Our Tattoo Girl, Jaime, is thinking about looking for a new job, after she was saved from that aborted date with co-worker Corey by her loyal cat, Mr. Mittens. Something besides being a manager at OfficeCo.
This post is standalone, but if you’d like to read earlier installments, please see links at the end of this post.
Tomorrow Jaime would call Tamara. Tamara might know how to get started.
Tamara did know how to get started. Resume . . . Indeed.com . . . cover letter . . . informational interviews . . .
This was going to be complicated. Tamara, talking a mile a minute like usual – Jaime had forgotten about how fast Tamara talked – spouted job-seeking advice like the geyser waters of Old Faithful at Yellowstone National Park.
Oh. There was that awful memory. She and Anton, driving cross-country on their honeymoon fifteen years before. He was starting work for a new law firm in Houston shortly after their wedding, and she, of course, was trailing along. What had happened to those hopes she had had of doing her art when they settled in a new city? After living in Seattle all her life, never quite getting around to art even after studying, even after getting that two-year art degree, she had somehow thought a new city – Houston – would charge up her art appetite and that she would somehow start making projects in an as-yet undetermined studio space. But when they arrived, after all, there was that apartment unpacking, and the little space she had thought would work, that semi-den off the living room, didn’t work. All it did was remind her of the art she wasn’t doing. Houston – hot in mid-July when they arrived, and humid all year around – seemed to shut down her artistic urges, rather than inspire them. She had forced herself to go to the free art museum admissions on Thursdays for a while – but going alone (Anton was too tired after work) – only reminded her that she had left friends and family behind in Seattle.
Old Faithful. The day they came into the park – only a half-day, Anton had reminded her, so that they could stay on schedule – they had been arguing. He, wanting to drive straight through, she, never having been to Yellowstone, wanted to linger, see the “grand canyon” of Yellowstone, the elk, the paint pots.
They had driving straight to Old Faithful. They had stayed long enough to see the geyser spout. Then they had gotten back into the car. And driven straight on into eastern Wyoming, down through Oklahoma and into Texas.
Jaime laughed, now, remembering she had seriously thought about getting out at the gas station on the east end of the park. Hitching a ride home – or calling her parents to see if they could send her bus money. But she’d thought it too crazy. And she had sat in that car, Anton’s Mazda RX-7, all the way to Houston. Not saying much. – As though he’d noticed.
So now, when Tamara talked her ear off, speaking quickly into her ear, Jaime couldn’t take it. “I’ll think about it,” she said.
“Well, if you want help, I’m here for you. You know that,” Tamara said, her voice softening.
“I’ll think about it,” Jaime said again. Mr. Mittens, sitting across the room in his perch on the window sill, closed his eyes in that expression of comfort that only cats can make.
It didn’t help that Tamara was related to Anton. His sister. But she was the nice one in the family.
Tamara said, “Listen. I can help. I just worked with a friend who needed to change jobs, like really fast – the place where she was working was a hellhole. And – four weeks later – she started at Starbucks, in a management track – which she loves. Go figure. But anyway – I re-wrote her resume and found four or five jobs on Indeed.com, she applied for three of them, and boom! She got the job.”
Jaime said, “Well, okay. Yes. That’s a good idea.”
But it didn’t seem like a website like Indeed.com would list jobs in her category. Yet . . . what was her category? Hmmm.
“But,” she added, “don’t make me sound like not-me. You know.”
“Yeah,” Tamara answered. “Yeah, I get it. What do you have that you can send me? Anything?”
Jaime was sure she had an old resume. Somewhere. As she hung up the phone, she called to Mr. Mittens. “Well. Want to binge-watch on Netflix? I’ll make the popcorn.”
Everyone was so encouraging about Haunted Wedding Dresses, posted in several parts, that you inspired me to share more about Jaime, our girl with the tattoo and the protective cat, Mr. Mittens. Thank you!
Have you ever moved to a new city? Did you have hopes for doing things you hadn’t done before? How do you manage a feeling of loneliness or isolation, especially when you are writing or doing art? I’d love to hear your thoughts.