Friday, September 7, 2012

Diary Of A Degenerate 8

I drove to the church first, secretly hoping they would deny my application right away. If they offered me the position I would be obligated to accept it and I would be scrubbing the holy shitter within the week. There was no one in sight when I walked in, so I just wandered around until I found the back office. A fat priest sat at the desk with a judgmental look on his face, his judgmental eyes peering over his judgmental bifocals until I cleared my throat and got his attention. He started explaining right away that they had no soup services until friday afternoon until I interrupted him and explained about the janitor job.

It didn't go well. He commented that he hadn't seen me before, which I understood was a bad thing since this was a supposedly "holy" place, and he could tell just by looking at me that I was one hell of a sinner. When he asked me which church I attended I stood up and told him to fuck off. I had enough of their guilt-laden bullshit as a child and I wasn't going to put up with it every fucking day just to pull a minimum-wage check. He seemed startled, which surprised me. I was sure assholes like him were told to fuck off pretty often.

On the way back to the car I looked in my wallet to see I had three bucks and some change to my name. And I still needed gas. This convinced me not to go home right away and try the elementary school about that job. After all, I probably only had a few mouthfulls of pissy vodka back home anyway.

Walking up to the front offices I was getting winded by the goddamn stairs. I already had my doubts about working at this place even before walking through the door. I approached the desk where a secretary sat behind a desk sorting some papers. The look on her face made it clear that she didn't think I belonged here. "How can I help you?" she asked. Not even a 'sir'.

"I'm here about the custodial position." I explained, trying hard to sound and look presentable. "I applied yesterday." "Oh, yes. Well, I haven't gotten around to reviewing all the applications yet. We got so many of them... the economy, you know?" she said through smiling teeth. "I could probably get you an interview, but maybe you want to come back a little later?" She was still sitting down so I was fighting the urge to stare down her blouse, even though they weren't that spectacular from the looks of things. "Why the fu... I mean, hell would I want to come back?" The moment I said it I realized it came out aggressive. "To freshen up. Frankly sir, you smell like alcohol."

I just walked out of there laughing to myself. She said ahe wanted my name to give me a call when they were ready to interview, but I knew she just wanted to pull my app and trash it. I drove home thirsty for whatever swill I could dig out of the discarded bottles in my apartment. When I opened the door I was depressed. Vanessa was gone, but she had cleaned my place like a fucking madwoman. I bet she didn't leave a single near-empty bottle in the garbage for me to salvage. Then I saw it. A fresh bottle of single malt sitting on the counter with a short note.

"I left a couple dollars in your end table drawer and there is some food in the fridge. You didn't have anything! Give me a call if you ever want to see me again- Vanessa"

There was $60 in the end table. I put the music on and laid into the bottle with a big smile on my face.



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