I got another job the other day. This time it wasn't a dream job, it was completely out of the blue.
A few months ago I told people I was going to London for class this summer. At the time I wasn't excited and I just told people so that someone would be excited about my opportunity. And they were. My mom also through the idea out there that she may be able to hook me up with a job/internship across the pond when the class was over. It sounded good on the surface, but there were several underlying factors that led me to the quick conclusion that I could not take it. There was too much here to leave behind for that much time. There were friends I wasn't hanging out with, a girl that wasn't talking to me, and a lot of other things I wasnt doing; how could I leave?
Those people I told, the people that were excited for me, scolded me for not taking such a chance. What do they know? They don't know the people I'm not talking to, the ones who don't talk to me anymore, or the things I'm not doing. They couldn't understand what would be good or bad for me.
The job, the one I recently got, was pretty mysterious. Again, I didn't know what the job entailed. I did know it was in Japan… or Eastern Europe… or London; one of those. I took it. I packed my computer bag with everything that was important to me and set sail. When I got there a co-worker was to pick me up for the airport. He didn't. I was supposed to get a company car when I got to my new residence. I didn't. It was a nice residence. Some 80 stories tall, steel and glass, ultra-modern in an ultra-hip city. It doesn't get better than this. Only a big shot lived like this.
I spent some time getting to know the city. I ate at the restaurants with the most stars, I met the people with the nicest clothes, and drank the drinks for the top shelf. This is it. (Maybe they were right.)
I went to hop in my hot silver lexus and drive home, instead my coworker was parked in his hot silver lexus where my car was parked and told me he had been instructed to drive me home, and that from now on I would only be allowed to leave my residence for work or when I was given explicit written permission by the all mighty higher-ups. Uhhhhhh… this isn't what I signed up for. Wheres my car? Wheres my job? Wheres my check? My once apartment, now cell, had been moved my co-worker added. Just up the stairs. I was on the 41st floor, now I was on top. That couldn't be bad, right?
I grabbed my single bag of belongings and a half full warm beer and began the hike up the stairwell, the elevator was broken. I kept going; 67th floor, 68th, 69 (get it?)… keep going. 78th, 79th, 80. Home? No… one more floor on this supposed "80 story building" I was ordered. I opened my door and climbed a cold rusted ladder straight up about 8 feet. I entered my room from the inside of a rooftop HVAC vent at the top of the ladder. A stainless steal hipped roof. Seriously? My room was the roof? I set down my bag and scoped out my space. It was cold, windy and obviously very "open". Now I'm not interior designer, but "open" is "in" right? Post-modern, ultra chic, feng shui shit I guess. No, fact remains, I was moved to the fucking roof. I couldn't quit. I was locked there. Who knows when I would finally be given my work schedule, or explicit permission to go out again. This is it. (Maybe I was right.)
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