Renting is a Nightmare

Renting is a nightmare.

Being a single female living alone makes it an almost literal hell. (The difference being that in hell, it doesn’t matter that your heat won’t turn on, and it’s rent free. So.. maybe this is worse than hell.) When I first moved out of my parents house, I lived with my then boyfriend and some of our friends. We never really had issues with the landlords and they never really had issues with us. But when we broke up and I moved in with a girl friend of mine, things really took a turn for the worse.

We moved into the lower apartment of a duplex in what we later found out was the crack neighborhood of our small city. Which really isn’t as bad as it sounds. It’s probably comparable to some of the best ghetto neighborhoods in other bigger cities as far as drug use and violent crimes go. But it certainly did make for some great entertainment when we would look outside and see trashy people chasing their 12 dirty kids down the street. Or when one of the many people under house arrest across the street tried to make a break for it.

It was a decent apartment. There were flaws, but you can expect that for what we were paying in rent. It was well worth the money. That is, until landlord decided to blame his insanely high water bill on me rather than paying attention to the leaking pipes from the upstairs apartment (I’m talking puddles and puddles of water leaking every time they used their shower). Then he thought I would forget the fact that the water bill was included in the rent. Unfortunately for him, I didn’t forget. I also didn’t have hundreds of dollars to fork over. So it just wasn’t going to happen. Even if he had asked nicely. Which he totally didn’t. He responded with a 5 day notice to pay or get out. I could have probably disputed it, but why on earth would I want to continue renting from this asshole?! So we decided to go for the “easy out” of the lease, packed our shit and got out.

The day we got our 5 day notice was the day another friend of mine was moving into his brand new 2 bedroom artist loft downtown. He offered the extra room to me and I accepted because quite honestly, I had no where else to go. And I had been friends with him forever, so I was confident we would get along (we did). This apartment was beautiful. It was in the basement of the building and we were the only unit with a private entrance, which we thought was pretty stellar.

Boy, were we wrong! Because of this private entrance, ours was the only unit to flood when it rained. EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. Let me tell you, it’s a great feeling to get out of bed in the morning. It’s an even better feeling to get out of bed and directly into a puddle of water covering almost the entire apartment. So we called the landlord and they sent over a cleaning company who brought several industrial sized fans that made for some great toe stubbing adventures in the middle of the night. Each time it flooded, these fans were in there for a few days. So most of the time you couldn’t hear yourself think. And don’t even get me started on the humidity and heat that comes from this ordeal. It stayed about 95 degrees consistently, and you could barely breath in the thick air all around you. Did I mention that this is a BASEMENT apartment? Oh.. I did? Well did I also mention that it was BRAND SPANKIN’ NEW? Oh.. Well, consider that a friendly reminder.

This happened 3 times before I moved and another 2 times after that before they finally let my friend out of his lease. Did they clean up the problem? Yes. Did they fix the cause of the problem? Nope. They were even showing the unit to prospective renters before my friend moved out. Which was also before they fixed the problem. I’m sure they never told their potential renters why my friend wanted to move so desperately.   

After wading through treacherous tides and being generally shit upon by the universe, I moved to Minneapolis. Moving into an apartment here made me realize just how good I had it when I was rolling up my pant legs and using a shop vac to dry my floor.

For starters, the garage door opener didn’t work. The building management company refused to replace it because it was oh “so expensive”. So I had to go buy one myself (let’s ignore the fact that it took me 7 months to do this…) for a whopping $40. As of right now, my garage door opener is about a month old. Last night when I came home from work, I pulled up to the garage door, pressed the button and nothing happened. I sat there for about 10 minutes staring at the immobile door and pressing the remote button harder and harder like that was going to make it suddenly start working. I was a bit angry at this so I got out of my car and slammed the door hard enough to knock the window off the track (which is a whole ‘nother situation I now have to deal with..) After a bit of investigation, I discovered that the door itself had broken, not my remote. So there I was, sitting in my car with the driver’s side window stuck open in the rain, trying to figure out how the hell I was going to get it into the garage. To the credit of the garage door company (NOT the building owner), they got it fixed a couple hours later. But this is just one of the many issues that have been going on.

