Go Forth! Seek Knowledge! --->

Anyway, I moved to Seattle, got a studio apartment, (that had a huge closet I turned in to a tiny bedroom), and found a job in a restaurant.  Granted, it was as a busser but it was a job.  It was a start.  And because of my high work ethic plus having been in the military, I busted my ass in that place.  I had the breakfast and lunch shift, the busiest shifts in that restaurant.  (The restaurant was in a nice hotel so it was always packed, especially at breakfast.)

Every day I would come in and have to clean up what the night shift, dinner shift left over and then get started on my day which by that time, it was almost overwhelming, but I did it.  I hauled that heavy ass silverware bucket down the stairs to the dishwasher, I replaced the trays and trays of glassware, I got the plates, I put the heavy milk packet in to the dispenser, I cleared the tables, I cleaned them off and I repeated the entire process, over and over, my entire shift.

I. worked. my. ass. off.

We had a “complaint” book where we could write our requests or grievances to the other shifts and someone on the dinner shift always had something to say to me about how I didn’t put this tray of glasses out for dinner or I didn’t switch out the plates or whatever.  What these fucks didn’t realize is that I spent the first hour of my day doing THEIR work they didn’t do the night before so that I could do my own job and fuck off, I ran out of time before I had to sign out and go home.

I hated the dinner shift.  I didn’t even know who they were but I hated them.

Then one day, my boss asked me to cover the dinner shift.  I agreed.  Remember, I had a very strong work ethic.  So, I worked in that restaurant the entire day; breakfast, lunch and dinner.  I did get a small break to run home and get a clean shirt and pants for the dinner shift but I was there, working, all three shifts.

And do you know what I found out?  The dinner shift was a gottdamned cakewalk.  I spent most of my time standing around doing nothing.  It was actually boring.  I had plenty of time to stock up the silverware, breakfast glasses and plates for myself for the next morning and you bet I wrote a scathing paragraph in our complaint book.  Lazy fucks.  Here I had been, busting my fucking ass day after day doing THEIR fucking job and I come to find out they were NOT busy like they said they were.

So we had a meeting.  We needed to discuss my scathing paragraph.  I explained everything and my boss vowed to get on them to ensure they did what they were supposed to do.  That lasted one. entire. day.

The following day, I came in, same fucking mess it always was.  I was pissed but I got to it and did my job.  As I was hauling yet another FULL silverware bucket down the steps to the dishwasher, my boss actually had the audacity to say I wasn’t working hard enough.

And then it hit me.  I come in, every day, working my fucking ass off, it is not appreciated, I deal with lazy pricks from the dinner shift who won’t do their jobs; I have to do their jobs AND mine, they get paid more than me because they’re on the “dinner” shift and it’s supposed to be some sort of step up, (you’re a fucking busser, you’re not all that), I call them out on their shit but still do my job, I’m sweating my ass off, I hardly ever got a break and this bitch wants to accuse me of slacking?  HELL NO.  I also realized, I’m not in the military anymore, I do not have to take this.

So I quit.  Right in the middle of breakfast. 

She wasn’t expecting that.  She thought she could just yell at me and I’d cow down to her but she was wrong.  I was already giving it 100% and then some, you could not get anymore out of me.  I’m doing the work of two positions in addition to sometimes helping out the waiters...yah, I’m not busy enough, now the waiters wanted me to do some of their prep work and bringing appetizers out but they raked in all the tips.  Fuck this shit. 

She begged me not to go.  I had no intention on making a scene but she was yelling and begging me right in front of all of the patrons.  And right in front of all of the patrons I told her that she didn’t appreciate that I did the job of two people PLUS assisted the waiters, that I was indeed busting my ass for her and she couldn’t appreciate it?  She wanted to side with the lazy fucks on the dinner shift?  She could go fuck herself. 

Yep.  Right in front of all of the patrons.

I walked out and found myself a much more peaceful job.

But that’s how it went in the beginning.  I had a cool starter apartment with starter furniture, (fruit boxes and milk crates covered with towels), a great view and a job. 

The biggest expense for my apartment was a $150 area rug I bought off of some rug guy on the side of the road.  I felt like I was spending a lot of money but it was the perfect size for my apartment, “living room” and it made a huge difference in the feel of the place.  I never regretted buying that rug.  I do regret losing it. 

