The Color Of Hunger

I hate mornings with a passion. A PASSION. Waking up too late is always too early. Especially when I get to that point where under my blankets is like fifty times warmer than the air temperature in my room. I love getting to that point. I haven’t gotten up to see single digits on my alarm clock in three weeks because of that point. Which is why today was a major exception.

Last night, I found a job posting on Craigslist that I considered actually worth taking a shot at. A deli server at this mexican restaurant on Riverside Street called DeLeon Deli. Not even two blocks from the plaza, this place would be the perfect place to work. I could board basically any bus in Spokane, anywhere, and end up at work within the hour. Sweet, I thought to myself, hopping on the 65 from Cheney. This trip downtown may actually have a purpose for me this time. Haha, if only I knew.

I actually enjoy riding the bus. Most people bitch about the creepy bums, or the nauseating smells, or the fact that the bus is always late to their stop, but I like all that stuff. (K, maybe not the smells, I’ll pass on those.) To me, it’s all part of the ride. I put on my headphones and can go on 8-hour binges of random bus routes without getting the slightest urge of boredom. Every person that gets on has a different song, too. I’ll pride myself on finding that song.

It’s almost like a game. The fatter the person, the more instrumental the beat gets. The more facial hair a guy has, the more classic rock sound the song will have. Every now and again, I’ll get a young mom with like ten kids at her side, nine of them in strollers. I’ve found that sad songs work best here, “Scar Tissue” being a family favorite. I don’t consider myself to be passing judgement, and you shouldn’t either. I just have fun analyzing personalities before I actually get a chance to meet that person. It’s entertainment. Plus, it’s free.

I end up getting downtown about noon-thirty. Finding Riverside Street was easy and finding the deli was even easier. Resume in hand, I walk into the Heroes And Legends section of the building and ask the young bartender that was currently on duty if this was the right place to get an application. She half-heartedly reached under the counter and handed me one without changing her facial expression or saying a single word. Whatever, I’m thinking to myself, maybe she’s had a rough start today or something. Who knows.

I sit down, start filling this thing out, get to about the fifth letter in my name, and lo and behold, my wonderful pen runs out of ink. Shit. My mind automatically starts planning Plan B – the bartender lady has to have another pen I can borrow. Actually, I know for a fact I spotted some on the far corner by the cash register when first coming in here. So I ask her politely, making an extra effort to apologize for ‘my little inconvenience’. She rudely interrupts me before I have a chance to even finish my sentence, preaching about how when job hunters go job hunting they should be prepared. Then proudly adds that her lovely deli is no exception to this.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on,” I explain to her, laughing a little on purpose to try and ease the tension. “I did come prepared, my pen just ran out of ink.” Apparently, she didn’t find this situation as humorous as I did. “Well that’s not my problem, is it?” I couldn’t believe it. She then disappeared behind the bar in a hurry, telling me she had customers to tend to. (I saw two men in the entire restaurant, maybe three.)

Jesus. H. Christ. It’s not like I’m trying to buy the bar from you, woman. Although at this point I think I would, just so I’d have the power to control who gets hired here and who doesn’t. (Hmm, guess who’d be the first to go?) It’s a pen. How hard is it to take ten seconds out of your incredibly busy schedule (*cough*, sarcasm, *cough cough*) and provide me with a writing utensil that’s sitting not even five feet away from you? Seriously? Were you really that set on teaching me a lesson? Boy did you show me. I don’t think I’ll be able to eat for at least a month now, I feel so guilty. Pshh. Please.

Frustrated and tired of pretending to play nice with my friend at the bar, I stuffed the blank piece of paper in the deepest part of my backpack and left DeLeon Deli with no intention of returning my application. I know jobs are far and few between these days, but the whole ‘customer is always right’ concept is still ranked pretty high in my book. Even if the customer happens to be a potential future employee.

I’m not a person who gets fired up that easily, either. Patience is usually one of my better characteristics and I often use it to my advantage. However, there was something about the tone she used that got to me. Almost as if I were the lesser being in her eyes; like she’s on some sort of higher pedal stool in life just because she started a career and I’m looking for one. Which I find to be rather funny. I mean, come on now. She knows damn well that she had to go through the same job finding shit that I’m currently experiencing. Everybody has to start somewhere.

I guess it’s for the better though, right? Hell, maybe I would have got shot in a robbery working at this place, so God made the bartender go into ‘bitch mode’ for a few minutes, knowing I wouldn’t come back with an application because of it. Or maybe I’m overlooking the fact that I’m just another stubborn 18 year old who thinks too much about things and can’t get a job to save her life. Whatever it is, I can’t explain it, so I won’t try to. Wish me luck on tomorrow’s pre-planned adventure. Destination McDonalds. Haha, just kidding. I’m not that desperate. Yet.