All winter, the drain in our garage (located in the basement of this building) was clogged. I, along with every other tenant, had been walking and driving through this muddy looking puddle all winter. Sounds pretty minor right? Well, that was why I never said anything. What’s wrong with a little mud? Nothing. But after months of this, we found out that this was not, in fact, mud. It was raw sewage. Which would probably explain why I felt as though I was dying from the flu all winter. Apparently, coming into contact with raw sewage is NOT good for your health. Other tenants had already contacted the building owners multiple times and kept getting the same, “I promise, we are going to fix it in a couple of days”. I figured that one more person complaining wouldn’t make them move any faster. But I also figured that they didn’t want me calling the health department or a lawyer. So I called them and left a nice voicemail stating that I would do just that if it wasn’t fixed within a week. They fixed it that day.

While writing this, I determined that there has been a common theme to my misfortune: Water. Apparently the one thing we, as humans, need to survive is the one thing that will probably be the death of me.

This is my future home

 

This time, the water issue isn’t directly related to my unit, but is frustrating nonetheless. In the entrance of our building, the roof has been leaking to the point of leaving pasty piles of drywall (haha.. DRYwall..) and puddles of water all over the lobby floor. It has been this way for a week now. The good news is, our building has a cleaning crew that comes whenever they feel like it. So once they decide to get their asses off the couch and stop watching Honey Boo Boo destroy all faith in humanity, that might get cleaned up. But will the cause of the problem be fixed? I am going to take a wild guess and say, “No”. At least not for a couple of months anyway. And this is not the only place that is leaking. One of the other tenants was telling me that he went to bed one night to find that his ceiling had also leaked, soaking his entire mattress in the process. That brings a whole new meaning to water bed. I also noticed that the tables in the laundry room are soaked. But at least the ceiling in there hasn’t started caving in yet. With my luck, it’ll happen the next time I’m taking my freshly cleaned clothes out of the dryer.

Now, those are just the problems with the building and the building owners. I live in a condo building, and my unit has a private owner, whom I have never met in person. Everything went well at first, but come tax season he lost his freakin’ mind. I’m not going to go into too many details, but I’ll tell you this: He tried to cheat me out of a couple hundred dollars, blamed me for the possibility of him getting caught cheating on his taxes for the last three years, was suddenly conveniently unreachable for two weeks when I needed forms from him to complete my taxes, and a whole bunch of other general ass fuckery. He basically tried to paint himself as a victim for having to pay taxes like any other US citizen.

Why is it so hard to find a reasonably priced apartment that is actually suitable for living, with good landlord? Has everyone really gone off the deep end? Well in any case, I’ll be joining them soon.

Renting is a nightmare.

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Hair: That Magnificent Mess on Top of my Head

I need to take a moment to discuss my hair. You may think that this is a boring and superficial topic. But boy, have I got news for you! It totally IS a boring and superficial topic. But that’s ok. Because my hair is probably the most exciting thing that is happening in my life right now (besides finally getting hooked on Pretty Little Liars.. I KNEW it was Mona! Totally called it.).

I recently discovered the magnificence of hot rollers. As any woman other than me knows, they can do some beautiful things to your hair. But there’s a bonus! You get to giggle at yourself in the mirror before you take them out. There’s nothing quite like looking in the mirror to see all of your hair haphazardly wound around the rollers much like you saw on your grandma back in the day. Just much more messy. If you haven’t done this before, I suggest giving it a try. If for no other reason than a good laugh. I promise you won’t be disappointed.

