Seriously.

today i walked into my favorite local art store. it's pretty new, but they had a few in tempe/phoenix when i lived there. a nice little independent store. with good supplies. and not craft shit. i love stores without craft shit (fuck you knitting/puff paints/scrap book supplies!!!).


and lo and behold. holy effing shit. bitching mother fucker. a handwritten note taped to the door. if desperation had a typeface, it was definitely printed in it.


HELP WANTED PART TIME

help wanted!!! and i want to help!!! i've been trying to help for a year! and in an art store!!! without a uniform!!! so i can wear jeans and tshirts and sneakers and be happy!!! and never would i have to begin a sentence with "would you like anything to drink?" "hey can everyone be quiet? i need to take attendance..."

and part time even! lord knows i don't like to fully commit to anything - but to partially commit?? oh i can do that. i've been doing that all my life!

GIVE ME AN APPLICATION!!!!

OH - AND LET ME MAKE A PURCHASE TOO CUZ I CAME HERE FOR THAT REASON SPECIFICALLY!

(i got a swweeeettt new sketchbook btw)


so i fill out the application. it looks good - save for kinda sloppy handwriting - but what did they expect when they hand me some old bic?? this bitch uses GEL PENS. get real, please. but come on - FINALLY an application where putting down "BFA isn't laughable! and maybe...is even PREFERRED!!


i hand it in and continue on my way. about twenty minutes later when i'm nearing my neighborhood i am reflecting on m day and i realize...

i didn't put my phone number on the application. anywhere. no where. not any place. no place. no line. no box. no nothing.

fucking. crap.

but see - this is how we know i've grown as a person over the last year. previously i would have just left it was it was. i would have continued home, maybe slightly bummed, or maybe slightly in good spirits because shit - that is so fucking retarded it's lame. here i have been, laid off for months, and job searching/being rejected from everything so much that i'm depressed and borderline miserable and i blow the opportunity of a lifetime! (and yes, sadly, this is just that for me.)

but no. I'VE GROWN. call it desperation or call it adulthood - but i picked up my phone, 411ed the shit out of that store and talked to the cashier.

"uuuh...hi. i just filled out an application there but i didn't put my phone number on it..."
"oh...haha, well, that's odd. let me fish it out for you!"
"okay, also, let's pretend this never happened and that i'm not an idiot."
"nooo problem..."

the irony? i gave them my phone number...and they will never, ever call.