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[Author’s note: portions of this text were taken as excerpts from the following
letters: jen46, sherrichat06, barbar67, e-mail to Josh 11151998, e-mail to Josh 11161998, and rose24.] The Fruitcake Newsletter vol. 2----issue #2----November 1998 introduction How surpassingly lovely it is to have such a knack, this uncommon talent I have, for pissing people off. With my newsletter alone, I have now upset (on a wide range of severity, from mild disconcertion to all-out pissed off) five people. Certain portions of other writings I have done in the past have upset people as well; for example, as far back as 1989, I upset a friend of my mother’s for killing her off in one of my stories (for some reason she got her nose all bent out of joint over it). However, not since I began this newsletter have I had such a concentrated record of putting people off. It’s a lot like the people who wrote letters to the editor at The Daily Evergreen, only people tell me over the phone or e-mail now, instead of the comparatively anonymous safety of writing to an editor. It’s no secret that opinions are like butt holes (I know that’s crude, but hey--the more common usage of the term I decided to forgo here because I’m being nice). “Everyone has one, and everybody thinks everyone else’s stinks.” Well, I don’t think everyone else’s opinion stinks, but there is a very large percentage of the population, whether related to me or not, who thinks my opinions stink to high heaven. This is where I get into trouble, because I consistently write about how I feel about just about everything, always chancing the consequences. The point of a newsletter may be “drivel,” but with nothing written in that indicated about how I felt about anything, this newsletter would be horribly pointless, not worth a single sentence--and certainly not worth thirty-two cents a copy. Occasionally I consider discontinuing this newsletter, but that would very possibly upset more people than I do when I actually distribute it. What to do, what to do? Well, I can’t lie to any of you. I’m still a cocky little twerp snob, and this is my response to the criticism: I will say once again that taking me too seriously is most often a very dangerous thing. Now, of course, there is a happy medium here--I would not say that absolutely everything I write in here should be taken as a joke. However, most of my readers know what a smartass I am, and any cracks I might make are never meant as an insult to any particular reader (maybe people who I know won’t read it, but with my newsletter posted online, that would not include many people). I never intend to sound like I have any sort of personal vendetta against anyone of my friends or family at all, and I pray that one day everyone will finally understand that fact. I was never out to “slander” or “libel” anyone, in any single letter from issue #1 back in October of 1997 to this very one. This newsletter is not USA Today, nor is it The National Inquirer--it was never intended to be on the extremes of seriousness (or lack thereof) of either of those publications. I have no intention of reporting only the day-to-day occurrences with no filler to augment my creative writing skills, and neither do I intend to write it just to report “dirt” on people. The point here is to tell about my life and the things that happened in it, along with my personal reactions to it. It all comes from my brain and my brain only, and naturally that means I’ll say things other people don’t agree with. This is not propaganda, however, and I am not here to change anyone’s mind about anything, or to make anyone look any worse or better than they make themselves look in my eyes. In any case, no matter what the intention is of the writer, the text itself is always open to interpretation, and the reader can take it how he or she feels. The writer, however, cannot be blamed for every misinterpretation. This is only my life and comparatively insignificant things related to it, reported from my own perspective. That in itself is hardly profound, and for that reason profound reactions to it are hardly sensible. I will say once again (I don’t know how many times I will have to say it before people actually start believing it) that no matter what I may write, I have no more or less love for any one person who I write this newsletter for than any other person who reads it. Okay, so I can get irritated with people, and so I vent it through writing. It really doesn’t mean much in the grand scheme of things. Anyway, that said, I suppose I’ll move on to this month’s list. The following are all the people who have not written to me a true letter in more months than I have the energy to count: 1. Angel Benson (last letter received 9-6-1996; it’s been a little while, but at least I get to see you every so often, as well as your adorable baby . . . ) 2. Danielle Hunt (last letter received 7-15-1998; not a bad record, at least compared to the rest of the people on this list . . . still, it’s been more than four months, and even though we talk every so often, you’re still on the list again . . . if you get bored with this you can always just throw it away, I’ll never know . . . ) 3. Darcy Hartsell (last letter received 12-28-1995; even that was just a newsletter, but hey--better than nothing. I am ashamed to admit that I was in Olympia and had the chance to come and visit you, and did not even realize that fact until after I was already on my way home. I hear about you so seldom anymore that I forget about my chances when they come up--I’ll make more of an effort to think about it in future visits to Olympia, it’s just been too long since I have seen you . . . ) 4. Dawn Adams (last letter received 6-12-1997; I know you have a pen and paper somewhere . . . oh, and I hope you had a great birthday, since I wrote this on the day of your birthday and you will not read this until a week later . . . ) 5. Gina Yarbrough (last letter received 3-6-1998; only nine months ago! You should write while you’re waiting in your car more often . . . ) 6. Jennifer Miga (last letter received 2-8-1998; only three more months and it will have been more than a whole year since you last wrote . . . do you really want to do that to poor little old me?) 7. Kim and Sherri McQuilkin (last letter received 10-28-1996; though your e-mail picks up some of the slack there . . . can’t wait till Christmas!) 