In the 23 long years that I have been gracing all of you with my presence, I have found a few staples for doing my hair. There’s the option of straightening it. This is a tedious task, but over the years I have become much more efficient in this. It’s the quickest way to make my hair look less like “just woke up” and more like “I am attempting to look like an adult”. Then there’s the option of curling it with a curling iron. This is even more tedious. I have become more efficient in this as well, but as anyone with long, thick hair will know, there’s no way it’s taking less than an hour. And last but not least, just leaving it air dry. I lied about that “least” part. This is totally the worst way to style it. About 5% of the time it works out great with long, beachy waves cascading gracefully down my shoulders. The other 95% however, I look like I just climbed out of a hole in the ground.

I wish there was a button I could push when I get out of the shower. This button would make a cool “POOF” sound and my hair would magically look exactly how I want it to. I’m sure it won’t happen in this life time, but a girl can dream.

With all of that useless information being said, I present you with the dos and don’ts of hair styling. This will be especially useful for you if you want to listen to a girl who has had 23 years to figure out her hair and hasn’t quite done so yet.

DO section off the hair

  • This helps tackle that unruly mane one section at a time.

DONT put gum in your hair

  • Does this really need an explanation?

DO use heat spray or another product

  • Heat spray is the best, but anything is helpful really. You just need some sort of barrier to slow down the inevitable destruction of your split ends

DONT use hairspray

  • Or do. I don’t care. But no amount of hairspray will keep it in place, so why even try? Too much and you’ll look like you haven’t showered for weeks.

DO clip your hair up in crazy ways and take selfies

  • This will soften the blow when you realize that your hair is never going to cooperate with you.

DONT touch the flat or curling iron to your face

  • Just.. Don’t. I did this on accident once. I clipped my face skin in the flat iron. The resulting burn was shaped like elevator buttons. One for up and one for down.

DONT rip your hair out in a panic

  • I promise, no matter how bad it looks, it isn’t worth tearing it out of your scalp. It hurts and takes forever to grow back.

DO give up and throw your hair up in a messy bun.

  • It’s really the only solution.

 

 

 

 

 

You’re Not Who You Think You Are

You’re not who you think you are.

From head to toe, you dress in fashions beyond your means. You ache at the thought of being surpassed, at the thought of being ignored. Your hair so beautifully tossed, eyes sparkling with the life you never wanted. There’s a fire inside you, but it burns for something more than what you are. Something more than you will ever be.

The laugh that so elegantly flows from your lips, the way you throw your whole body into it. It’s all fake. You are not the obnoxious sounds that come from your mouth. You are not the voice that we didn’t want to hear. The words that spill out so pretentious, so fake. You are more than this.

You are not the person you see in the mirror. You are not the person I see when I look at you. You are nothing and everything. But you are not who you think you are.

You are not this person you portray to the world. You improvised, made this person up along the way. When life smacked you in the face, you changed. You altered your course for the coming storm. You are not who you wanted to be.

You are not who you were.
You are not who you think you are.
You are not who I think you are.
You are not who you will be.
You are not who you wanted to be.

You are you.

Black Escalade

Being somewhat of an artist, I take notice in tiny details. I observe more than I participate. This has allowed me to really fine tune my skills as an artist – be it painting, drawing, photography, etc. It has also helped to amplify my paranoia. Take the black Escalade sitting outside my apartment for example. This is probably just the daily driver for someone new in my apartment building. As innocent as a car can be. But in my mind, this guy is either a drug dealer, DEA agent, or something even more sinister.

The first time I noticed this particular vehicle, there wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. The SUV was parked in a no parking spot on the curb of a little side street that really can only be described as a driveway with a name. This was not unusual as many people parked here. The area was rarely patrolled for illegally parked cars and parking spaces were few and far between. So what’s the problem with parking on a street that isn’t really a street?

This car, with the tinted windows and the chrome accents, was a little too shiny a little too often for having been driven in a Minnesota winter. While the other cars lining the streets had mud and salt stains, this car was virtually spotless.

This car always seemed to be running when I walked by. The lights on and exhaust spilling out of the tailpipe. Yet no one ever came in or out of the car.

This car was never here a month ago. But since it showed up the first time, it hasn’t left.

