flashingreds...
which life did i order?
(2002-08-21, 12:06 p.m.)
I was cruising north on I-57 yesterday, just before noon, feeling a bit peckish and mildly nervous, when I saw the sign.

I�d never been to a survey party before. What�s the prospect of an interview, compared to a party?

So I stopped. Waited for the requisite break in traffic to dash across 2 lanes into the median.

The fellows were so warm and welcoming, really. They seemed grateful that someone finally accepted their blatant invitation. I complimented their colorful clothing, they admired my tidy, businesslike appearance. We spread out a picnic blanket, relaxed in the warm sunshine and passed around a Thermos of coffee and shared the candy cigarettes I�d fished out from under the car seat as an offering.

We basked in the sun and talked of the nose-pickers, the readers and other usual characters one observes in that line of work.

Nice as they were, I was slightly uncomfortable and self-conscious, and as often happens, I drank a bit too much. Got a bit too bold. Survey crews don�t have a sense of humor about the tools of their trade. It�s no more than my refusal to imagine my contracts as invitations to tea with a queen. I probably shouldn�t have been so flippant. Nothing would have been broken. I wouldn�t have been sent home, ego deflated, candy cigarettes withheld for damages.

Sigh.

But things really did go well. Someone was able to see beyond the stammering idiot who interviews for me. It was a darling little place, in an okay neighborhood, and everyone seemed so nice. Stressed the importance of getting along, helping each other out, and all of that that�s been missing in the past. And people seem to stay there, rather than using it as a steppingstone. I could stay. I think.

I made no witty observations during the drive home. I made frantic phone calls, instead.

I poured over apartment ads in the Reader when I got home. Then had dreams of my first night in an apartment, realizing I now needed to lock the doors, worrying about leaving windows open. Huddling in a corner with the cat, too nervous to sleep in the bed.

At least I�m dreaming I have a bed in the new apartment.

I shall spend the rest of the day making a list of items I don�t own, but need, for a new place (ex: bed). I shall stew endlessly over this, before the 2nd interview, and drive myself to drink tonight. At least the latter, which is already planned. And I will be quiet and considerate at the happy hour, which need not be about me. I can give that much.

What can you give?