The End of a Telemarketer's Money Rolls

So the job ended.  My fast talking newspaper slinging ways ended that summer due to my neglect in coming into work.  My house had apparently burnt down that summer and we temporarily moved across town.  My job location was no longer on the way to the grocery or the bank.  No ride, no job--it was piss.
But I was resilient, the job market was still mine for the taking.  I was going to be the best at something?  I had to wait till we found a better place to live for the school year before the hunt could actually continue.  We stayed in a hotel room which was absurd for that large of a family then we moved to a trailer in neighboring town for a few weeks.  The trailer was actually kind of nice.  Living in a wide hallway is kind of fun.  You just stack your shit up the side walls and live in the center.  (this is my current living situation).
The trailer was just a temporary fix though.  My mother soon found a small cottage house in down town Belleville that was really her dream home.  There was an entire room filled with ceramic dolls and plush light blue carpet and a fancy couch.  The desk drawers all had papers and stuff in them from the owner of the house.  It was like living in a strangers house for a few months while our old home got rebuilt from the fire damage.  The landlord lady would come in sometime unexpectedly with her key as if she had a right to our paid for space. I think this was the beginning of my dislike for the landlords. 

And honestly the term landlord makes me want to barf. The Lord of land, the entitled land owner is a lord?  It is weird! There must be a better word for people with extra space than lord.

Well my next job was at Jack in the Box.  It was a legacy. Two of my older siblings had worked at the box and now it was my turn be the best drive through attendant possible.  Burgers and French Fries!

My First Job

Found in the newspaper--potential $15 per hour(more money than I have ever made).  I quickly notice that they also take workers permits, which is essential to my unemployed status at 14 years old.  I give then a very nervous call and request an interview--Bing!  I get one the year is 1996.  I did not realize at the time that everyone got jobs and the world was made of gold.  I have to then convince my mother that it is not a waste of her time to take me to the interview.  I accomplish this goal by letting her know that it is on the way to the grocery store.  I am a shoe in at this point.  I don't have the slightest idea as to what the job even is-- but I know I want it...

A job represents all that is good--not being poor. right?

The sweetest woman in the world has me sit at the only real desk in a gray painted cinder blocked room.  She hands me a wrinkled but laminated sheet that spills out a diatribe of rushed information about The Belleville News Democrat---the worst paper maybe ever.  I then look around the room at the people husslin' on the phones and become aware that I am going to be the best telemarketer ever.

I read the script to the woman with perfect clarity and even followed the given responses to her hesitation to wanting my beloved paper---but mam, we have made changes to the paper and the coupons found inside will more than pay for your subscription.

Bonnie is the queen on the telemarketing business.  She runs the office alongside a real creepster named Kieth.  Kieth had a mustache, the blond kind.  He also had some questionable teeth that I will not go too much into detail about--scummy.  Bonnie would motivate us with hostess snacks and playing cards--like we were all fat gamblers.  Who ever makes the next sell would win the snacks or toy.  It was like playing BINGO at the old folks home.

Sometimes I would wait on a dead line after being hung-up on and listen in on my fellow pioneers.  Larry the old dude with the pedophile glasses was the hardest sales man--you could frequently find him yelling into the phone-mean style-almost threatening the potential Newsprint client.  He was a crazy dude--life long newspaper sales guy--he had been with he outfit for the past 11 years and generally had the best sales of all of us.  You could also find him talking on the phone completely out of script--but they let him because his lies worked.  I would borrow from his technique occasionally. 

Then there was Simon who's approach also worked wonders, but I had no way of replicating.  He was a smooth talker and womanizer.  He gave those housewives something to want.  He was close to my age but let the ladies think he was a young 40 year old. I would catch him faking a southern cowboy style accent from time to time.  He wasn't the bad looking but he rocked that 90's metal hair with the long black hair on top and the shaved underneath--kinda nasty.  We got along really well and share cigarettes on our 15 minute breaks.
Life was good that summer.

Over Worked Under Paid

So I hear about this lucky group of people that are under-employed.  Does that mean you work less than 40 hrs a week?  That should be every one.  Just raise your hand if you would rather work 35 hrs a week for a living wage instead of working at least three different jobs for near minimum wage and still have no security?  By security I chiefly mean health care or dental care or at the very least when you go to the dentist you could still get paid for the unfortunate time you are loosing because you are in crazy pain and maybe aren't physically able to gather a pair of 4 inch heals for your sweet client.. etc... 

So what about the over employed under paid people?  How did they find so many jobs in the current economic climate?  I thought there weren't any jobs?  Well the truth is the economic situation has little to no real effect on the truly screwed stupid workers.  I don't intend to sound mean but I have not worked smart.  My reality is one of direct stupidity. I work about 60 hours per week and I am well below the  poverty line but the biggest kicker is that I can not benefit from social programs due to my contract work status.  I have what is called an entrepreneurial spirit.  I make my own economy.  I make, I sell, I hustle, it is like a bad poem for your standard impoverished.

