dish of business cards beyond which sat a streamlined receptionist who recognized Zelda's presence vaguely, and as her dull eyes darted toward Zelda's hat, the word "bizarre" flicked through her mind but when Zelda moved closer, the receptionist, named Rosalette, (she may as well have a name as she is almost the lead character in this sentence) saw that the hat was on backwards, stifled a laugh, asked her to take a seat which Zelda thankfully took, hoping to compose herself for a moment, wondering if she should remove her hat but thought her hair, now a fright from the wind, would be worse so left it on thinking, God, job interviews are so stressful...I hope I get this job so I never have to go on another.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Monday, July 12, 2010
#29 THE FRENCH LOVER
I have a French lover. I'm not bragging; it's just something that happened at another time in my life. There is nothing so special about a French lover though perhaps he is a bit more romantic than American men. He has a poetic nature though he is a scientist and I believe the French look upon the two ideas and see no dissimulation.
In our younger days he would write beautiful letters spelling out his adoration for me, proffering me kisses, hugs and at times, more descriptive offerings. He was never embarrassed at silly lines and childish emotions. That he was a scientist by day, a man of serious endeavors made no difference. He wrote like a child; or like Proust. No American man would write the things he did more than once.
I have saved all those letters from the early days of our romance. I love the colorful red, white and blue envelopes with his foreign handwriting, the whimsical stamps, each letter showing me the different addresses I've had over the years. Now we exchange e-mails; his are still the stuff of boyish fantasy while mine have grown up somewhat and are more direct in nature. He is still full of romance and warmth. I can only go so far with this silliness. He has a wife, therefore I no longer take him at his words. I'm a hard-edged American woman these days but I wasn't always this way. I have quite a poetic nature myself and a romantic streak that has caused me no small amount of trouble.
To be truthful, he has always had this wife. I've never met her nor even seen a picture of her. When we met he was filled with anger at her. He said they had reached a mutual loathing for each other but would probably never divorce because of the two children and French laws that make it more difficult to separate. He was no more original than American men in this regard: he said she was frigid and hated sex. I thought, but did not say, typical. I wanted at times to add, "she just doesn't want you" but there was no reason to be mean. He would always be French and I would always be American and we could only wring so much meaning at such a distance. Though he would often fantasize about a life together, I did not take him seriously. He would often say we will grow old together in a cottage by the sea and would send me cute cards of old couples holding hands on the porch, leaving me to believe he held this in his mind as our future.
For many years this did not bother me at all. I let him have his romantic fantasies. Ours was a compartmentalized affair. It took place in letters and telephone conversations. He came to the states about three times a year. I never went to France or even expected to in those days. I did not have that kind of life. Or possibly imagination?
We ended things after five years but found each other again much later and I did go to Paris then. He was still married and the children were grown. I was more droll at this juncture--I failed to understand his outpourings of emotion over me if he never intended for us to be together. He said the two things were different and I was being purposely obtuse. Maybe. Now he comes to the states only once a year and we spend a week together in Washington D.C. We are extremely compatible which always surprises me. We are not alike and yet he always refers to me as his twin. In some spiritual realm we are twins. In real life, not so much.
He likes routine and if you've ever known a Frenchman you know that first and foremost consists of eating. His meals must be at the same time each day, he likes a good variety of choices but usually orders the same thing. He loves the American breakfast though he likes wine with it. He enjoys a hearty lunch and an even heartier dinner with cognac after. He drinks espresso, smokes cigars and loves to shop. He talks fondly of his clothing as do I. He proudly showed me his Balenciaga jacket that he found at a reasonable price in an out-of-the-way sample sale and I showed him my Missoni dress I paid a lot of money for but was still a good deal.
My usual answer to when we eat is "whenever." My answer to what we eat is "whatever." My answer to shopping is "okay, fine." I think I do this just to point out our differences. I really like to eat and shop too but see an over-zealous love of both to be, dare I say, bourgeoisie.
These days our biggest differences are over politics. In our younger days, I did not have political views which seemed to work out well. Now in our later incarnation, I have my views and he, well...let's say we disagreed but for my part, I was not strenuous and he admitted his views were outdated but is too old to change now. As an American, I believe wholeheartedly in change. Or maybe it's as a woman. Nevertheless, we've had a few spats over the last decade and he has denounced me because of them. I just laugh and say we can have differing viewpoints, it is completely irrelevant; he says, no, these things matter and he cannot take me seriously anymore. He wonders why I am not the lovely, artistic girl he met many years ago and said so, in no uncertain terms.
I began this story saying I HAVE a French lover, but I HAD a French lover is the more correct statement. He no longer sends me endearing messages or shacks up in a D.C. hotel with me anymore. I asked for an explanation other than the one given because I can't believe our relationship ends over Iraq, Israel, the Palestinians, capitalism, socialism--they are too removed for serious consideration on my part but he believes otherwise. Or at least that is his reasoning.
Yes, he has stopped all communication with me. I feel so European having a breakup over current affairs arguing in cafes and drinking pastis as we did. Maybe it is not the real reason; maybe he has found someone else. That is what I really
suspect but do not say.