8. Paul McQuilkin (last letter received 9-16-1998; I should really answer that letter here one of these days . . . it’s the only letter I have ever left unanswered for so long. I never break my word, though, so I will promise you now that I will answer it within the end of the year, and that way I trap myself into getting it done . . . ) 9. Raenae Lanning (last letter received 2-29-1996; actually, you did write about two paragraphs in the graduation card you gave me in May, but that’s more like a note... ) 10. Rick Benson (last letter received never; some things you can always count on, so, you know, that’s nice . . . ) 11. Shane McQuilkin (last letter received 7-18-1998; you have actually written to me more recently than anyone else on this list, so you should be proud of yourself . . . I guess . . . say hi to Heidi for me, tell her I’m blissfully happy . . . ) As for the people who still continue to write to me on a regular basis, there is now a new person who is an official common correspondent! In addition to Grandma McQuilkin, who achieves the impossible by writing to me even more than I write to her, Auntie Rose, Jennifer McQuilkin, and Barbara, my great Uncle Jim (maternal grandfather’s brother) now writes to me plenty. So now, for the first time in literally years, there is an equal chance I could get a letter in the snail mail from one of five different people on any given day. There was once a time when that number would be fifteen instead of five, ah, those were the good old days--but hey, these are the harsh realities of the present, in which not even people who write by e-mail do so very often. And what, then do I have to say to the rest of you people? Are you hovering on the edges of your seats? PPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPBBBBBBBBBBTH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! a month in the life of a fruitcake --Jack Kerouac, from On the Road (1955) Isuppose the logical place to start here would be Halloween. Hey, why not? Last year, if the bulk of you will recall, I went strolling around the WSU campus in my “normal boy” costume. This time I wanted to do something just as extreme, but very different from that. I opted for the one other way to go around as the antithesis of Matthew--that is, dressed in as stark a white outfit as my normally stark black outfits. Instead of black hair, nails, make-up, and clothes, it would all be white. This was perfect for the costume that Sherri suggested for me--an angel. I really wanted to come up with something on my own instead of taking suggestions (which is why I rejected the admittedly brilliant suggestion of Danielle’s the I go as the stain on Monica Lewinsky’s dress)--I wanted it to be my own creativity. However, when Sherri suggested I be an angel, it was just too perfect. First of all, I did not cut out sleeve holes in the white cape I bought, as I had originally thought I would, but rather only cut slits for the wing straps to fit through, which are completely hidden when the wings are worn. I wore a white wig with hair longer than the average man’s hair but far shorter than mine-- which was bunched up under the wig, and got rather hot by the time late evening rolled around. I found white pants and white slippers (women’s size 6, rather small for me but they served their purpose) with the white socks and white dress shirt I already had--which I wore untucked. I wore the hooded cape as well, which helped to hide the black hairs that stuck out from the bottom of the wig in the back of my head. As for the make-up, I discovered on Halloween morning that somehow or another, the white eyeliner that Jennifer had given me did not make it into my backpack. I was not sure how I was going to remedy this situation, until I found that while I applied white eyeliner, it was rather easy to color the eyelashes with it as well. I also colored in my black eyebrows as best I could with it--which would have been much more effective had I used the mascara for that, and I was later told my eyebrows actually looked blue. Still, they were close enough to the stark white of everything else I was wearing, right down to the nail polish. I was, in fact, the one and only person who came by the house that day who dressed up in such detail. Dad and Sherri both had rather simple costumes--Sherri was a lumberjack and Dad was a Hawaiian tourist. Gina only wore the Herman Munster T-shirt and jean jacket she won over the radio, and Angel did not dress up at all. Sherri told me I should have had Angel go as a devil, which I thought was a brilliant idea, but it was obviously too late. Still, I had both my still picture and video picture taken standing next to her--an angel next to Angel. As usual, Halloween was an open house at Dad and Sherri’s--whoever wants to drop by can; this is the only holiday not limited to family and the occasional really close friend. The only icky person to come over this time was the husband of an employee of the restaurant--a man who was obviously very drunk, and a bit obnoxious. I was very glad when he left; he made us all uncomfortable. Sherri told me later that he came up to her at one point during the evening and said, “I just have to ask you about that guy in the white.” “That’s my son, what about him?” she asked, in a deliberately innocent manner. Then he backed off. My wings kept on jamming in doorways and bumping into people. My cousin Toni told me I kept hitting her with them, so I said, “Well, watch where you’re going!” Everyone who actually knew me thought the costume was great--and Angel later told me she thought I could have won a contest with it. It was certainly the most “made up” I had ever been in my life. To be referred to as “the guy in the white”--there’s a bit of a stark contrast there, wouldn’t you say? Aunt Raenae and Grandma McQuilkin both exclaimed