Anyway, how it was at the start, I would get up, walk to my restaurant job, break my back, walk back home and up a 90 degree angle hill, (God I hated that fucking hill), get home, shower, change and watch “Tiny Toons” and “Animaniacs” to unwind.  On certain nights of the week, I would go down to the assistant apartment manager’s apartment and we would watch “Twin Peaks” together.  We were addicted to that show.  On my days off, we would watch “Guiding Light” together...the whole week because she had recorded it while she worked.  We were addicted to “Guiding Light”.  I got addicted in the military.  I never watched soaps before then but AFN only had General Hospital and Guiding Light on during the day....so guess what I watched sometimes? 

On the other nights of the week, I’d stare out my 6th floor window.  Like I said, I had a great view.  I’d watch the tiny headlights on the hill as they drove along, wondering where they were going, making up stories to where they were going, what just happened to them and that maybe some day I would meet some of those people.  When I wasn’t staring and daydreaming about meeting all kinds of people, I’d spy on the gays.

Across the street from me, in a street level apartment were two gay guys.  I had never known anyone gay so I was fascinated.  No, I didn’t see anything I shouldn’t be seeing, nothing like that.  They had their kitchen table against the window and they always had people over and would sit at that table talking, playing games, drinking games, regular games, whatever.  And I sat there, in my apartment, in the dark, and watched them have a good time.

I stopped watching the gays when one night, they were outside the building, on the sidewalk.  They were talking and then, next thing I knew, they were lip locked.  Again, it was my first experience with gay people so it was a hell of a shock to the system.  I don’t need any nasty comments about this, it’s truly how I felt...I was a little grossed out, too.  I knew they were gay, I had just never even thought about what gay people did so I was thrown off. 

From that point on, I stuck to watching traffic, watching t.v. or trying to get out and socialize and meet new people.  And this is how life went for about six months.

After I quit, I started looking for other work.  A guy a few apartments down from me, who lived with his mother, told me they had openings at their Christmas store at the Pike Place Market.  I went down and applied.  They didn’t have openings there, but they did have openings in their new expansion store in the Westlake Center.  Cool, it was nicer there anyway. 

And that’s where I met Laura and Kari.

Oh, first, the guy who lived with his mom a few apartments down is the one who took me to my second concert.  (My first one was The Cure, in Germany.) We were not dating, I was not interested in him but I did want to go to the concert.  We went as “friends”.  That’s where I got to see Billy Idol on Halloween night.  The opening band was Faith No More.  At one point, the keyboardist started playing a very nice, haunting and beautiful tune.  Everyone was mesmerized.  And then, he played the chorus.  And the entire arena erupted in to cheers and yells so loud it was, quite literally, deafening.  He was playing the Nestle candy tune.  You remember, “Sweet dreams are maaaaaaaade of this....N-E-S-T-L-E-S...” We lost it.  It was hilarious.

Then Billy Idol came out.  He had been in a motorcycle accident so was still using a cane but he put on one hell of a performance, regardless.  Above the stage was a gigantic hand.  HUGE.  It was in a fist and it sat there, above Billy Idol, all night long.  It wasn’t until the very end of the show that we knew why that hand was there because at the end, the hand started to move.  It turned over, slowly, and then, also slowly, the middle finger came up and Billy Idol flipped off every last person in that arena with his gigantic fake hand.  Again, we all couldn’t get enough of it.  “OMG!  Billy Idol flipped us off!!!!  That’s so fucking cool!” Then, at encore, Billy Idol came back out, was doing a song and Faith No More came back out, all wearing paper grocery bags over their heads, except the lead singer who had on some sort of lizard mask, and they danced around Billy Idol.  Completely and totally naked except for those bags and mask.  Once again, the place went crazy.  It was my second concert ever and truthfully, it was the best concert I’ve ever been to.

Back to the story.  I got the job at Westlake Center and met Laura and Kari.  We were all the same age, for the most part, Laura was still “under age”, but we all got along, hung out and I met a lot of people through them.  We would go to a local place called The Vogue every Thursday.  I ended up working there about a year or two later.  Kari knew a lot of people.  I got to meet Alice In Chains right before they hit it big....which, bleh, I didn’t care about them.  I got to meet one of their psychotic girlfriends at The Vogue.  God what a fucking drama queen she was.  When they were just hitting it big, she couldn’t handle it and was a freaking crazy mess.  She made sure that everyone knew she was dating one of the members of the band so she could get all kinds of attention and then complain about how she couldn’t handle it all!  Stupid bitch.