I had many nice times with my French lover and we were together on 9/11 in D.C. which makes for more shared memories (we were stranded in New York when the air controllers went on strike and met John Belushi) but there comes a time to let things go. There really wasn't much there all along it would seem. Nevertheless, he was a part of my life for a good many years and I don't appreciate being cut off but then again, so what? I will have to content myself with old letters and cards, his intriguing French phrasing. Where does all the affection go when it disappears? Was it there at all or just a dream? Who will I call the next time I am in Paris? Did he really exist or is he just a fictional character borrowed for this short story?
In our younger days he would write beautiful letters spelling out his adoration for me, proffering me kisses, hugs and at times, more descriptive offerings. He was never embarrassed at silly lines and childish emotions. That he was a scientist by day, a man of serious endeavors made no difference. He wrote like a child; or like Proust. No American man would write the things he did more than once.
I have saved all those letters from the early days of our romance. I love the colorful red, white and blue envelopes with his foreign handwriting, the whimsical stamps, each letter showing me the different addresses I've had over the years. Now we exchange e-mails; his are still the stuff of boyish fantasy while mine have grown up somewhat and are more direct in nature. He is still full of romance and warmth. I can only go so far with this silliness. He has a wife, therefore I no longer take him at his words. I'm a hard-edged American woman these days but I wasn't always this way. I have quite a poetic nature myself and a romantic streak that has caused me no small amount of trouble.
To be truthful, he has always had this wife. I've never met her nor even seen a picture of her. When we met he was filled with anger at her. He said they had reached a mutual loathing for each other but would probably never divorce because of the two children and French laws that make it more difficult to separate. He was no more original than American men in this regard: he said she was frigid and hated sex. I thought, but did not say, typical. I wanted at times to add, "she just doesn't want you" but there was no reason to be mean. He would always be French and I would always be American and we could only wring so much meaning at such a distance. Though he would often fantasize about a life together, I did not take him seriously. He would often say we will grow old together in a cottage by the sea and would send me cute cards of old couples holding hands on the porch, leaving me to believe he held this in his mind as our future.
For many years this did not bother me at all. I let him have his romantic fantasies. Ours was a compartmentalized affair. It took place in letters and telephone conversations. He came to the states about three times a year. I never went to France or even expected to in those days. I did not have that kind of life. Or possibly imagination?
We ended things after five years but found each other again much later and I did go to Paris then. He was still married and the children were grown. I was more droll at this juncture--I failed to understand his outpourings of emotion over me if he never intended for us to be together. He said the two things were different and I was being purposely obtuse. Maybe. Now he comes to the states only once a year and we spend a week together in Washington D.C. We are extremely compatible which always surprises me. We are not alike and yet he always refers to me as his twin. In some spiritual realm we are twins. In real life, not so much.
He likes routine and if you've ever known a Frenchman you know that first and foremost consists of eating. His meals must be at the same time each day, he likes a good variety of choices but usually orders the same thing. He loves the American breakfast though he likes wine with it. He enjoys a hearty lunch and an even heartier dinner with cognac after. He drinks espresso, smokes cigars and loves to shop. He talks fondly of his clothing as do I. He proudly showed me his Balenciaga jacket that he found at a reasonable price in an out-of-the-way sample sale and I showed him my Missoni dress I paid a lot of money for but was still a good deal.
My usual answer to when we eat is "whenever." My answer to what we eat is "whatever." My answer to shopping is "okay, fine." I think I do this just to point out our differences. I really like to eat and shop too but see an over-zealous love of both to be, dare I say, bourgeoisie.
These days our biggest differences are over politics. In our younger days, I did not have political views which seemed to work out well. Now in our later incarnation, I have my views and he, well...let's say we disagreed but for my part, I was not strenuous and he admitted his views were outdated but is too old to change now. As an American, I believe wholeheartedly in change. Or maybe it's as a woman. Nevertheless, we've had a few spats over the last decade and he has denounced me because of them. I just laugh and say we can have differing viewpoints, it is completely irrelevant; he says, no, these things matter and he cannot take me seriously anymore. He wonders why I am not the lovely, artistic girl he met many years ago and said so, in no uncertain terms.
I began this story saying I HAVE a French lover, but I HAD a French lover is the more correct statement. He no longer sends me endearing messages or shacks up in a D.C. hotel with me anymore. I asked for an explanation other than the one given because I can't believe our relationship ends over Iraq, Israel, the Palestinians, capitalism, socialism--they are too removed for serious consideration on my part but he believes otherwise. Or at least that is his reasoning.
Yes, he has stopped all communication with me. I feel so European having a breakup over current affairs arguing in cafes and drinking pastis as we did. Maybe it is not the real reason; maybe he has found someone else. That is what I really
suspect but do not say.
I had many nice times with my French lover and we were together on 9/11 in D.C. which makes for more shared memories (we were stranded in New York when the air controllers went on strike and met John Belushi) but there comes a time to let things go. There really wasn't much there all along it would seem. Nevertheless, he was a part of my life for a good many years and I don't appreciate being cut off but then again, so what? I will have to content myself with old letters and cards, his intriguing French phrasing. Where does all the affection go when it disappears? Was it there at all or just a dream? Who will I call the next time I am in Paris? Did he really exist or is he just a fictional character borrowed for this short story?
