It's a mad, mad world
What a crazy day. Being that I'm growing bored of my current schlepping phase where I just sit around Mark's apartment watching Much Music and making gorcery lists, I decided to go out and aggressively acquire a job. I've been doing the passive thing for weeks now, where I've handed out dozens and dozens of resumes and patiently waited for a phone call. I've decided that I'm sick of all this waiting to starve to death bullshit. My plan? to go to West Town Bar and Grill and take hell with me.
I have the owner's business card, which Mark obtained for me after selling him a cell phone at Telus Mobility. So my plan of attack was to go in there and ask for Brandon and then just launch into it.
I rehearsed the speech on the way over to Locke Street (What? I'm not so good with the off the cuff stuff (that rhymes))and it didn't occur to me until later how crazy I must have looked.
There I was all decked out in my neo-boho wear (white tunic with turquoise jewellery, faded jeans and green corduroy jacket) sweating like a maniac because it was an unheard-of 27 degrees today...and in the midst of downtown traffic, I could be heard ranting the following:
"Listen up bitches, I just moved here from Toronto where I worked for a year at a bar on Bloor street called The Groundhog Pub. That's right, BLOOR, as in Yonge and Bloor, bitches. Where it was crazy-assed busy all night and all day and I rocked that joint six days a week so I think I can handle a few wamby-pamby Locke Street antique hunting mofo's. Got it? GOT IT?! (then a brief pause for effect while I dramatically inhale and speak in a very low whisper...)
I have my own apron. I will see you tomorrow"
As it turns out, crazy is harder to pull off than you might think. When I got to the bar and asked for the owner, a perky blonde waitress told me that he wasn't in, but that she would give him my resume. I paused for a minute, internally preparing for my diatribe and then....
I totally chickened out.
That's right. I smiled, told her my name and mentioned that I was available at any time to schedule an interview. Then I turned around and walked my boho ass out of there whilst eyeing the trendy antique shop across the street.
Meh, maybe schlepping is more my style anyway.
I have the owner's business card, which Mark obtained for me after selling him a cell phone at Telus Mobility. So my plan of attack was to go in there and ask for Brandon and then just launch into it.
I rehearsed the speech on the way over to Locke Street (What? I'm not so good with the off the cuff stuff (that rhymes))and it didn't occur to me until later how crazy I must have looked.
There I was all decked out in my neo-boho wear (white tunic with turquoise jewellery, faded jeans and green corduroy jacket) sweating like a maniac because it was an unheard-of 27 degrees today...and in the midst of downtown traffic, I could be heard ranting the following:
"Listen up bitches, I just moved here from Toronto where I worked for a year at a bar on Bloor street called The Groundhog Pub. That's right, BLOOR, as in Yonge and Bloor, bitches. Where it was crazy-assed busy all night and all day and I rocked that joint six days a week so I think I can handle a few wamby-pamby Locke Street antique hunting mofo's. Got it? GOT IT?! (then a brief pause for effect while I dramatically inhale and speak in a very low whisper...)
I have my own apron. I will see you tomorrow"
As it turns out, crazy is harder to pull off than you might think. When I got to the bar and asked for the owner, a perky blonde waitress told me that he wasn't in, but that she would give him my resume. I paused for a minute, internally preparing for my diatribe and then....
I totally chickened out.
That's right. I smiled, told her my name and mentioned that I was available at any time to schedule an interview. Then I turned around and walked my boho ass out of there whilst eyeing the trendy antique shop across the street.
Meh, maybe schlepping is more my style anyway.
posted by diadima at 10:20 PM
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