Economy: 1, Me: 0

Stop 1:

The call went through the store like an assembly line: “Where’s Mike? There’s a…young lady here to see him.” “He’s in the back – Joe! Tell Mike there’s a young woman here who needs him!” “Mike, there’s a young woman here who wants you!”


Hmm, maybe some background info? I was out scouring my neighborhood for part-time jobs (or full-time jobs, I’m in no position to be picky) that could fill the hours – and my pocketbook – outside of my internship. Last week I made buds with a liquor store employee, and he hinted that the management might be looking to hire as the holidays approach. At his urging, I was following up with the store’s general manager.

 Which is why this long train of men carrying crates of alcohol were calling through the store for Mike about a “woman who wanted him.”

 Thank you for the awkward set-up, liquor store employees. You’ve managed to make me simultaneously feel like a nine-year-old (Dad only whipped out the “young lady” terms when I was in *deep* trouble) and some floozy propositioning her wares (“Mike, this woman wants you”). Mind if I partake of this here rum?

 Not holding my breath for a call-back on that one.

Stop 2:

Fun-looking pub that I’ve passed several times before. Had a nice chat with the general manager, where I endured some good-natured ribbing about being from Montana.

“Yeah, actually the Montana Senator comes in here a lot,” the GM said.  “He’s a BIG guy…and he can really PUT THEM AWAY. Wow. Actually, yeah, all the guys from that office are pretty big guys, and they can all drink A LOT.” He sounded impressed, not judgmental.

 “Yeah, that’s how we roll in Montana.”

 Yes, I actually said that. I think it actually helped my chances.

 Stop 3:

Uneventful. Other than suffering through yet another rolling of eyes when I mention I have a day-time internship. You and every other moron in this city.

Stops 4 and 5:

Two Irish pubs. Me like Guinness.

 At the first one, the sorority-girl-seating-hostess half-heartedly flipped through a shuffle of papers on her little hostess stand before calling out to the bartender.

 “Sorry,” he told me, “check back later.”

Similar story at the second, sans Sorority Girl. Actually, sans females of any kind – I sidled up to the bar and a whole gaggle of football-watching ex-footballer-esque men turned to stare at me. (This seems to happen to me a lot…)

“What kind of position you lookin for?” asked the barkeep.

“Anything that pays.”

Barkeep smirked. You and every other moron in this city. I clutched my dignity and thanked him anyway, lingering for a moment to get an update on the Michigan game. The screen was across the room, so I squinted to catch the score. Unfortunately this prompted a return from Barkeep, who apparently thought my squinting and lingering signaled some kind of disorder. “You okay…you need something else?” he asked condescendingly, like one of those playground bullies who’s trying to impress the other playground bullies.

“Uhhh no, I just wanted an update on the game.” Like I had told him earlier. Learn to pay attention.  Whatever – my team was losing, and so was I the longer I stood there, so I left.

Call back? Probs not.