Saturday, July 10, 2010
#28 VAGABOND SONG
Lindy Martel never seemed to quite know what she was doing, traveling here, there, visiting old friends, with no particular agenda except for a need to not feel as erratic as she sometimes did when people asked her what she was up to. Sometimes she said "I am Madame Merle," but hardly anyone got the literary reference.
Lindy knew she had a problem with settling down; she'd always had it except for a seven year stint on a job though even with that she left midway and went off to Los Angles, stayed a year and came back to the job only to leave after three years for San Francisco, restless and fearless.
It wasn't until Lindy's last birthday that she began to doubt herself, her modus operandi, her inability to stay in one place for more than a couple of years, her inability to sustain relationships even though she was often unable to wholly support herself.
These thoughts began playing havoc with her nervous system, giving her a roiling pain in the stomach and an influx of hot flashes brought on by tension from thinking about all the ways she went wrong in her life, where she would end up and how to live getting on in age. Did she really want to continue this vagabond song?
This was Lindy's emotional state while waiting to board another flight, her mother's lecture of that morning clouding her mind, making her doubt her latest plan which was precarious and beyond reason; or so she reasoned.
Her flight was called and as Lindy got out her boarding pass, she heard them say New York and her mother's worrisome call of that morning left her, and with a skip in her step, she handed over her boarding pass and began to think about what she would do later that evening, who she would call, where she would eat; she couldn't wait to get there once again.
Lindy knew she had a problem with settling down; she'd always had it except for a seven year stint on a job though even with that she left midway and went off to Los Angles, stayed a year and came back to the job only to leave after three years for San Francisco, restless and fearless.
It wasn't until Lindy's last birthday that she began to doubt herself, her modus operandi, her inability to stay in one place for more than a couple of years, her inability to sustain relationships even though she was often unable to wholly support herself.
These thoughts began playing havoc with her nervous system, giving her a roiling pain in the stomach and an influx of hot flashes brought on by tension from thinking about all the ways she went wrong in her life, where she would end up and how to live getting on in age. Did she really want to continue this vagabond song?
This was Lindy's emotional state while waiting to board another flight, her mother's lecture of that morning clouding her mind, making her doubt her latest plan which was precarious and beyond reason; or so she reasoned.
Her flight was called and as Lindy got out her boarding pass, she heard them say New York and her mother's worrisome call of that morning left her, and with a skip in her step, she handed over her boarding pass and began to think about what she would do later that evening, who she would call, where she would eat; she couldn't wait to get there once again.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
#27 MELYNDA'S EPIPHANY
Melynda took her clothes from the dryer, hoping to keep her emotions under control on a gloomy Sunday, the first trip to the laundromat since the breakup, one month to the day with his parting words: "We're not on the same page anymore, I don't see us working toward the same future."
"All I said is that I don't want kids, I've never really been able to see myself with kids, but we can still get married, buy a house, get a dog if you want...I don't want the responsibility of bringing someone into this rotten world, who knows what is going to happen to the environment, with China, with Iran, with the economy that's not really improving, unemployment, the faltering schools, radiation spewing out everywhere, air travel a nightmare, the utterly hapless politicians, the media feeding us a daily diet of sleaze pretending they've got our best interest at heart because we've a free press - free to warp all future generations."
"You've got to stop reading the newspapers and watching TV," he exploded. "You can't let these things that aren't real, aren't a part of your life affect you so, you'll go insane, Mel, you're making me insane."
"I don't know how you can ignore it, it's the world you live in," she said. "You want to bring children into this? Why? We're having trouble keeping ourselves together."
They left the coffee shop and went their separate way, she to her job as a veterinarian's assistant and he to fuss over his latest start-up but when Melynda returned home that evening she had a message saying he really couldn't see any future for them, she depressed him, he liked to look on the bright side, he was
going camping with his brother and his family.
That was a month ago and Melynda could no longer postpone doing her laundry; she had been using the washer and dryer in his very own kitchen where they happily played a domestic couple, making breakfast on Sunday, reading the paper and doing the laundry - with desultory talks of marriage.
She put off going to the laundromat as long as she could but some things can't be put off forever; she needed socks, towels, clean sheets. And she was doing okay - fighting for machines with the usual customers: the old Chinese woman with a baby girl in a sling, the crotchety old Pakistani man, the Mexican family that had so much laundry it took three people to do it and almost all of the available machines, a burnt-out hippie with a dangerous edge, all seemingly able to do the laundry without an emotional breakdown.
Melynda too was managing just fine until she pulled one of his socks from the dryer, a leftover from the last time he spent the night and she broke down there in front of the usual customers, tears freely flowing though she would not go so far as to actually sob. Now he would only have one sock from the pair he liked so much, they bought them in Macy's on their first shopping trip together. She would have to mail it to him.
The mother of the family looked upon her with pity. The old Chinese woman averted her eyes and the fierce looking Pakistani man softened his hard stance unable to ignore a woman's tears. He cleared a path for her to move her clothes to the table. Two of the children came toward her as if to ask her to play though their father held them back.