One night after dark I was heading out for some drinks and pool. It had been snowing all day, and the big heavy flakes were still flying. I could see them dancing in my headlights as I pulled out of the garage. At the time, my garage door opener didn’t work. So when I got home, I would have to park my car, go through the building to the basement/garage, and open the door from there. Proceed to park my car inside and walk back to the door to shut it. When I left, I would have to get out of my car to close the door. (I did finally get a remote for this so I can finally stop worrying about being mugged in the 10 feet it is from my car to the building.) So I put my car in park and I climbed out to close the garage door. I noticed that the Escalade was parked on the opposite side of this little driveway with a name. The running lights were on and I could hear the faint muffled sound of music. I wouldn’t be able to provide a logical reason for this, but the sight of the car sitting there so daunting really made my pace quicken. Before I reached the open car door, I looked up. The driver’s window on the Cadillac was slowly lowering. The inside of the car was so dark that I could not see who was behind the window. My heart started beating a little quicker, but I figured they must have wanted to say something. Probably about the missing garage door opener.  But before I could say anything or walk any closer, the window started rolling back up. So I did what any rational person would do. I got in my car and nope’d the fuck out of there. 

The next day, the Escalade was still in the same spot. Still running. Or running again. I don’t know. The point is, that this is creepy as hell. And I don’t want anything to do with Escalade man. 

My living room window is on the same side as this little street. (Seriously, it’s such an insignificant street that I don’t even remember what the name is. It has a sign and everything. A sign that I look at probably 2-200 times a day. And I still couldn’t tell you what it is. Talk about being observant..) Every time I look out my window, there’s that black Cadillac sitting, waiting. For what? I don’t know. But there it is, every day. It’s there when I leave for work. It’s there when I get home. It’s there when I’m up at 3 in the morning. It’s just always there.

There is probably no good reason to think there is something going on with this car. But where’s the fun in following “good reason”? I personally think that the Moroccan Mafia is planning a hit on me because of that one time I may or may not have… Let’s not get into that. Let’s just leave it at this: Escalade man is scary. Keep that in mind if I ever suddenly disappear.

 

 

The Epic Adventures of Me: The Search for a Dwelling

When I first arrived at the beginning of my new life, I was in for more of an adventure than I ever thought possible. Of course I neglected to plan the most important thing involved in moving to a new city: Securing a living space.

It was the beginning of August in Minneapolis. Everyone and their brother was visiting the Mall of America or checking out the art fair at Loring Park. Or maybe even the state fair. So there were very few available rooms that I could afford. I was waiting on my last check from my previous employer, and I didn’t start my new job for a couple of days yet. So I had very little money in my bank account. Luckily I had some of those fancy hotel reward points left over from the few months I spent in Milwaukee, which I was able to use to get a free room.

After this free night ended, I had the task of finding a hotel that would allow me to stay for an extended period time without paying right away. Eventually I stumbled upon a hotel. It was beautiful really. A thing of luxury. And after I got my head out of the clouds, I proceeded next door to the Days Inn.

This stay lasted for about a month. All the while I was looking at apartment after apartment. The first place I went to seemed too good to be true. It was affordable (for the area), the pictures showed flawless carpeting, amazing windows with spectacular views, and many amenities were included. Parking garage? Convenient! Laundry facilities? Stellar! A pool and workout room! Wow, sign me up!

I get to the leasing office and meet with the agent. We discuss what I am looking for, my price range, etc. This particular company had 7 buildings in a sort of little village. He mentioned that the studio apartment I had originally called about was no longer available, but that was ok because there were 7 buildings. Surely they would have something suitable.

WRONG. Not only were the pictures online that of the most expensive penthouses (of course), but the leasing agent kept trying to show me units that were well over my price range. Two and three bedrooms. All I wanted was an affordable studio or one bedroom! He showed me ONE unit that was in my price range. I was surprised that it was even an option. Honestly it looked as if the previous tenant had placed catnip underneath the carpet and let their cat go nuts. It also looked like this cat ate a lot of spaghetti.