that my costume was “cute,” and Grandpa only looked at me and said, “You’re not an angel”--and then he promptly went down to his usual spot in front of the television, presumably to take a nap. Anyway, Halloween weekend was a rather nice visit, even though I obviously bummed my grandma out when she discovered I was not going to come out and visit her at the campground she was staying at. I happened to get a very nice one-on-one visit with Gina, though, of a very rare kind, and the original intent here was visiting Olympia anyway (as opposed to Mother Nature’s Acres)--so I decided to stay put, and all was fine as far as I was concerned. I later decided to drive it home with Grandma that the only reason I will be in Olympia for Christmas instead of Thanksgiving is because she is going to be there (my being there because of her is, indeed, of highest importance to me). After making definite point to point this out, she did not complain again. On the actual day of Halloween, Dad and Sherri had to work, and they did not get home until rather late afternoon. However, I put myself in costume straight out of the shower, and ended up walking around the house by myself in full costume--wings included--for hours and hours. I finally took the wings off and then Gina arrived before I knew it, to watch the rest of the home video I had taken up to that point, and I put the wings on again for her. I then kept them on until almost all of the visitors had left that evening. At one point I went along with Dad, Gina, her ex-husband Dave, and their little kid David trick or treating, because I was in such full costume. David was rather odd, I thought, in having such desires to go home after covering only about three blocks--saying he thought he had enough candy now. A few kids we passed liked my costume, though, and one of them said, “The tooth fairy! Hey, I lost a tooth last week!” I did not have a penny to throw at his feet. The cape I was wearing was really cool, and rose and fell in a wonderfully graceful manner. I could spin and it would swirl around in waves. Gina told me while we were out that it reminded her of Stevie Nicks, so I started walking down the street belting out Stevie Nicks songs until Gina finally said, “Okay, you can stop now.” I didn’t really eat lots of candy, though--at least not as much as I have in years past. I discovered Nutrageous for the first time, though, and I have a serious addiction, which isn’t helping my attempt at losing weight. So I go out and buy doughnuts to keep my mind off of the candy bars. It’s just way too easy to find cheap junk food in this town . . . In other news, the first two weeks of November I was put under house arrest--by my cat. Yes, that’s right. Right at the beginning of the month, my 23-pound cat blocked my way out the front door and yelled at me, “You can’t go anywhere until you finish giving me useless antibiotics for a full two weeks! You have to shove white liquid down my throat two times a day and I’ll hate you for it! Then, only two days before the treatment is finished, I will pee on your carpet AGAIN, thus proving that medication as an attempt to get me to stop peeing outside the litter box was a complete waste of time and money for both of us!” Then he tilted his head back and let out a maniacal laugh: “Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha HA HA HA HA HA!!” Batty has me wrapped around his finger (er, paw), and so I just stayed home and resented him for those two weeks. Nothing seems to be clinically wrong with him here, and sure enough, two days before I was to take him to his follow-up visit at the vet, he walked right over to my closet door and started scratching at it. I was just waking up, as it was morning. “Wake up!” he yelped. “I just peed and there’s nothing you can do about it! Neener neener neener!” I got up and gave him a good whack, and then I cleaned it up. He peed near the front door later that day--and, inexplicably, has not peed outside of the litter box since. I think he’s a vindictive little jerk who likes to torture me. As soon as I remove the blanket from the front door, he will probably pee there again. There’s a double purpose for that blanket now, though, because it keeps cold air from coming in through the front door. In more recent weeks it’s been Peng who has been irritating me the most. “Let’s play let’s play let’s play let’s play!” he loves to squeal, even when I am trying to sleep. “Hey, what’s under the blanket? Hey, what’s this thing sticking out of your ear? Can I eat it? Hey, what are these, blinds? Oh, I can remedy that--you’ll be able to see through them real quick! Hey, are these speaker wires for me? You shouldn’t have! Oh my god! Toilet paper! Let’s make a trail that goes all the way across the apartment!” Just last week Peng actually killed a mouse in my apartment. Yep, that’s right . . . and I can’t use it for my old computer anymore. Thank god for keyboard commands! Peng also has a particular affection for me only while I am sitting on the toilet. This I have never understood. For some reason, if he even hears me pulling down my pants and sitting on the toilet, he will actually bolt into the bathroom, jump onto my lap (not always getting the right grip, which makes my legs feel great!), and say, “Pet me pet me pet me!!” I’m living with a couple of retards. At any rate, they are now perfectly healthy retards, and I suppose that’s the most important thing. The next notable thing to happen this month, which was during my house arrest, was when I made a break for it and had my hair done. That was not the notable thing, though. This would be better represented by showing you what I wrote about it on the very day it happened, in during an online chat: Mfruitcake: I was indirectly asked out on a date about an hour ago. [chat correspondent]: tell me more Mfruitcake: I turned it down. I was having my hair done [chat correspondent]: who was it Mfruitcake: and suddenly the lady who colors my hair started saying, "I don't know if this is appropriate but . . ." Mfruitcake: She said someone there had there eye on me. [chat correspondent]: who??? Mfruitcake: "Oh, really?" I said. I actually thought it was a guy, because so many people assume that I'm gay anyway. Mfruitcake: I never found out who it was. I just found out it was a she [chat correspondent]: why did you turn it down Mfruitcake: I told her that I wasn't really interested in women, though I do like to keep an open mind--in a sort of backwards way. I never even found out who it was, that's why. I found the situation odd. She said, "At least it's flattering"--that's for damned sure. [chat correspondent]: will you ask next time who it was Mfruitcake: I tried to ask who it was, and she seemed uncomfortable with the idea of revealing that. [chat correspondent]: maybe it was your hairdresser Mfruitcake: Well, I suspect the woman might have been in the room at the time, and I find that kind of intimidating. I thought of that, that it might be the hairdresser herself, and then she told me about her boyfriend--so it can't be her. [chat correspondent]: maybe a cover up Mfruitcake: She told me it's my eyes--"She's like oh my god he has such beautiful eyes!" she said. I don't think it was a cover-up, I think I would have sensed that. I trust her. [chat correspondent]: what else has been going on Mfruitcake: Apparently whoever had their "eye" on me is going to a cocktail party on Saturday and doesn’t have a date. [chat correspondent]: it might have been fun to go Mfruitcake: I've never even been to a cocktail party, let alone a date, I wouldn't even know what to do or how to act. I thought about it, briefly . . . I told her I'm really shy about these kinds of things. [chat correspondent]: just be your self and drink soda Mfruitcake: I tried calling back when I got home to see if she would tell me whether or not the woman was in the room while we talked about it, but she was with a client. Had I gotten a hold of her, I might have told her she could give the woman my number. Now it seems too late. I don't mind though, because the whole thing was scaring me. I don't know why. The unknown I guess. "Undiscovered country," if you will. [chat correspondent]: what did you have done today at the solon. Once you do it it's not unknown any more Mfruitcake: She seemed to get nervous when I asked if she would tell me who it was, which makes me suspect the girl might have been there. I had my roots done and a trim. [chat correspondent]: I'll bet it was her Mfruitcake: I was told the other girl doesn't have natural hair color either. But it's obvious that every single one of those girls have dyed hair. I don't think it was her. And if anyone wants to have a boyfriend and go out with me they can forget it. This was a very strange incident for me. I’m just having my hair done, and suddenly Tiffany (my hairdresser) starts thinking aloud about whether or not what she is about to tell me is going to be appropriate. The next thing she said was that someone there had their eye on me, and the first person to pop into my mind was the guy who comes down from the phase 4 section of the salon to take my payment whenever I am done--I have a feeling he is gay, and he’s rather attractive. I had simply assumed that Tiffany figured I was gay, and I was rather taken aback when she said it was a “she” who had this eye for me. I was thinking about this while I walked home, though, and realized that I am more impressed by this than I am surprised. Trendy light-headed blond that she is, it proves that she does not judge someone by their mere appearance--a trait that is extremely uncommon (even I am immensely guilty of it). I have a mind to tell her of my being impressed with it when I next get the chance. I keep wondering if I should have accepted the offer. Then I think once again about the weird situation--why would I agree to go out on a date with a woman I had never even really met? It would, essentially, be a blind date, and I don’t know that it’s such a good idea for my first-ever technical “date” to be a blind one. Tiffany apologized a number of times for putting me on the spot. I really don’t think she was referring to herself, though I certainly thought it might be when she wouldn’t reveal who the girl was, and said, uncomfortably, “Unless you want me to . . .” However, I did not want to turn around and put her on the spot, and this was something she obviously did not want to say. This made me suspect it might be her, but then the way she referred to having lunch with her boyfriend just a few weeks ago in a restaurant downtown (she mentioned it because we were discussing downtown beggars; apparently she was eating in a downtown court, and she was so irritated with a scummy guy who came up and asked for change that she actually yelled at him, “Get out of here!”) just gave me the feeling that she was telling the truth. There was also the way she referred to this mystery woman’s obsession with my eyes, quoting what she said about them. Tiffany did tell me herself that I have beautiful eyes and that even with the make-up it looks really natural on me (thing is, she has never seen me without make-up on), but I still don’t think it was her. And if I found out that it was her, I’m not sure I would be that comfortable with Tiffany as a person anymore. I mean, how weird is that--come on. It’s flattering to think someone would be that nervous about it, to refer to themselves as “a friend,” but it’s a situation that just doesn’t sit well with me. Regardless of the situation, deliberate deception kind of bothers me, you know, just a little bit. Not long after that incident, I almost got myself into something terribly stupid. Let me explain: I was passing by this wonderful 23-story residential tower, located one block west of the Paramount Theater. They have studios, one-bedroom and two-bedroom apartments available for rent. It is either my incredible misfortune or an incredibly wonderful coincidence that the apartments are available on the exact date that my lease here runs out--December 1. I wrote down the number on their sign, came home, and called it. I was half-hoping I would hear something right off the bat that would make the move impossible, so that my chances of falling in love with the place would