Have none of these people read the news today? she thought. Do they not know that we are all doomed? She looked at the one lost sock that had once been part of a couple. Maybe she would take it to his place instead of mailing it. Suddenly she could see a future of noisy kids continually losing their socks. She did not know how she could prevent this. She folded her clothes, placing the one errant sock on the top of the pile, left the laundromat, its mayhem and heat, and knew that despite wars and strife, sickness and struggle, that the world would more than likely continue its awful trajectory, she would be too busy with the laundry and all the missing socks to notice. Somehow she knew she had come through an abyss. Though outwardly nothing at all had changed, she realized that a world had been traversed and she smiled, hesitantly, for the first time in a month.
"All I said is that I don't want kids, I've never really been able to see myself with kids, but we can still get married, buy a house, get a dog if you want...I don't want the responsibility of bringing someone into this rotten world, who knows what is going to happen to the environment, with China, with Iran, with the economy that's not really improving, unemployment, the faltering schools, radiation spewing out everywhere, air travel a nightmare, the utterly hapless politicians, the media feeding us a daily diet of sleaze pretending they've got our best interest at heart because we've a free press - free to warp all future generations."
"You've got to stop reading the newspapers and watching TV," he exploded. "You can't let these things that aren't real, aren't a part of your life affect you so, you'll go insane, Mel, you're making me insane."
"I don't know how you can ignore it, it's the world you live in," she said. "You want to bring children into this? Why? We're having trouble keeping ourselves together."
They left the coffee shop and went their separate way, she to her job as a veterinarian's assistant and he to fuss over his latest start-up but when Melynda returned home that evening she had a message saying he really couldn't see any future for them, she depressed him, he liked to look on the bright side, he was
going camping with his brother and his family.
That was a month ago and Melynda could no longer postpone doing her laundry; she had been using the washer and dryer in his very own kitchen where they happily played a domestic couple, making breakfast on Sunday, reading the paper and doing the laundry - with desultory talks of marriage.
She put off going to the laundromat as long as she could but some things can't be put off forever; she needed socks, towels, clean sheets. And she was doing okay - fighting for machines with the usual customers: the old Chinese woman with a baby girl in a sling, the crotchety old Pakistani man, the Mexican family that had so much laundry it took three people to do it and almost all of the available machines, a burnt-out hippie with a dangerous edge, all seemingly able to do the laundry without an emotional breakdown.
Melynda too was managing just fine until she pulled one of his socks from the dryer, a leftover from the last time he spent the night and she broke down there in front of the usual customers, tears freely flowing though she would not go so far as to actually sob. Now he would only have one sock from the pair he liked so much, they bought them in Macy's on their first shopping trip together. She would have to mail it to him.
The mother of the family looked upon her with pity. The old Chinese woman averted her eyes and the fierce looking Pakistani man softened his hard stance unable to ignore a woman's tears. He cleared a path for her to move her clothes to the table. Two of the children came toward her as if to ask her to play though their father held them back.
Have none of these people read the news today? she thought. Do they not know that we are all doomed? She looked at the one lost sock that had once been part of a couple. Maybe she would take it to his place instead of mailing it. Suddenly she could see a future of noisy kids continually losing their socks. She did not know how she could prevent this. She folded her clothes, placing the one errant sock on the top of the pile, left the laundromat, its mayhem and heat, and knew that despite wars and strife, sickness and struggle, that the world would more than likely continue its awful trajectory, she would be too busy with the laundry and all the missing socks to notice. Somehow she knew she had come through an abyss. Though outwardly nothing at all had changed, she realized that a world had been traversed and she smiled, hesitantly, for the first time in a month.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
#26 CRAIGSLIST CAPER
Rob Schiller had been managing his uncle's furniture store for a year when he came up with his most brilliant idea--a way to meet girls. He would post an ad on craigslist for a job as an office manager and wait for his e-mail box to overflow with potential candidates, the city suffering double-digit unemployment. The idea came when he was told to hire a receptionist because there was going to be an influx of catalog orders coming in due to some odd advertising special his uncle had signed up for. Rob interviewed all week and did not find a candidate his uncle would hire but his idea was born after a week less boring than usual with a string of young women coming by each day in hopes of employment.
Rob would post the ad, peruse the resumes, read the cover letters for possible insight and carefully select those he wished to interview. He would make a call to each applicant, hear how pleased her voice would sound, how happy his call would seem to make her and then suggest an immediate interview. She would be so grateful and tell him how she looked forward to meeting him to discuss her qualification for the position. They exuded charm. Rob would then try to imagine how the potential candidate looked, how old she might be and what she might be willing to do to get this job. This all made Rob feel powerful, on top of his game.
His Uncle Adler owned this rather rundown store in a less than desirable block and it did not make a profit. It was one of several businesses his uncle owned in the city and this one was strictly a tax write-off. It is the loser, his uncle would say and my loser nephew reaps the benefit, he'd often add. His wife Lil begged him to stop putting Rob down but Adler, who came from the old country and knew the meaning of tough, felt Rob had been coddled by his wife's sister and wanted no part in any delusion. Rob would have to grow up, he'd say but until then, he could manage the loser business; what else could he do?
Rob began to interview job applicants, study their relevant features and then rate them accordingly, based on his own point system. He did not bother to check references or previous workplaces other than to see who they might be connected to. He noted where they came from; in this city of transients, he was always interested in what sort of shit hole people deserted. Sometimes he'd ask about skills but then admit the skill level of this job wasn't high. If the girl was attractive to Rob, he would e-mail back and forth with her for a few days, implying that she was in the running and that he would soon start doing second interviews.