I was over employed long before the economic down fall.  I did this shit when I was 16 working for $4.25 an hour I would take home about $650 per month after taxes I would work around 45 hrs per week and went to high school.  Those were the good old days of energy, ulcers and cigarettes.  Life was truly wonderful.  I have just grown weak and unable to feel satisfied fully by my underpaid state.

The American dream of working hard and and being able to accomplish your goals is a load of shit in a basket gently delivered to every baby.  It is like being baptised into a religion before getting the opportunity to read the documentation.   Growing up with the broken down Camero in the lawn if just the visual of the American Dream. This dream creates poverty and and a strong over worked class of people that are the back bone of this country.  These people (me included) get shit on from every direction.  They are the waiter and waitresses and the baristas and bar tenders that wait on the guilty. That is why I have to tip. Go ahead ask them if they have health insurance--they don't.

I blame my discontent of the movie Amelie.  She works at a really slow cafe and has a beautiful apartment and time to change people's lives in a positive manner.  I hate movies and Sweden this shit really exists worker have rights other places.  A right to health care and vacation is really important to the human condition.  We get sick, we get burned out on our life, we need things....  We can not continued to  go on or we will start to look the part.  No Teeth, Stomach Pain,  Poorly fitted dirty clothing.  When will I look my stereo-type?    
  -Ms. Kraft

Naturalizing

Recycling, Bathing, Getting Pedicures, Reading Books, Joining organized social institutions such as book clubs or softball teams.  IS LIFE THIS BORING, where did the optimism and energy go?  I am merely planning out every boring moment by the next obligation-vaguely hoping for a a new story or a strange interaction.  Why can't a slightly over weight mother of four tell me she used to turn tricks in the New York subway?  Why can't I find a bug that is carrying a joint on its back?  Where do I meet the strange and confused---I just want to fit in... please?

Contemplating waxing strange parts or rearranging a living space---starting to watch television--wondering what the hell the youth are doing with all that damn technology at their finger tips!!

I want to revert back to the fresh-juicy beginning of aspiration.  Where was it when things were exciting and worth the further research.  The introduction of subject matter into a conversation, the gumption of uncharted conversational territories, discussions of the color puke orange,  Stupid Aesthetics

Coffee so dark it's purple

With the grounds being present and the sludge at the bottom of a perfectly constructed cup, I sip the first believable energy of the day.  Everything before was false--the agony of leaving the bed, the stumbling for slippers, the cursing at the dogs.  My assist down the back stairs to let the dogs out was foggy.  The morning is a shit basket.  The only real solution is maximum caffeine, a jolt into action, with leads to the hurling power to continue on with my unplanned day.

The first effect of coffee on the body is false optimism.  The original head rush and quickness of the hands then comes the guttural feeling dark down from one too many beers from the night before.  The seeping regret of the pickled okra making its way across the landscape that is your intestines.  Coffee enlivens the reflexes of the digestive process that needs no real help from my liquid of love.  The morning is a shit basket.

WHAT I COULD DO...

Well life is full of things that are completely unreasonable and really intimidating.  The further I surround myself with delightful and predictable occurances the further I am placed from real objectives.  So here is the list of could the underlying ability or potential that may never come into fruition.
I could get my portfolio together in such a way that would shock and amaze all potential design hiring staff. I could rebuild another loom and start a  rag rug company that would smash the minds of on-lookers to a point they would be willing to buy a beautiful rug for a price that would break the bank.  I could get a teaching degree and grow old with three month off each year and slowly but inevitable learn to hate youth and be unable to pass along any useful knowledge.  I could get an artist residency then become stricken with anxiety to a point of complete failure and need to move away entirely-which might be good thing.  What can one continue to do?  I start to thing of the folks I know and wonder: will they be ding that forever?  I think economics is against us and the idea of comfort and consistency is dead.  There must always be change and an upbeat rhythm to life and work.  My life is joyful but I feel the need for change I just hope the work tide is ready for me.

Jet lag Nausea

The heat boils and the humidity is thick.  I feel the slimy oil being puked out on the sides of my nose.  The summer hurt is here and the days are longer.  I look forward to the longer days, until I realize the obstacle of burning out the day light, staying optimistic till the sun goes down and maintaining a summer energy that is acceptable.  Perhaps longer daylight is just away to exhaust the already tired and broken people.  Now when I eat I feel sick is it the heat or the jet lag?   