be crushed and I would just move on while living here. However, this studio apartment is just too tiny and I'm sick of it. I have gotten two new large pieces of furniture since I moved in--a love seat and a new four-drawer filing cabinet--and to say it's getting cramped in here would be an understatement. Anyway, as luck would have it, I did not hear much at all over the phone that I found discouraging. My first question was of the issue of highest importance: "Do you take pets?" To my complete surprise, they do. "We take anything under twenty pounds," she said. "Oh," I said, sounding mildly disappointed. "Well, I've been trying to get him to lose weight, but my cat weighs 23 pounds." She kind of laughed and said they would take a big cat. I told her I had a kitten as well, she said that was fine for their two-cat limit. So then I asked about the rent. This varies depending on the size of the apartment as well as the view. There is one apartment on the 14th floor--certainly high enough--for $1200 a month, and another (both one- bedrooms) on the 23rd floor, which I believe is the top floor. This one goes for $1650 a month. In both cases, there is 5% off every month for a six month lease, and a 10% discount for the first six months on a twelve-month lease. The one on the 14th floor has a view to the southwest, which means that if it is strictly southwest, then I would see directly down Pine Street, and at that height the farmer's market sign would be included in that view. The one on the 23rd floor is a northwest direction, basically in the exact opposite direction--only towards Capitol Hill. Utilities are included in the rent, except for a quarterly $70 surcharge (if I heard her right, though I must say that at what I pay monthly for utilities here would still amount to less than that over a year). I forgot to ask about laundry, but in a building like that there must be laundry facilities readily available. It looks as though they have a manned front desk in the lobby. Even though I love to go as high as possible, I also would love a view of both the skyline and the water, which the cheaper, lower one would give me and the other would not. At $1200 a month, it's nearly twice as much as rent I pay here, but it's still something I could afford to pay for at least a month, even if I didn't have a job--and I hope to get one here soon anyway. I'll get to that momentarily. I admitted to the lady that I have an inexplicable fascination with high-rise buildings, and that was when she said, "Just wait until we get our decorations up! This year there's gonna be a tree on top of the building!" That was absolutely not doing anything to discourage me. It may have been my biggest mistake to actually go over there and look at the apartments sometime during the following week, but I never did. I called my dad, and he did indeed give me the right advice--mostly because of his own declaration that he himself is too practical. Regardless of the fact that I really could afford to live there for a year, I really shouldn't because it just plain isn't practical. I could find much better ways to spend that extra $425 a month (which is the difference between my current rent and the $1050 I would pay a month there with a 10% discount on a one-year lease). He did tell me, though, that I definitely should go and look at the place(s), just so I could see exactly what I would be getting for that amount of money. I thought about it, but never got the guts to do so, and now it’s too late--the sign is no longer out. I have now come to a pretty clear decision. As Dad and I agreed on, there is another way to go about this, a compromise that would give me what I need most--extra floor space--without giving me all that I want. However, it would get a tich closer to what I want, at least. This is it--the next time a one-bedroom becomes available in this building I am already in, I will move into it. The last time there was one available, it was for $775 a month--only $150 more a month than what I pay here, and that's a hell of a lot less than the other place. Not only that, but my dad reminded me of the fact that the manager told me when I moved in here that I could move into a one-bedroom as soon as one became available, even before my six-month lease ran out. She had a couple one- bedrooms available a few weeks ago, and so a couple of weeks ago I went down to the lobby to see if the sign outside still said "vacancy"--and it did. However, when I called her machine the next day, it said that there are no vacancies at this time. I called the manager later, though, and got a hold of her. I am now on a waiting list for the next available one-bedroom in the building I am already living in. That sign switches between "vacancy" and "no vacancy" at a rather steady rate, and I was told that another one-bedroom may be available by the first of the year, which I’m sure I can handle waiting for. I was thinking about the layout and location of this building, and I have come to the conclusion that it is only the studios that have no view to speak of, other than the building across the street. On every floor, however, all the other apartments would have views I would like. On the east side of the building, for example, apartments on all floors have a view of the Space Needle either through a window or from a balcony--or both. In one such apartment, I could watch the Space Needle New Year's fireworks show from my own home. In addition, those same apartments would have at least access to a view in the opposite direction, seeing much of the skyline to the south. On the West side of the building, all of the apartments would have a view of a good portion of the skyline to the west and the south, and all the apartments from the third to fifth floors would have a view of at least some of the water. One would think that all apartments in between would only have views of the building across the street, like I do now--but those middle apartments also have windows opening to the south, which I do not have. Granted, they also open up to the walkway where people would be walking by all the time, but it would still have a