So this is how Day 9 on the Richlandia job hunt went: up at 7:30am, sunlight streaming through the window from the east. Part way though quiet time my mom says breakfast is ready. So I go. No need to be all high and mighty about my QT, rather, eat while it's hot. Deftly avoid last week's Thursday morning topic of conversation and finish tranquilly.
Back in my room, I realize there is no way for me to catch the 9:25am bus so opt instead to take my time, take a shower, etc. Select appropriate pre-interview outfit and run out the door at 10:25am tossing an easy "I've gotten good at this" to my mom as she locks the door behind me. Half way down the block, think, "I don't like this jacket. Not for today." Oh well-it and continue toward the stop when the #26 blows past me (at the helm: the driver who yesterday complained about increasing property tax to pay for education initiatives trickles down to renters). Gah! Walk slowly back to the house. At least I can change my jacket now.
Compare schedules to make sure the 10:55am will align with the #120 to Kennewick
I truly love the bus. I don't know what's come over me. I can only imagine that I experience each ride wearing Big Apple-colored glasses. I love the fat old ladies who travel with their doggies. I love the quietly chatting kids with angst-dyed hair and skateboards to roll home on. I love the smelly dudes nodding off in the handicap seats. I love the crotchety drivers. I love that it costs a neon-green stamp-sized ticket (valued at $1) to board and that I get a newspapery torn transfer slip in return. I love that I can wear headphones and really, if I actually did everything right, rides would only take on average ten minutes longer than it would to drive.
Fade out dream sequence. As scheduled, we arrived at the Knight Street Transfer Station and I hopped on the #120--my first inter-city ride! Due to my own stupidity, I got off too early and instead of walking (here's where this post's title comes into play) on the weedy dirt path (sidewalks end abruptly in Richlandia) to my intended destination, I decided to wait the half-hour until the next bus. At the Three-Rivers Transfer Center (I may hit them all before long), I enjoyed the sun, the side view of the county jail, Infinia Corp's shiny solar dishes, and best of all made friends with a middle-aged Iraqi lady named Thrwi. I know, how the heck do you pronounce that? Well, all I can say is that it sounds like it looks. :) Immigration officers must be much cleverer than they were when my parents came to this country.
Finally, at around 11:40am I am in a financial services office sitting with the nice lady who informs me they have already filled the position but she'll keep me on file. I was kind of stunned to get a sit down chat with anyone on the spot but I guess this is how things happen around here. And I was glad I had missed the first bus so that I could change my jacket. Really, the first one was the (if you know me well) polyester maroon jacket with golden-yellow fuzzy lining that my uncle got back in 1965 or something--older than me is all I know.
Back on the WB (or 'westbound' for all you personal car people) #120 I asked the bus driver is there was a stop close to the (sniff, I'm so sad it's not Espresso World anymore) Coffee Roaster place and she said no, the route turned onto Jadwin before stopping. No harm, just a few extra 100 feet. She later stops just in on Jadwin before the marked stop for my benefit, pretty nice. It's no good though, my left heel is already bleeding from too many steps in nice shoes. I finally make it to the job hopeful lobby and tear the little flap of skin from the back of my foot.
The office is locked. I leave the folder with my info perched on the handle of the door and leave. Text my friend Debbie to see if I should go back and receive ‘ABSOLUTELY’ in response. She's the one who gave me the idea to apply, so, I wait. The massage therapist from downstairs says she thinks he just went out to lunch. Meander over to the river and gaze. I time how long the baby geese stay underwater when they dunk. It's about 20 seconds. You were curious, right? Then I check back at the office, still not there. Do I catch the 1:15pm or wait more? I choose wait because 1) I'm already here with a cover letter dated Mar 4th, 2) I'm already dressed up, 3) I already have a blister, 4) I have no other pressing things to do.
Second cool interaction: I go into the salon where I don't see the massage therapist but another also beautiful woman in the same uniform and ask her if she has a band-aid. She says, "I do!" and quickly fetches it for me. Now that is customer service. Amazing. Flowers might be overboard but if I had more money I'd consider it, I felt worlds better.
Finally met the guy around 2pm after a bowl of black bean chili (another surprisingly good thing, and only $4) from Rosy's Diner. Done. It's an awkward time now, just missed the 2:15pm so I walk along the river passing moms pushing strollers and retirees puttering after dogs. I feel out of place, and more so because of my hat, shiny pink jacket, skirt, and dress flats.
Two shots of the Columbia
Catch the 2:45pm after standing on the warm, dusty corner across from Denny's. Home around 3pm. Just over four hours start to finish. Eh, what's an unemployed girl gonna do anyway? Blog about it.
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