It Hurts

The pants are jabbing into my gut leaving those endentions that proves that the chub runneth over... the cheese cake was pretty good-you know... and the pizza had spinach on it with a thick home made crust and the thought of ice cream enters the brain.  Ohhh planning out the next culinary glut... should I make some cookies? the kind with oatmeal and chocolate chips// am I a woman the chocolate ebbs and flows though my veins //the nasty donut holes at the gas station and an Aldi's madagaskar chocolate bar then yet another donut but this time with the filling.  I feel the sugar crash Now I suppliment with caffeine-oh it seems so right--a small dallup of cream and a squeeze of honey.    coffee the color of paradise 
The swollen mildly glutten intolerate tummy and thick thigh of womanly girth you prove fine in this rainy night air.

The brain hurts and the mucus gland are rockin'

The digestive adventure begins (just glad I managed to avoid the pork products)    

Some Beautiful Shit Be happenin"

The real champions of the economy have been out propagating around town.  I have seen the idols of my past that should have been vividly described in all fifth-grade essays.  I found my self as a fresh 12 year old unable to choose an ample person to look up to and write about when presented the daunting task of writing about my idol in 5 paragraph form.  I always chose Abraham Lincoln because he wasn't a racist and thought of the poor. The excitement of actually seeing the people I should have been writing about is overwhelming!  It was kind-of like seeing a famous person-if you are into that.

specimen# 1....Man riding his bike. This champion of nature was hauling up a hill faster than the Tour De France. The sheer power in his legs is enough to put him on the idol list.  But this man had a driven economic purpose.  He was hauling two huge bags of crushed aluminum cans.  I am not sure how he had them fixed to his body, but it was masterfully placed.  There was very little bobbing and shaking.  This man had the ingenuity and power to collect, crush and transport some prime recycling.  This man should be employed by the city to beautiful and repurpose the trash of the less ideal.

specimen# 2 ...Woman looking good.  She was outside the Del-Taco.  She was wearing a green pastel printed tee-shirt.  This woman was giving out free performance art of the most joyful kind.  Not the type of situation where you feel traped and obligated to participate with horrible undertones of pretension.  There was no thin white guy trying to make you clap or sing akwardly for the purpose of his own self indulgence.  I am talking about pure beautiful joy being belted out at an intersection in a red brick filled city by a sweet taco joint.  This woman had the thighs shaking and and the vocals vibrating.  There were the large style earphones on her head givin' the good guidance.  This is the type of performances that need to be occurring.  The type that make you feel good and a little bit guilty for being in your lame-ass vehicle viewing the world through some tempered glass.

I have more champions of the city that I have seen in the last week feeling the ides of spring.  These folk are the real powerhouse behind America and give me the feeling that maybe the dream isn't dead but has just changed.

 

There seems to be a mouse in the box

The dogs are so depressed that they haven't even requested their first meal.  I have been watching the slow demise of the mouse completely paralyzed by the entire situation.  Such a sweet little creature with gray-brown fur that of course spreads death and eats my dogs' food.  Maybe the dogs know that they are out of food and don't want to pressure me financially. Sweet dogs...You can't buy dog food with food stamps, but you can buy soda and hostess products(which are filled with roaches). What a perfect pairing! Hostess and the poor.  What better way to systematically kill off the impoverished than by encouraging them  to eat high glycemic low nutrient garbage for about 75 cents per waxy roll of doughnuts. delicious

The mouse got out alive/but I am still concerned with the dogs mental state

I am now rejecting the applications to all jobs. So your position posted says you want experience? Ha Ha I reject you! What! you need a designer with my exact qualifications---you know......, maybe you should go fuck yourself.... or maybe do the job yourself... Or you could underpay and over work some other self loathing bastard that subscribes to the work harder get further mentality.

I am going to start sending rejection letters to all jobs that I have an interest in before they can reject me. I will at least regain the two hour span of time it takes just to fill out an application. Are you more critical, understanding, apathetic, gregarious, skinny, white, or do you know someone that works for us already? Which best describes you? How have you directed others when faced with an overwhelming obstacle? How can we best abuse you--given your meager pay and needs to provide food for yourself. You know, You are replaceable...abusable, tolerant, compassionate, creative, thus able to be paid very little.

Well done, you have earned yet another rejection letter--go ahead pry yourself out from under the poverty line. Get that terrible job that won't let you sit down because if you're not in pain you're not worth the eight dollars they are rolling out for ya.

stickin and stabbing in Kansas

I never thought that would be in a hospital setting selling my body for the sake of money and pharmaceutical advancement. But when your young they feed you that line of shit where you could become the president and save all the broken kittens. Life is poor, I am poor, this is it. oh and the scars on my arms are not do to any drug addiction but from a long voyage to find employment.

Now come with me and see the travels of me.

I am 28 year of age with a red Irish face I get from my lovely mother and fairly negative outlook on life and the universe. You see I can not locate that ship that has been searching for me. I believe in anthropology and fashion as good indicators of social-economics.

I recently got a perm do you think it will come back in fashion? Or will I will accept the the social implications?