The next place I looked at was in a great location. Right by Loring Park downtown. Within walking distance of everything I could ever need. There wasn’t a guaranteed parking spot, but I figured there had to be other options. So I went to look since this was was a pretty affordable place, and so close to everything.

After searching for a place to park for a half hour, I met the landlord and we walked up to the top floor of this beautiful old brownstone. The apartment was.. shockingly tiny. The entire floorplan (bedroom, kitchen, living room, and bathroom) was about the size of just my bedroom at my parent’s house.
Back home, a place like this would have gone for about $300. Here, it was $800. The wood floors were scuffed and scratched. The only window in the place had a wonderful view of a brick wall. There was no laundry or parking included. I was pretty sure my couch wouldn’t even fit through the door. And if by some miracle I got that couch up the stairs and into the apartment, it would have taken up a majority of the living room.

I spent the next couple of weeks slowly losing hope as I continued to cross possibilities off of my list. One shitty place after another. At one point I started looking at apartments that I knew were way too much. Simply because I could. I wanted to see why on earth these people thought it was ok to charge more for rent than what my car was worth! One place in particular really stuck out to me. It was a breathtaking studio. Brand new. Again, the whole unit was about the size of my room at my parent’s house. The one outside wall was almost all window. The view wasn’t anything special, but the apartment definitely was. There was every imaginable amenity, and everything was meticulously taken care of. But the catch? Parking was $130 a month! On top of the $1150 they charged for rent. Sure, sign me up! Let me just go ahead and sell my vital organs online. That should be enough right?

After searching and searching for what seemed like forever, I finally found the one. It was the best apartment I had looked at. The most amazing view one could hope for, all recently remodeled. Free laundry AND free parking. You can’t find just one of those perks anywhere in this city, much less both of them at the same place. I HAD to look at this place!

I responded to the Craigslist posting expressing my interest and made an appointment to look at the place. When I walked in, I knew it was going to be mine. It had to be. There was no other way that this was going to go. And I would make sure of it.

For those of you who don’t know me, when I decide that I want something, I get it. Not because I am lucky (though I’m sure that plays a part), but because I am fucking stubborn. And I will go to whatever lengths I have to, to obtain said desire.

Which is exactly what I did. I jumped through hoops that I shouldn’t have been able to even climb through. I scaled mountains that I never should have even known existed. I was unstoppable!

Now, I know what you are thinking, “How hard can it really be to get an apartment?” First of all, shut up! Maybe for YOU it wouldn’t be hard. But for me, it wasn’t exactly a cake walk. I had to somehow prove that I could come up with two grand to move in (not to mention the thousand dollars a month after that). With a job that I had barely even begun to understand. With what could very well be a record for lowest credit score possible. And with a past rental history that was less than perfect. To say the least.

Fortunately, my landlord took a chance on me and I now spend my nights sipping Mountain Dew from a wine glass (don’t judge), relaxing on my big ass couch, and enjoying the view.

Lessons Learned?

It’s no secret that moving is not an easy thing to do. Whether you are moving 3 miles or 300 miles. It’s time consuming, frustrating, and not as fun as it may seem. Although the first night in a new place is always exciting and fabulous, you will still probably wake up the next morning entangled in a half deflated air mattress that your cat thought would make a great sratching post, simply because you couldn’t afford to move your bed into your fabulous new apartment.

 

Maybe I went about this all the wrong way. Maybe I should have planned better. Maybe I should have saved up more. Or maybe I should have declawed that damn cat when I had the chance. Hindsight is 20/20 right? Well shit, that doesn’t matter now because here you are, knee deep in a cluster fuck of stressful, new surroundings. And you are pretty sure hindsight won’t help you determine if that upstairs neighbor did, in fact, bring a full size horse up to their apartment for the weekend.

 

So hopefully, if you are planning to make a big move, this will help. But most likely, it will give you a good laugh at my misfortune.

