A sleek black business-casual purse that fits my wallet, passport, mobile phone, my religious relics, 3 Steinbeck books (which also means one paperback later on), cigarettes, keys, make-up baggie, iPod, sketchbook, moleskine, pens, high-lighters, & the new pink leather planner I bought today (adorned with my own Wonder Woman sticker inside). It also has room for a bit more, too, like if I ever find my maruja change purse.
It's all so neat. The important stuff in the back, next to my body, the keys & mobile phone in front for easy access. It all seems to fit, no matter what else I remember I need.
I'm also the best-dressed person in the office. Well, at least the office I did the skills test at. I shone in the sun during the fire drill, with my cute black Beatles-shoes-for-girls heels, red shirt, sleek black pants & my perfect black curls. I wonder how the call center people will be dressed. Hopefully they'll be dumpy, cos I don't have a lot of choices for this week until I get paid. I just have two pairs of pants, & three or four shirts to choose from right now. But when I get my amazingly hugest ever paycheck on Friday, I'll save money for art class next month, then go shopping with the rest.
I did quite well on the skills test, they said. I got 100% on the matching & filing parts, then 72% on the computer skills part, since they kept asking for Excel formulas I had no clue about. I forgot the score for data entry, but I only made 14 errors throughout the entire thing & they said that was super. As soon as I pressed the button to print the results, though, the fire alarm went off, & I had to stand out in the sun for fifteen minutes or so. That's when I saw how everyone was dressed.
The best thing ever was that after they told me I had the job, & I agreed to a pre-job job for three weeks, I walked out of there like I owned the place. As I was pulling out of the parking lot, God reminded me how I'm not hot shit, & my rear-view mirror falls off. I had to drive to the gas station (took a wrong turn, of course, so the ride was longer) without a rear-view mirror. I was in a rush to beat rush-hour back home (just wasn't ready for it) & the guy told me it would be 30 or 40 minutes. I wanted to cry or break something, but did neither. I just asked him could it be quicker than that, & my manipulative powers worked. I only had to wait 20 minutes or less.
I ended up getting my car fixed this weekend, cos I started & then aborted a road trip, & thought Henry might need the tune-up. He has four new tires, a new serpentine belt, new rear brake cylinders, & some more stuff. I love him. He's always been so reliable. All I had to do was sit there for 2,5 hours reading a book (Steinbeck's Tortilla Flat), drinking coffee, smoking cigarettes & listening to classical music. Hard work, indeed.
Tomorrow I go in for paperwork, & an introduction to the job. I have my two forms of ID, bank account information for direct deposit, & a sunny disposition. I recently learned how to do a fake smile that looks real (but feels awful), during Tina & I's dance-a-thon which included wigs, props & a camera. A dream of mine came true that night, we sang 'Bohemian Rhapsody' together. I never pictured myself dressed in a b&w kaffiyeh during that scenario, though, which made it all the more amazing. (This all reminds me, I should write about Boston soon.)
Am I nervous? Yes. Am I scared shitless? Not anymore. Am I excited? Only for the hour-or-more-long drive there during rush-hour, during which I will sing along to Tiny Tim & other extremely happy but twisted music.
I just need to conjure up to strength & not fag the fuck out.