The girls, meanwhile were thrilled with any job possibility and kept up a running flattery that Rob found thrilling. The things they would say, he thought. Sometimes he felt sorry for them having to suck up to someone for this non-existent job. Sometimes he felt guilty as he did the time a single mother cried on the phone saying how hard it was to find a job and that her little girl couldn't go to daycare with the other children. Other times he felt disdain for girls all dolled up but with no real skills who lied about themselves with every sentence they uttered. He could tell when they were lying by the way they shifted their legs on the couch he always had them sit on, a couch that was a little too low for a comfortable one-on-one. They could not quite find a way to sit with any poise and became nervous or indignant. All of these things Rob learned in the course of the three months he'd been practicing this deceit.
After the first month, Rob got lucky. A beautiful model came in and Rob was so taken with her he kept the communication going for a week before he asked her in for another interview. When she cancelled the day before, pleading another engagement he suggested they meet for a drink instead. Why she accepted he did not know but he found himself in a rather trendy bar during happy hour with a girl who honestly earned all the attention she received in that place. Rob felt terribly proud to be seen with such a girl and hoped it would lead to other dates. He did not dream she would get so drunk and take him to her apartment in a high rise building with a view of the city, a fortunate outcome. The next morning, he left saying he had to get to work and would be calling her about the job soon. She kept calling, he kept putting her off and eventually said his accountant would not let him hire anyone at this time due to the recession. She sent him a couple of brief but none too friendly e-mails calling him a slew of names and that was the end of her.
But Rob's idea, an idea for his own amusement, was ingenious. He had no end of girls to call, and in fact was inundated with calls and e-mails from prospective office managers. Many of them had fantastic credentials, highly overqualified, many had no credentials but most had middling office, retail or restaurant experience that would have worked out fine if there was actually a job. Rob eventually got over his guilt and everyday looked forward to what the next interview would bring.
He didn't often get as lucky as he did with the model, but he did get invited to a couple of parties that were fun, he took two applicants for lunch and tried to get them drunk but they were onto him: what potential boss would hire someone drunk at noon? He then began to schedule late interviews that could lead to dinner or drinks. A Hispanic woman somewhat older than Rob went home with him and couldn't believe she didn't get the job "after all that," she shrieked into the phone.
He also had a week of charming e-mails from a Parisian woman who couldn't seem to make the time to interview but Rob was so enthralled with her persona via e-mail he talked her into meeting him in a restaurant near the store. She had told him she would be the one with red hat and a French accent. When he got there he found a woman at least 65 years old, with a hunched back, frazzled hair and a cigarette dangling from her greasy red mouth. He pretended to not know who she was and sat at a different table and watched her watch everyone who came in. Eventually his guilt and disappointment made him leave the place and afterward never returned any of her e-mails. After this episode he thought he would give up this pantomime, but instead decided to screen more carefully. It was a few weeks before he was ready to place his ad on craigslist again when boredom got the better of him.
The next interview was off to a good start with a Peruvian girl who was soft-spoken, wearing a flowered skirt, a low cut blouse and open-toed shoes that excited Rob. She was young and bashful and he kept her on the string for a couple of weeks before asking her out. She accepted and they had a fine time eating in a new Peruvian restaurant in the Mission and later caught a show at Slim's. She mentioned he looked a little like Seinfeld but then ruined things by saying "though I have never found him attractive...oh, sorry that doesn't sound good, does it?" Later she kissed him goodnight and again apologized for the Seinfeld faux pas. She disappointed him when he asked for a second date, she asked for the job, he stalled and then she mentioned a boyfriend and dropped him shortly thereafter.
His most gnarly experience was with a woman named Reva who was around 40, aggressively bawdy, and asked him out. He took her for a drink at a nearby pub and she kept putting her hand on his thigh as he asked about her skills, her ability to type and other mundane, uninteresting facts. He drank a little too much, went home with her and found Reva was really Ronald and fled for his life. He was thoroughly disgusted and ready to curtail his postings wondering who else would be out there ready to cause him trouble. His uncle would kill him if he knew what was going on and for a month Rob did not post a position on craigslist.
It was his Aunt Lil, helping out in the store one day who busted him. She couldn't help but notice all the payments to craigslist and knew they had not been in hiring for some time. When she mentioned it, Rob blushed, averted his eyes and said he thought he would be able to hire someone to help out as the orders were starting to come in again. He bumbled and blustered and Aunt Lil, no fool she, demanded to know what the real story was and promised not to tell Uncle Adler.
Rob had to come clean and relayed his various experiences to her and she at first was appalled and then realize that it wasn't such a bad idea after all. The boy was cooped up in this store with no co-workers, no office patter, no water cooler gossip, missing all the socializing that comes from an honest workplace. She felt sorry for him and decided that she would help him with his pursuit of women. It was actually a better method than an online dating site but recognized that her nephew would not be able to screen the applicants the way she could with her eagle eye for detail and knowledge of how women operate. Thus they became a team.