good enough view of the skyline to the south. What I have decided is that the best option is an apartment on the northeast corner, which would have a spectacular view of the Space Needle, and apparently is the most spacious of the one-bedrooms in the building. In any case, I have come to the conclusion that absolutely any apartment in this building besides the other studios would be better than what I've got, and it would only be $150 more a month. In addition, it would probably be the easiest move I ever made in my life. So, I'm just going to wait until another one becomes available and see if I can't get that one. It's the best way for me to solve my problem of lack of space. As far as working goes, I am now in contact with an employment agency. This is the case after a brief inquiry with Kinko’s, the last possible thing to actually come out of that 415-resume “launch” that I did back in August. I must have sent a resume to every Kinko’s in the greater Seattle area at the time, only to have a little card arrive in the mail about two months later, which gave me the number of their “career connection” to call and find out when their open interview hours were. At the time I just discarded it with the vaguest intention of calling them one day. Then one day--about a month after that--I found it again while cleaning my apartment, and decided to call for the schedule. After a failed attempt at making it to the open interview hours in town that week (failed because my cat also had a vet appointment duringt he same hours), I went down to the Kinko’s in Tukwila, where they were having the open interview hours the next day. It was not long before I had mixed feelings about this whole Kinko’s thing. The giant scope of size in this company I find intimidating. In addition, my interview experience there has made me very aware of how dependent the world has really come to depend on superficialities, most notably making decisions based on automated evaluations. I find it creepy, actually. I know this kind of thing has been around for ages now, but it’s the first time I have had such close experience with it, and I am realizing how increasingly common it’s becoming. I don’t suppose I should complain, though, and should just be thankful if I happen to land a job somewhere. In terms of part time work, I can’t expect anything more than your average customer service job anyway, I don’t suppose. Still, the one meeting I had there meant little overall; it was nothing but the first stage of the “screening process”-- which actually involved not only a quiz on paper, including both mathematical problems and situational questions asking for solutions (both of which rather insulted my intelligence), but a phone quiz that lasted five minutes, and was fully automated. I had to answer yes or no questions by pressing either the one or two buttons. My response time was even monitored; I found the whole thing kind of odd. I got a good vibe from the woman with whom I spoke--Karen Foote, her name was--and I even got the feeling that she got a good vibe from me. However, all her job seems to be is part of the “weeding process,” and it’s simply up to her to refer me to branch location managers to see if they want to speak with me. In the context of wanting part-time work for now, I had a chance at either the new branch opening on Third and Marion, the branch on Capitol Hill, or the branch in Tukwila that I went to for that one meeting, which takes forty minutes to ride the bus to but I would have to leave an hour early in order to be there on time. I would have preferred the downtown branch, except that apparently the most part-time hours I could have gotten there were sixteen, and it sounded like I might have been able to get more on Capitol Hill. Of course, all that is possibly available to me is entry-level, and if I were offered this job then it would really mean that my whole “launch” back in August was complete- ly for nothing--actually I already know that to be true. In any case, my professionally written resume has yet to do me a single favor in all of this. Sometimes I wish I were older, because I am very aware of how young I am and how naiveté comes with the territory. I’m getting tired of that. On the other hand, I really have no desire to wish my life away either. I refuse to force myself to live unhappily, and quite frankly I don’t care about how naive that may be at my age--I don’t believe anyone should do that to themselves, no matter what their age happens to be. Anyway, the only way I could work my way up any sort of ladder is through timed evaluations--three months, six months, a year, at which times there would be other things I could become eligible to interview for. I was told that how many hours I work a week does not change the timing of evaluations, but at working part-time people do not tend to have the necessary capacity for promotion because of the lesser amount of time of experience using the equipment. To tell you the truth, I think I would, even if I were only working part time--because I am very familiar with a lot of their machinery already, and I learn about these things quickly. The lady made it sound to me like it didn’t matter who I was, starting salary is between $6.50 and $7.50 an hour--a window of one dollar in which the branch manager has the discretion to decide. Taking the average of that possibility predicts about $7 an hour, which means I would make $560 a month at twenty hours a week, and that’s before taxes. I would probably decide to go to full time by the beginning of next year, though, which would mean I could be making $1120 a month at forty hours a week--again, before taxes. Even without taxes, though, that would indeed cover my rent, and even if I had to occasionally dip into my inheritance money, it is doubtful that I would very often have to dip into the principal. If I were to decide to pursue a job there, then I would have to go full-time for a week for training--”typically nine to five,” and I was not told whether or not it would be paid. When I went through training at CCI in Spokane it was paid, but that was only two days and it was in