www.QuoVadam.com

So, in approximately two weeks, I will no longer be bartending at the world’s sketchiest pool hall.

Woo! Mother! Freaking! Hoo!

Last night I got a job at Ashland Coffee & Tea. Ironic, because I have been going into the place every evening for the past month or two, thinking to myself, “This would be the perfect job to work while I am in school.” Well, after talking to the manager, and filling out an application, she hired me on the spot.

The funny thing is, this is the 4th job I’ve found in the past month. At the end of July, I found two jobs in one day. Both of them hired me, but I had to turn one down in order to get the better one. That worked out great. Even though it was a temporary position, it was a chance to make good money fast. So I had to go where the money was. It was the only smart choice.

Then, two days ago, I received an email regarding a part time data entry position for a private firm here in Ashland. I called the lady, spoke to her for a few minutes, and that was done. Job number three on the list. Then last night, I was at the coffee shop, and landed that job.

As for the bar, I just can’t deal with the loud, obnoxious, belligerent drunks anymore. That atmosphere is just not something of which I want to be part. Personally, I wouldn’t mind staying on at the bar, working every other Friday. It’s decent money for one night of work. The only problem is, I don’t feel that it’s fair that I be given the luxury of working one night, on their best night, when I’m not working any other days. Especially when there’s other people there who work other days and are entitled to their first choice. It’s not fair for me to demand that I only work on the busiest night of the week. So I think it’s time for me to move on.

I could handle working in a small cocktail bar. Somewhere with a little bit classier clientele. Or perhaps a place where the patrons actually know the definition of the word “clientele.” It would definitely be good money. Probably a lot less rowdy as well.

For now though, I think I’m done with the bar scene for a while.

I need to rant…

I started a temporary job three weeks ago. I was supposed to have gotten paid this past Thursday. Well, when the HR lady arrived with the checks, she informed myself and the other guy who started when I did, that our checks were mailed out the day before and that they should be arriving at our home address that day. This would not be so bad if it weren’t for the fact that I use Mom’s address in Covington as my permanent mailing address. Well, still, if the check were to arrive, she could have deposited it into my account and there wouldn’t have been any problems.

Wrong. The check was not in the mail.

To make matters worse, I had promised the lady I’m renting from that I would have the rest of the rent that day. So I had to call her and ask if I could write her a check to be cashed on Monday. She said that was fine and promised that it would not be deposited until Monday. So, when I arrived home from work, I wrote her a check and asked her one final time to please not cash it until Monday. She obliged and all was well.

The following day, Friday, I arrive at work to find out that they had not even processed our hours and that a check was never issued. So our supervisor sent out an email requesting that our checks be over-nighted to the mailing address of our choice.

Great. Wonderful. Money.

So, Mr. FedEx man delivers my paycheck at 10:00 this morning. I sleep in a bit, get up and head out to cash my check. I drive back to the house to give the lady cash and retrieve my check. I am informed that since she had surgery this weekend and was not sure if she would be able, she had given it to a relative to deposit for her on Monday. She then informs me that she will go retrieve the check and get back to me later.

It is now later. I received a phone call about an hour ago from her grandson’s girlfriend, whom I work with. She informed me that, because he thought he was doing her a favor, whomever the check was given to deposited it with another check which was to be deposited yesterday, even after being told specifically to not deposit the other check.

Great. Bouncing checks are fun. Especially big ones.

First of all, in regards to the company mishandling my pay, I don’t care how bad the HR lady is with names. It is her JOB to be good with names. If you’re in HR and you’re not good with names, quit your job, you’re in the wrong place. Secondly, stuff like that shouldn’t happen. I don’t care that it was a mistake. It just shouldn’t happen. Case closed.

Next, as for the check getting deposited after I specifically asked, three times, that it not be done so until Monday, that is my fault. I should have never wrote a check that wasn’t capable of being cashed. I blame myself for that one. Lesson learned. That doesn’t mean I’m any less angry because it happened, because incompetence INFURIATES me. However, I can only be angry with myself for giving it room to happen.

I told Mom earlier that the past four days have been one thing after another, and I’m so close to putting my foot straight up someone’s ass, that the next person who pisses me off is going to get a twelve inch, leather colon cleansing.

So that should be fair warning. If you are around me for the next few days, and you have something to say, it had better be good. Otherwise, you might want to consider keeping your mouth shut, or clenching REALLY hard.