 

 

Lesson One: Nothing will go as planned

I do not plan things. Mostly because I have a habit of canceling plans at the last minute. Especially when they don’t prove to be monetarily lucrative immediately. I get this crippling anxiety that no matter what the situation is, it will be a major fail. Which is why I like to fly by the seat of my pants so to speak. Everything must be now, last minute, or it simply won’t get done. I know this isn’t ideal in adult life, but somehow I strive under the pressure. It’s just how I roll. And I am ok with that.

This time, I attempted to plan things. I didn’t do a very good job of it, but I can get an “A” for effort, right?

 

I set up appointments to view apartments, but they were overpriced and overrated. I didn’t reserve a hotel room because I figured it would be easier to negotiate in person. And I completely spaced the fact that it was now August. Which is apparently the month that everyone flocks to their vacation destination, taking down any and all hotels in their path. So it took an unnecessarily long time just to find the small, overpriced, bug infested (jk.. probably) room that had a very pungent tobacco odor. And being a smoker myself, it’s kind of a big deal that I was concerned with the smell.

 

…So maybe, just maybe that was my fault for not planning properly. ..Oops.

 

 

Lesson Two: Moving is expensive

I figured it would be expensive. But I never really understood just how much so it really is. I mean, goddamn! I don’t understand how anyone does that. I still don’t understand how I did it. Though, to be fair, my parents played a big part in that.. (Thanks guys!)

 

The cost of gas to drive to your new destination. Cost of a hotel room for night one (or for a month if you did it the way I did). Fast food or expensive delivery every night because you don’t have a freezer or stove. And you are lucky if you get a microwave.

 

When you find an apartment, not only do you have to come up with first month’s rent (which was about 3 times more than I ever paid before) and the security deposit, but you also have 30 nights at a less than five-star hotel to pay for. And the cost to move all of your stuff to this new place. And all that other crap that you never want to think about.

 

Fun Fact: Every time I pay my rent, a tiny piece of me dies inside.

 

 

Lesson Three: It’s lonely

I moved by myself. The only people I knew were the people I worked with and the various employees paid to smile at me from behind the hotel’s front desk. A lot of my friends and family told me that I had a lot of guts to do something like this. That they admired my courage. If you asked me then, I would have said that I was too excited to be scared. Ask me now, and I would say that I was a special kind of crazy.

 

Lesson Four: You really learn just how much you can handle. It’s fucking hard.

You have to have the funds to stay afloat while establishing yourself in an entirely new place.

 

You have to be ok with being alone. A LOT. Unless you are a social butterfly and can go out to, say, a bar and just meet people.. somehow. I cannot. But I am totally ok with being alone. Love it.

Part of being alone so much is really finding out who you are. Good and bad. But it’s so worth it. You can carve yourself into a new you. Someone that YOU are happy with. Because you are all you have.

 

Lesson Five: Don’t Settle.

There is absolutely no point in settling for less than you deserve. Go big or go home. Shoot for what you really want. Because I promise, there is nothing that you can’t do.

 

 

The Epic Adventures of Me – Pre-Awesome

Maybe my life isn’t all that epic. So maybe some of this story is slightly embellished? I guess you will never know. <insert creepy winky face here>

I can at least promise that most of what I write here will be mostly truth.

 

I grew up in your typical shitty small ish town. The kind that everybody hates, but no one ever leaves. Mine was known for two things. Both bad. One was a devastating tornado that destroyed a significant amount of homes and businesses. The other, was the overabundance of meth labs in the area. But there were good things too! The best burger joint to ever grace those dirty streets, or any street for that matter. And a lot of bars. Not great bars, but they had alcohol.