the same location as where I actually worked. In this case, whoever would be my boss would by wholly separated from the branch in which I trained--the week of November 30, which is when I would train if I ended up being let in, the training is apparently to be at the branch location in Tukwila, where I went for that meeting. This means that for a full week I would have to be gone ten hours a day--eight for training, and two for bus travel. I have never undergone anything like that before, but I am sure I would live through it. I was told that if I am was not called by the end of the week, I should call her back again. She gave me her card, I finished filling out my last form, and I left to catch the bus. I did not, however, ever call her back. I met with my Auntie Rose for lunch the following Wednesday, and when I told her that I was thinking of working for Kinko’s, she seemed a bit befuddled by it. During that visit with her, she said something that really stuck to me. She had asked a friend of hers, who is a successful ghost writer of novels, if she had any advice for her writer grandnephew, and the lady told her to tell me, “Follow your heart.” “Oh, do you make a living at it?” Auntie Rose asked her. “Well, yes, actually I do,” said the lady. This made a very big impression on me, and it made me realize very quickly that my heart was most definitely not in working at Kinko’s--in fact, it really gave me a similar vibe to what I got when I did phone surveys in Spokane, and that made me deathly unhappy. In addition, I also referred to something my dad once told me just a few weeks back, which I don’t believe I will ever forget for as long as I live: “If you can’t decide whether you want to do something, then that means you don’t want to. If you really want to do it, then you know.” I had been agonizing over whether or not I wanted to work at Kinko’s, and these words of my father’s made me realize that it obviously meant I did not want to work there. He had also told me that an employment agency might charge me up to 30% of my salary as a fee, but then I figured, even if an employment agency found me a job I liked better than Kinko’s and paid me at least $10 an hour, even after a 30% decrease I would not have been any worse off financially than I would have been at Kinko’s--and I would be happier. So I decided to call an employment agency. I looked through the yellow pages, and found a full-page ad for a place called Business Careers, which professed to be the oldest employment agency in town. They had a web site, so I looked that up on the internet first--where I found some job listings, one of which was an administrative assistant position that involved writing and producing a company newsletter. That was the kind of thing I would be very much interested in, and even though I never had a chance at getting that particular job (which paid a $30,000 salary to start), it was the precise reason why I called the number. I went in and met with a young woman, who seemed impressed with me in many more ways than I expected, even telling me on the spot that I’m “obviously very articulate.” I took some tests again, only these I did not mind taking--a data entry test and a typing test on their computer (to my surprise, she actually said “That’s fantastic!” when she saw that I was tested at 52 words per minute, on a keyboard I was not used to using and therefore I was typing slower than I normally do). I also filled out some forms, and I was let go and I would be called later. I almost forgot to mention the best part about them, though--I went in there expecting to have to pay for this, and found out I don’t have to pay a cent. It’s the hiring companies who pay these people, which I considered very, very good news. I did tell her, though, about my slight disappointment in learning that they are strictly a full-time, permanent placement agency--no part time and no temporary. I told her that the only way I would consider working full time is if the position needed the use of my writing skills on at least a minor level. I got a hold of her today, and she said there is nothing of that nature available right now, but she will still keep my file active. I am now thinking of waiting a month or so for my very specific wants, and then perhaps refining my qualifications so that I can find work more quickly (because, as she hinted to me, if I wasn’t so stingy about the writing thing, she would be able to get me work right away). So once again I am in a state of decision making limbo. Oh well . . . I’m getting used to it. My financial advisor, Dan Burr, actually suggested to me a couple of weeks ago that I re-write my resume and start the whole “launch” thing all over again. He was also, however, the dink who suggested I go to Career Improvement Group in the first place, and I do not want to go through all of that again. So maybe there’s a price for convenience--I’m willing to pay it. Once was enough for that particular route, and now I am exploring other options. I am, however, still re-working my resume, though I have an easy form to follow-- for the Business Careers people. This is the third version of a resume I have had in the past four months--yay! I think next week (actually, this week, from the perspective of you readers) I will call the lady at Business Careers and just see what there is available--no harm in that, now is there? One other trivial but interesting tidbit: I recently bought the 1999 World Almanac and Book of Facts, the most wonderful collection of both useful and useless information in the world today. There was a page in there that said what the most common names of baby boys was during each decade over the past ten years. As it turns out, during the seventies, during which both my brother and I were born, the most common name was Michael--my middle name, the second most common name was Christopher (my brother), and the seventh most common was Matthew. Michael and Christopher were #1 and #2 during both the eighties and nineties as well, and during both those decades Matthew was actually third most common. I guess I never really realized how common I