One night, I went to The Vogue by myself since I felt so at home there.  I was sitting on the stage, reading over the music list of the band that was playing.  At their break, some guy came up to me and started talking to me.  He had been standing there, next to the stage the entire time I had been sitting on the edge.  This was probably the first and last encounter I ever had with a nice, decent but cool ass guy.  We talked a little bit, he bought me a beer, we talked some more.  We talked about all kinds of things.  He never once asked me for my number, he didn’t ask me to sleep with him, he didn’t ask me for anything of the sort.  He just enjoyed my company.  I also enjoyed his.  After another beer, we decided to call it a night.  He walked to his truck and left and I walked home.  It was the most pleasant experience I’ve ever had meeting a random guy.  It sucked because I wanted to meet him again but at the same time, it’s a memory that will never be tainted by anything negative.  It was one of those, what some people call, magical moments that you don’t want ruined. 

Anyway, Laura, Kari and I got along well, we worked hard at the store, we laughed a lot and life was going well.  Until we got laid off.  Westlake Center is not the cheapest place to rent and while I admire the ambition of the boss, she went in too fast and the Christmas store was a hit close to the holidays but not so much after that.  What really sucked is that I had just come back from a wedding of a friend from high school.  This girl had dated my older brother, (what the hell was she thinking), but eventually moved on.  She did become close friends with my mom while I was in the military and was there, hanging out, when I got out and came for a visit.  I went to her wedding in California and when I got back, I lost my job two weeks later.

Laura and I decided to become roommates.  My six month lease was over so it was perfect timing.  We found a great little apartment on Queen Anne Hill and moved in.  It had a parking garage, an indoor pool and was close to the water.  In fact, you could just see a tiny sliver of the water off towards the right hand side, just behind some other buildings.  Kari would come over often, with her friends and some of her loser acquaintances.  These are the assholes who rang up a $200+ long distance phone bill for me and then fucking denied everything even when I showed the bill and the places they called.  They were in to music and called all kinds of music places but they didn’t call them....right.  Fucking assholes.

We went out a lot and in the day, while we were recovering, we’d sometimes hang out with the neighbor cat, Sophie, this tiny, tiny gray cat who enjoyed visiting people all around.  The owner knew that Sophie was a social butterfly and often times, Sophie would spend the night at other people’s apartments but the owner didn’t mind.  All she cared about was that we bring Sophie back.  Sophie spent a few nights, at different times, in our apartment.  She even killed a huge, brown, gooey, nasty ass arachnid for us once.  She was an awesome cat.

When we weren’t hanging out with Sophie, we would spy on the guy on the top floor of the condo a couple of streets over.  Every so often, we could see him throwing something in his place and it would entertain us for hours because we couldn’t figure out what the fuck was going on.  I think we did eventually conclude it was a ping pong table or something like that but man, we would laugh our asses off trying to figure it out.  Because of the angle, we couldn’t see the floors or most of the walls.  So all we saw was some object going back and forth from the guy to something or someone else and back.  We couldn’t see any other person so, yah, it kept us entertained.

Because we had been laid off, I started looking for other jobs.  Laura did as well but she is the one who introduced me to unemployment.  I had no idea such a thing existed.  She told me we were allowed to get it because we got laid off.  We didn’t quit or get fired so we should go apply while we look for work.  Ok, why not?  I had no clue.  I did not know what to expect, I knew nothing about it.  Well, apparently, because I had been in the military not even a year before, my unemployment paid me more than what I was earning while I worked.  So I didn’t stress things and I was able to relax and find a job and find a life and make something of myself.

One day, as I was on the bus, yet again, looking for work, an older gentleman started talking to me.  To this day, I don’t even remember what he looks like but he is the one who talked me in to going to school.  I told him I was too stupid for college.  He insisted that I was not.  (This is the first time this man met me...on the bus.) He told me what to do, how to get in, and that I should do it.

That man completely changed my course in life.  I decided, simply because someone out there was telling me I was NOT too stupid for college, that maybe I did indeed have a chance.  I did take the ACT, I did well, I did get the GI Bill, just in case....I had never planned on using them but this guy says I am smart enough.  He doesn’t even know me and he has faith in me.  So I did what he said.  I went to college. 

(You never know, kids, what your words can do to a person that you see only once, randomly, and will never see again.  You never know the impact they can make.)

Because I had the GI Bill and I got the Pell Grant, I didn’t have to work while in school.  No, I was not receiving unemployment benefits anymore, what I had saved, plus those two programs to help financially, made it possible for me to go to school full time and completely and totally concentrate on my studies.

And that’s how things went for almost two years.

At the end of winter quarter my first year, my roommate Laura told me she was moving out to go live with her boyfriend and be closer to her parents.  She gave me ample warning and we parted amicably.  I found another place to live, just up the road a bit and moved in there.  I continued with school and got to know my roommate.  Then I started dating my roommate.  I wish someone would have told me at some point in time, don’t ever date your roommate or a co-worker.  Ever.