So, upon returning to Ashland at the end of July, I had no place to stay and was sleeping on the living room floor of a co-workers apartment. After a few prospects fell through, another one of my co-workers mentioned that her mother had just purchased a mobile home in a nearby mobile home village.

At this point, some may ask why I am being politically correct and referring to it as a mobile home. This is because there are a plethora of mobile home styles these days ranging from the old-school trailer to the big modular homes you see on smaller plots in the countryside.

Well, this was one of the old-school trailers. And, upon moving in, I realized that it needed A LOT of work. A task I was willing to take up, as the lady wanted to re-sell the place in the spring for a profit. So I started looking around the place, drawing up plans in my head for weekends and repairs. In truth, I did not want to stay there. I merely pushed the feeling to the back of my head by telling myself I could help her fix it up and it wouldn’t be so bad.

Well, after one weekend, I knew that there was no way I could handle that as well as school and work in the fall. Not only that, but, as sweet the lady is, I really need a place that I feel like I can roam instead of feeling like I have to stay locked up in my room all the time. This is especially hard when you live with someone who feels like they have to talk to you whenever you are visible. Again, she is a wonderfully sweet lady and treats me like one of her grandchildren after only one week of knowing me, but I need my space and privacy. So, this began to wear on me. Truth is, it started wearing on me the minute I agreed to the arrangement.

A simple backtrack, lately I have been saying yes to some really half-baked ideas, and its put me into some situations that I don’t really feel are practical or ideal. As a result, I have been doing a lot of second guessing, which has exacerbated my obsessive compulsive nature. I began to feel anxiety similar to that which I feel when I begin to obsess over organizational details. My head begins to fill with more details on which I am capable of focusing. I get edgy, my heart rate rises, and I begin to shake. It is something with which I have always dealt. It’
s just always happened when I am organizing or arranging things. So I guess it stands to reason that it would appear when I am trying to organize or arrange my life.

Anyway, back to the story.

I was beginning to get very bent out of shape. I never worry, and worry began to set in about where I was going to stay, how long I was going to stay there, if I would find a place with some privacy, and how I was going to afford privacy as a student living on part time server’s wages. To top this all off and to add to the confusion, one of my best friends who is living in Burbank, California called and, half-serious and half-joking, asked me to move in as I am the only person she knows that she would even consider for a roommate. I can’t say I didn’t half-way consider taking her up on the offer. Which is why I’
m convinced the next thing happened.

The following day I checked my email, and the Professor of Japanese at Randolph-Macon had emailed me about a flyer posted in the mail room at school. Something about an “in-law” apartment for $350 per month. I had no idea what an “in-law” apartment was, but I figured it would be worth checking into, so I drove to school to check out the flyer. There wasn’t much more information on the flyer other than a number, amount of rooms, and “Must see to believe” in big, bold letters at the top of the page. So I called, left a rambling voicemail about being a mature college student needing privacy, and gave my number for a call back. I then left campus and went about my day praying and crossing fingers the whole time.

Around 7:30 my phone rang. It was the man who owns the apartment. He informed me that the place was currently housing a missionary couple on furlough, but that they would be leaving at the end of August and the place would be ready on the 1st of September. I asked him if it would be too much trouble for me to come look at the place right then. He said no and invited me to come on up. About 20 minutes later I arrived at this beautiful home in the woods. A good conversation, a great bowl of pasta, and approximately 30 minutes later, he asks if I would like to see the place. “Most definitely”, I replied.

Oh. My. God.

A full kitchen. A full bath. A Bedroom with walk-in closet. A Living room. Not to mention a private parking area for myself and/or guest, access to their washer and dryer, and use of their wireless internet. All for $350.

Three. Hundred. Fifty. EVERYTHING!

His only reason for renting it so cheap is that he uses half of the living room as an art studio for his painting and stained glass work. So he felt that it wasn’t fair to ask full price when he was monopolizing half of the space. His paintings and stained glass are hung all over their house and the apartment which, in my opinion, adds atmosphere to the place.

I was elated. I am absolutely convinced that God knew I was a lot more serious about California than I even realized, and that he had to do something to get my eyes back in focus.

So, things can change in a second. I try not to worry because this tends to happen A LOT. However, occasionally it creeps up on me. My biggest focus though, is to stop making these half-assed decisions when I’m still unsure about the choices.