am. . . . And last but certainly not least, I still have more to write about the holidays! In fact, yesterday was Thanksgiving, and as I sit here finishing this newsletter, I just got back from the Spokane airport earlier this afternoon. I had quite a nice holiday, actually. I got to see Christopher and Katina’s new house, which is quite large and could indeed use some rebuilding here and there. In any case, it is a very spacious place and feels very homey. I stayed the night over there two nights, not realizing I forgot to leave food out for my cats until it was too late. I felt really, really bad about that. While I was there, I figured I might as well forget about things I had no control over, and so I bugged everyone with both my cassette tape recorder microphones and my cam-corder, just as I do every year. I was even able to get a copy of both my brother’s and my mother’s weddings for myself. Thanksgiving itself was the first time that all of us (meaning Mom, Christopher, Katina, their kids, me, and now Bill) have been together at one time since Mom’s wedding in May of 1997. Dinner was very nice (even though I didn’t eat any yucky turkey--I passed the plate saying, “Poor thing,” just to see who I would irritate), and I got plenty to eat. (And, unfortunately, they had egg nog, so naturally I gorged myself with that.) We even had a pumpkin pie that was one of many my friend Danielle baked from scratch, and brought over to us the night before. I had two pieces of it. Mom brought me all of the letters that I wrote to my maternal grandparents before they passed away, which they saved. I found it very interesting to look at all the old envelope designs I had sent them--and I realized in a very big way that my peak of envelope design creativity seems to have come and gone long ago. Well, maybe one day I’ll make a come-back. I haven’t read any of the letters yet, I’m not sure how I will react. It might be almost creepy . . . but we’ll see, I guess. Anyway, I got plenty good fun both on tape and off, and it was one of the finest family get-togethers of recent memory (the only one in recent memory, come to think of it . . .). Hopefully we can make such visits a yearly tradition from now on. Much as the holidays seem to bring out the worst in so many people, this holiday was spent with nary a scream, and no flying food particles. I quite enjoyed myself. Today, as soon as I got home and fed my cats, I promptly put up my artificial Christmas tree, which is now standing and lit with chasing lights in one of the corners in this puny apartment. I also have chasing lights around my two windows, and outdoor lights lining the railing to the balcony outside. It looked fairly nice when I went outside to look at it, I thought. I’m feeling very Christmasy this year. Looking forward to the holiday. the writing history -- Richard Bach . . . Well, as many of you have probably predicted, I did not get anything published this month. I did, however, take a suggestion of Barbara’s and enter one of my stories into a contest. I mailed a copy of The Open Door (currently posted on my web page) to the Spokane-based newspaper The Inlander. The rules said only how many words the stories could have, and that they had to be set in the Inland Northwest. Well, the story was set in Pullman, so that worked--and I sent it in. If, by some miracle, I was to win, I would get a $100 gift certificate to Auntie’s Bookstore in Spokane, my story printed in The Inlander, and I would give a reading over there as well. Barbara said in her letter, “You have a real chance of winning,” but I must say that I will be rather surprised if I do. As for actual fresh writing, the only thing I have done is a new poem since I wrote Shepherd, which you all read last month. I thought I would share the new poem with you, which is called Time 2 b u. Who r u 2 tell me It’s time 2 shed my idealism Time 2 grow up Who r u 2 tell me Instantaneous exorcism Is not quite enough Change is on the way But it’s got 2 b my way There’s an individual place 4 all these things There’s a time and place 4 all u bring Change can b strange But it’s the only thing Time will always bring And taking time is a crime When instant gratification Is the only satisfaction A grin is a sin When u love the wrong thing U’re only happy when your heart is breaking But the globe only spins At the very same rate Manufacturing dates We have only one life 2 live Through the days of our lives Is this all u have 2 give Or can u tap in2 your element of surprise? Who am I 2 tell u It’s time 2 shed the superficial Time 2 love your inner child Who am I 2 tell u U have only your initials Use them 4 what they’re worth and run 4 miles Change is on the way But it’s got 2 b your way U have your own pace 4 all these things There’s a time and place 4 all we bring Change can b strange But it’s the only thing Space will always bring And taking space is a case When that instant development Is the only envelopment A smile is so vile When u’re amused by simple trends And it’s something u violently defend But the world goes around To the very same sounds --But only 4 a little while We have one life 2 live Until the nights of our deaths We have so much more 2 give B4 issuing that very last breath It’s time-- I became me so long ago Now it’s time 4 u 2 b u It will take some work I know But if I can have faith in me Then I can have faith in u It’s time It’s time 2 b u (“copywrite” 1:00 pm sunday november 15 1998) . . . That is about it. Other than all of the above, I am only looking forward to the things to happen in the future. Hopefully I will get a job here soon. I will be going to Spokane a second time on the weekend of the 11th; to Olympia again for two days over Christmas; Danielle may come to visit me for New Year’s. All is well and wonderful, and now I must close so I can figure out the rest of my Christmas shopping, which I will no doubt write all about next month. I do wish you all a very Merry Christmas. this has been presented 2 u by matthew mcquilkin on behalf of fruitcake enterprises (11/27/1998) P.S. Donations accepted. |
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