Rob again posted the ad with a few changes suggested by his aunt and the resumes began arriving in the e-mail box. His aunt took charge and started combing through them and sorting the wheat from the chaff so to speak. She could read a lot more into them than Rob was able to. She could tell how old a candidate was by what they left out. She understood the origin of most names and could detect race and class all by reading what was in the resumes and cover letters. She was an expert at detail and Rob could only stand in admiration of his aunt. His powers of divination on women were scant compared to her. Each day she went over the details with Rob and they sent a reply to those she deemed appropriate. In this Rob was somewhat in the dark: Who was appropriate? He was just looking for someone attractive, with a good figure and not especially smart. His aunt was looking for a marriage prospect but she kept that under the radar.
Within the first week of his aunt's installation in the office, she interviewed a woman named Tina. She had a good feeling about Tina. She impressed Lil with her upbeat attitude, knowledge of furniture, her sharp business suit and ability to maneuver around the Internet with ease, something that Aunt Lil, not exactly computer literate, was impressed with. She hired Tina on the spot even though she supposed the store could not really afford another employee. But she wanted to do something for her nephew who she felt was lagging behind the other men in the family.
Rob, to his dismay, found himself with a new office manager that he not only did not hire, but did not find all that compelling. She bossed him around, brought food to the store he was not particularly fond of, was aggressive with the customers and had a mop of red hair that intimidated Rob. This is not what he signed on for and had no compunction about telling his aunt.
"Nonsense," she said. "The girl is perfect." Why she thought so Rob could not quite ascertain but he had no choice but to go along with her. Tina overrode everything Rob tried to do and he sulked mightily in the back office. But she made a big impression on his uncle who was more than happy to see the store doing more business since she came on board. He had been thinking of getting rid of it but now he was having second thoughts.
"That girl, Tina, has really turned this place around," he would say to Rob on his now regular visits. "I'm going to have to start thinking of the ramifications of profit instead of loss," he joked. Rob just muttered something about liking things the way they were and regretting the loss of his freedom. He had nothing to look forward to now and as added misery, Tina ordered him around like he was her slave. He even had to go to dinner with her mother once a week.
Rob and Tina were married after her six-month anniversary on the job. After one year she was expecting a baby and six months after that she decided to stay at home and await her child. Rob was back to being alone in the store which seemed a little dismal after Tina's high energy and brash personality. But he adapted and when his uncle told him that business was good, he could hire a new office manager to replace Tina, Rob brightened. He placed the old familiar ad on craigslist and watched the resumes come in. He spent some time looking them over carefully and a few days fantasizing over the possible candidates. He had made a file of his likely choices and began to e-mail them. He could barely contain his excitement but it was quelled when the first candidate turned up looking like a refugee from Ghana, Rob knew because he'd seen a picture of them in the newspaper. She had buck teeth, scruffy hair, huge feet and wore an exotic wrap made of some sort of woven mud. She made jokes that were incomprehensible and then laughed hysterically. Rob was about to blow her off when Tina came through the door. Tina, as usual, took over the interview and to Rob's utter horror, he heard Tina hiring her. What in God's name was she thinking? The woman could barely speak English! How could he be expected to sit around this dismal store with that creature? He was indignant. He was exasperated. He would have to get Uncle Adler to put an end to it. "Tina, what can you be thinking?" he shrieked after his new employee left.
Tina only gave him her bemused smile. "Well, Rob, I saw the applicants who responded to your ad and I thought maybe I should help you find your new assistant. Who better than me, to hire my successor? I'm sure she'll work out fine once she gets the hang of things. Meanwhile, you will have the satisfaction of hiring a true minority."
Tina sat in the office thinking of all the good times she and Rob had in there. They'd had more than a few romps on the sample sofa in the office. She wasn't ignorant; she knew all about Rob's little ploy. Her college roommate had been the model Rob once took out. They plotted a sort of revenge scenario but Tina instead was hired and decided she would be the catalyst for change in Rob's way of doing business.
"From now on I'll do the hiring," said Tina, "I know it's an arduous process." Rob hung his head in despair. Oh, for the good old days when he was bored and out of sorts. He would never have anything to look forward to again. His new assistant proved to be mostly useless but he couldn't fire her, he was stuck.
The store quickly went back to its old status as "loser," his uncle decided to sell it and Rob himself was looking for a job on craigslist, going to many pointless interviews, trying to shine. Eventually he was hired as the assistant manager of a carpet center. He blamed his Aunt Lil for everything but took a lot of his frustration out on Tina, not quite certain she was as blameless as she professed to be. Her only reaction was to threaten him with more children, which he knew he would be unable to support having no chance of promotion in his dead-end job. Oh for the good old days in the furniture store, he'd often think, then look on craigslist, hoping for any kind of salvation.
Rob would post the ad, peruse the resumes, read the cover letters for possible insight and carefully select those he wished to interview. He would make a call to each applicant, hear how pleased her voice would sound, how happy his call would seem to make her and then suggest an immediate interview. She would be so grateful and tell him how she looked forward to meeting him to discuss her qualification for the position. They exuded charm. Rob would then try to imagine how the potential candidate looked, how old she might be and what she might be willing to do to get this job. This all made Rob feel powerful, on top of his game.