 

In May of 2013, I was sitting in my car smoking a cigarette like I did every day at lunch time. Considering what would happen if I were to just drive away and never show my face in that eyesore of a building again. Whatever would happen, it had to be better than putting that headset back on and making another phone call. I was counting the minutes. Every one of them quicker than the last. It was 11:23 when I decided that I just couldn’t continue to be this person anymore. I didn’t make enough money, I was too dependent, and I wasn’t doing anything worthwhile. I felt like my life was a big joke. Nothing like I pictured when I was younger. I always said that I would grow up to live in a big city and be fabulous. So rather than talk the talk, I decided I was finally going to walk the walk.  

 

I started by applying for jobs everywhere in the country. Arizona, Georgia, South Carolina, New York, Pennsylvania. No matter where in the country it was, if I thought I had a chance of getting the job, I applied. And then I waited. And waited. It was agonizing! I am a very impulsive person, so I wanted this all to happen yesterday. But this was taking forever! Ok.. maybe I’m being a little dramatic. It was only about a week before I got a call. And wouldn’t you know it, it was the very job that I wanted most! It was in a city that was close enough for weekend vacations back home and it was far enough away that I could avoid going back. Perfect!

 

The position I was called about was an inside sales position at smaller company. I had experience for certain aspects of the position, while I had about zero experience in sales. But hey, how hard could it be? I explained to the woman from Human Resources that I had full confidence that I could do this job, however inexperienced I may be. She apparently liked what I had to say and I had good feelings about our entire conversation.

 

Let’s call this woman “Mary”. Mary called me back the next day to set up a second interview. This time it would be with the Sales Manager and the Marketing Manager and it would still be over the phone. I was feeling bulletproof beforehand. “I got this!” I said to myself.

 

I was wrong. So so wrong. I stumbled my way through. I pulled a lot of what I said straight out of my ass. But, it worked. I couldn’t believe it when they called me back again to set up a third, in-person interview. I was on cloud nine. Up until I pulled into the parking lot of this company that I knew nothing about. I hadn’t prepared myself, which isn’t exactly surprising if you know me at all. My heart started pounding so hard I could barely hear myself think. My hands were shaking, and I was about to freak out. Interviews are terrifying!

 

I had already gotten my hopes up about this whole situation. So I decided that I had no choice. My hopes and dreams were riding on this interview, so I had to wow them. I had to walk in there and own the room. I had to be amazing.

 

Which is exactly what I didn’t do. I was sitting in a room with the same three people I had done interviews with previously. In my mind, I was comparing their real appearance to what I had pictured from their voices. The sales manager was terrifying. I imagined him to be your typical corporate suit. In reality, he was closer to a slightly more professional version of the average Joe.  But his stare and general demeanor were more intimidating than anyone I had ever met! This man was going to be my boss?! The thought of it made me want to run out of there crying. Let’s call this man “Tom”.

 

Tom was an engineer. Which should say a lot. He was a very technical person, and would pick things apart until there was nothing left. He had the attitude of someone in charge, someone you don’t want to mess with. And sometimes, even when he wasn’t, he came across as a very angry person. But I straightened up, looked him in the eye, and told him what he wanted to hear.

 

Then Tom tossed his pen at me and said “Sell this pen to me. Make me want to buy it.” My hands started sweating, my voice broke a little. I didn’t know what the hell to say! Which made me feel like the world’s biggest idiot. Who goes to a sales interview and is shocked when asked to “sell” something to the interviewer? Me.. apparently.

 

The only thing I remember from this was that I butchered that sale. I’m pretty sure that anyone listening to me would have gone out of their way to not buy that pen. But as people tend to do with extreme pain, I blocked that part out.

 

I walked out of there knowing that the job was not mine. I spent the next week in a weird, depressed, pessimistic yet optimistic mood. I would go back and forth between telling myself, “You suck at life. You are going to be unhappy forever” and, “It’s ok, there will be more opportunities. Better ones even!”


But to my utter and complete surprise, they called me back again and offered me the job. It came with my own office, a full benefits package, and better pay than I could have hoped for anywhere else. In an instant, I went from being an expendable, non-human call center drone, to a valued human being. So, on August 2nd, 2013, I packed up my car and hit the road to begin my new life in a place with no familiar faces.