His Uncle Adler owned this rather rundown store in a less than desirable block and it did not make a profit. It was one of several businesses his uncle owned in the city and this one was strictly a tax write-off. It is the loser, his uncle would say and my loser nephew reaps the benefit, he'd often add. His wife Lil begged him to stop putting Rob down but Adler, who came from the old country and knew the meaning of tough, felt Rob had been coddled by his wife's sister and wanted no part in any delusion. Rob would have to grow up, he'd say but until then, he could manage the loser business; what else could he do?
Rob began to interview job applicants, study their relevant features and then rate them accordingly, based on his own point system. He did not bother to check references or previous workplaces other than to see who they might be connected to. He noted where they came from; in this city of transients, he was always interested in what sort of shit hole people deserted. Sometimes he'd ask about skills but then admit the skill level of this job wasn't high. If the girl was attractive to Rob, he would e-mail back and forth with her for a few days, implying that she was in the running and that he would soon start doing second interviews.
The girls, meanwhile were thrilled with any job possibility and kept up a running flattery that Rob found thrilling. The things they would say, he thought. Sometimes he felt sorry for them having to suck up to someone for this non-existent job. Sometimes he felt guilty as he did the time a single mother cried on the phone saying how hard it was to find a job and that her little girl couldn't go to daycare with the other children. Other times he felt disdain for girls all dolled up but with no real skills who lied about themselves with every sentence they uttered. He could tell when they were lying by the way they shifted their legs on the couch he always had them sit on, a couch that was a little too low for a comfortable one-on-one. They could not quite find a way to sit with any poise and became nervous or indignant. All of these things Rob learned in the course of the three months he'd been practicing this deceit.
After the first month, Rob got lucky. A beautiful model came in and Rob was so taken with her he kept the communication going for a week before he asked her in for another interview. When she cancelled the day before, pleading another engagement he suggested they meet for a drink instead. Why she accepted he did not know but he found himself in a rather trendy bar during happy hour with a girl who honestly earned all the attention she received in that place. Rob felt terribly proud to be seen with such a girl and hoped it would lead to other dates. He did not dream she would get so drunk and take him to her apartment in a high rise building with a view of the city, a fortunate outcome. The next morning, he left saying he had to get to work and would be calling her about the job soon. She kept calling, he kept putting her off and eventually said his accountant would not let him hire anyone at this time due to the recession. She sent him a couple of brief but none too friendly e-mails calling him a slew of names and that was the end of her.
But Rob's idea, an idea for his own amusement, was ingenious. He had no end of girls to call, and in fact was inundated with calls and e-mails from prospective office managers. Many of them had fantastic credentials, highly overqualified, many had no credentials but most had middling office, retail or restaurant experience that would have worked out fine if there was actually a job. Rob eventually got over his guilt and everyday looked forward to what the next interview would bring.
He didn't often get as lucky as he did with the model, but he did get invited to a couple of parties that were fun, he took two applicants for lunch and tried to get them drunk but they were onto him: what potential boss would hire someone drunk at noon? He then began to schedule late interviews that could lead to dinner or drinks. A Hispanic woman somewhat older than Rob went home with him and couldn't believe she didn't get the job "after all that," she shrieked into the phone.
He also had a week of charming e-mails from a Parisian woman who couldn't seem to make the time to interview but Rob was so enthralled with her persona via e-mail he talked her into meeting him in a restaurant near the store. She had told him she would be the one with red hat and a French accent. When he got there he found a woman at least 65 years old, with a hunched back, frazzled hair and a cigarette dangling from her greasy red mouth. He pretended to not know who she was and sat at a different table and watched her watch everyone who came in. Eventually his guilt and disappointment made him leave the place and afterward never returned any of her e-mails. After this episode he thought he would give up this pantomime, but instead decided to screen more carefully. It was a few weeks before he was ready to place his ad on craigslist again when boredom got the better of him.
The next interview was off to a good start with a Peruvian girl who was soft-spoken, wearing a flowered skirt, a low cut blouse and open-toed shoes that excited Rob. She was young and bashful and he kept her on the string for a couple of weeks before asking her out. She accepted and they had a fine time eating in a new Peruvian restaurant in the Mission and later caught a show at Slim's. She mentioned he looked a little like Seinfeld but then ruined things by saying "though I have never found him attractive...oh, sorry that doesn't sound good, does it?" Later she kissed him goodnight and again apologized for the Seinfeld faux pas. She disappointed him when he asked for a second date, she asked for the job, he stalled and then she mentioned a boyfriend and dropped him shortly thereafter.
His most gnarly experience was with a woman named Reva who was around 40, aggressively bawdy, and asked him out. He took her for a drink at a nearby pub and she kept putting her hand on his thigh as he asked about her skills, her ability to type and other mundane, uninteresting facts. He drank a little too much, went home with her and found Reva was really Ronald and fled for his life. He was thoroughly disgusted and ready to curtail his postings wondering who else would be out there ready to cause him trouble. His uncle would kill him if he knew what was going on and for a month Rob did not post a position on craigslist.
It was his Aunt Lil, helping out in the store one day who busted him. She couldn't help but notice all the payments to craigslist and knew they had not been in hiring for some time. When she mentioned it, Rob blushed, averted his eyes and said he thought he would be able to hire someone to help out as the orders were starting to come in again. He bumbled and blustered and Aunt Lil, no fool she, demanded to know what the real story was and promised not to tell Uncle Adler.
Rob had to come clean and relayed his various experiences to her and she at first was appalled and then realize that it wasn't such a bad idea after all. The boy was cooped up in this store with no co-workers, no office patter, no water cooler gossip, missing all the socializing that comes from an honest workplace. She felt sorry for him and decided that she would help him with his pursuit of women. It was actually a better method than an online dating site but recognized that her nephew would not be able to screen the applicants the way she could with her eagle eye for detail and knowledge of how women operate. Thus they became a team.
Rob again posted the ad with a few changes suggested by his aunt and the resumes began arriving in the e-mail box. His aunt took charge and started combing through them and sorting the wheat from the chaff so to speak. She could read a lot more into them than Rob was able to. She could tell how old a candidate was by what they left out. She understood the origin of most names and could detect race and class all by reading what was in the resumes and cover letters. She was an expert at detail and Rob could only stand in admiration of his aunt. His powers of divination on women were scant compared to her. Each day she went over the details with Rob and they sent a reply to those she deemed appropriate. In this Rob was somewhat in the dark: Who was appropriate? He was just looking for someone attractive, with a good figure and not especially smart. His aunt was looking for a marriage prospect but she kept that under the radar.
Within the first week of his aunt's installation in the office, she interviewed a woman named Tina. She had a good feeling about Tina. She impressed Lil with her upbeat attitude, knowledge of furniture, her sharp business suit and ability to maneuver around the Internet with ease, something that Aunt Lil, not exactly computer literate, was impressed with. She hired Tina on the spot even though she supposed the store could not really afford another employee. But she wanted to do something for her nephew who she felt was lagging behind the other men in the family.
Rob, to his dismay, found himself with a new office manager that he not only did not hire, but did not find all that compelling. She bossed him around, brought food to the store he was not particularly fond of, was aggressive with the customers and had a mop of red hair that intimidated Rob. This is not what he signed on for and had no compunction about telling his aunt.
"Nonsense," she said. "The girl is perfect." Why she thought so Rob could not quite ascertain but he had no choice but to go along with her. Tina overrode everything Rob tried to do and he sulked mightily in the back office. But she made a big impression on his uncle who was more than happy to see the store doing more business since she came on board. He had been thinking of getting rid of it but now he was having second thoughts.
"That girl, Tina, has really turned this place around," he would say to Rob on his now regular visits. "I'm going to have to start thinking of the ramifications of profit instead of loss," he joked. Rob just muttered something about liking things the way they were and regretting the loss of his freedom. He had nothing to look forward to now and as added misery, Tina ordered him around like he was her slave. He even had to go to dinner with her mother once a week.
Rob and Tina were married after her six-month anniversary on the job. After one year she was expecting a baby and six months after that she decided to stay at home and await her child. Rob was back to being alone in the store which seemed a little dismal after Tina's high energy and brash personality. But he adapted and when his uncle told him that business was good, he could hire a new office manager to replace Tina, Rob brightened. He placed the old familiar ad on craigslist and watched the resumes come in. He spent some time looking them over carefully and a few days fantasizing over the possible candidates. He had made a file of his likely choices and began to e-mail them. He could barely contain his excitement but it was quelled when the first candidate turned up looking like a refugee from Ghana, Rob knew because he'd seen a picture of them in the newspaper. She had buck teeth, scruffy hair, huge feet and wore an exotic wrap made of some sort of woven mud. She made jokes that were incomprehensible and then laughed hysterically. Rob was about to blow her off when Tina came through the door. Tina, as usual, took over the interview and to Rob's utter horror, he heard Tina hiring her. What in God's name was she thinking? The woman could barely speak English! How could he be expected to sit around this dismal store with that creature? He was indignant. He was exasperated. He would have to get Uncle Adler to put an end to it. "Tina, what can you be thinking?" he shrieked after his new employee left.
Tina only gave him her bemused smile. "Well, Rob, I saw the applicants who responded to your ad and I thought maybe I should help you find your new assistant. Who better than me, to hire my successor? I'm sure she'll work out fine once she gets the hang of things. Meanwhile, you will have the satisfaction of hiring a true minority."
Tina sat in the office thinking of all the good times she and Rob had in there. They'd had more than a few romps on the sample sofa in the office. She wasn't ignorant; she knew all about Rob's little ploy. Her college roommate had been the model Rob once took out. They plotted a sort of revenge scenario but Tina instead was hired and decided she would be the catalyst for change in Rob's way of doing business.
"From now on I'll do the hiring," said Tina, "I know it's an arduous process." Rob hung his head in despair. Oh, for the good old days when he was bored and out of sorts. He would never have anything to look forward to again. His new assistant proved to be mostly useless but he couldn't fire her, he was stuck.
The store quickly went back to its old status as "loser," his uncle decided to sell it and Rob himself was looking for a job on craigslist, going to many pointless interviews, trying to shine. Eventually he was hired as the assistant manager of a carpet center. He blamed his Aunt Lil for everything but took a lot of his frustration out on Tina, not quite certain she was as blameless as she professed to be. Her only reaction was to threaten him with more children, which he knew he would be unable to support having no chance of promotion in his dead-end job. Oh for the good old days in the furniture store, he'd often think, then look on craigslist, hoping for any kind of salvation.
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