Eventually he moved out and I got a new roommate.  She and I got along very well.  We even went to the pound one time to get a kitty.  I found one that I really wanted, a feral, I felt so sorry for the poor thing and knew that I could win this cat over in time.  I went to the front desk and found out that the feral already had three people on the waiting list to take him home. 

Fuck.

As we were discussing this and my possibilities of getting the feral were low, in walks a woman with a box.  Inside the box are three tiny kittens.  Two are gray and fluffy and one is tiny, tiny and black and white.  When I realized I wasn’t going to get the feral, I asked if I could have one of the kittens.  My roommate also wanted one of the kittens.  She took one of the fluffy gray ones and I took the black and white one.  The other kitten got put in a drawer for the time being.  Which...I found disgustingly upsetting.

Because they had just been brought in and not processed, there were no fees.  We just got to take them home.  We used the box the lady had brought in and drove home with our new kittens.  On the way, we were trying to come up with names.  I settled on naming mine after the box he came in.  It was “Wenzel” sleeping bags.  The kitty was named Wenzel.  They were both so tiny that we had to get them baby kitten formula and an eye dropper to feed them.  Wenzel fit, from head to tip of tail, in my hand.  We really bonded because I fed him with the eyedropper and he used to ride around on my shoulder.

I would take him all over town, on walks, wherever I went, he went, (except the grocery store where I was told they didn’t allow filthy animals in the store to which I replied, “I would worry less about this tiny kitten who is clean and doesn’t touch anything and a little more about some of the disgusting pigs that walk in on two legs”....and then left my grocery cart and walked out), and people loved that he was up there, not moving, not freaking out, just riding along, content as could be.  Even when I crossed the street sometimes I would see big smiles spread across people’s faces as I walked in front of their cars.  I didn’t do it to show off, I did it because I loved that cat and wanted him around me all the time.  If it brought a little cheer to strangers, so be it.  What’s the harm in that?

So a little time passes and I begin to realize that my roommate has a problem.  She is almost psychotically addicted to her boyfriend.  I find out later that the reason she moved to my area was to be closer to her boyfriend.  I also found out that it was a very unhealthy relationship and neither her parents OR the girls’ psychologist wanted her near her boyfriend.  And that’s how I found myself listening to my roommate telling me she was moving back to her parents’ house two days before rent and all the bills were due. 

Her parents came to pick her and her stuff up.  I told her she was screwing me over.  It just didn’t register for her.  She told me that I should leave too and just screw the apartment manger over.  No, idiot, it doesn’t work like that.  My fucking name is on the lease! 

And that’s how I found myself staring at a very angry apartment manager, with a cup of hot coffee in one hand, at my door after answering the knock, one day shortly after.  He was livid.  I had two fucking days.  I didn’t have enough time to come up with HER fucking share of rent and bills, get an ad in the paper, etc while I went to school.  I needed more time.  But he was not into hearing anything.  All he wanted to do was scream at me, literally, scream at me, about what a low life piece of shit I was.  He was red in the face, screaming at me to the point, I truly and honestly was in fear that he was going to throw that hot coffee on me and smash me in the face with the mug.  I don’t scare easily....but I really believed that was about to happen.

I tried to explain to him how I also was being screwed, I wasn’t trying to fuck him over, give me a week or so but he was too far gone in his anger about the rent not being there that fucking second.  (I didn’t know my rights back then.  Wish I had.) He didn’t want to listen, I was now in fear of him and it was not a good situation. 

So I called my parents.  I told them the whole story, asked for help and was told, “We can’t help you.” They could.  They didn’t want to help.  Because they are fucking assholes.  I told them I was about to be homeless and they didn’t give a flying fucking shit.  Several years later, the mother figure would admit that she felt horribly guilty for not helping.  Fuck you, bitch.  Your guilt did nothing for me.

So I called my old assistant apartment manager of the first apartment I lived in.  She came over, we put everything in storage, (what I remembered anyway, I lost a lot of stuff because I forgot about the storage area on the main floor of the apartment building....sigh), and I put three pairs of clothes in a duffel bag, my hair brush, toothbrush, ID, wallet and I slept on her floor for three weeks.

I still got up and went to school.  I was taking a coordinated studies course....brutal even if your home life is secure....even more so when you are homeless.  It was English 102, Economics 101, American Literature and Psychology 101 all compiled together in to one class.  For example, you would read, “The Grapes of Wrath”.  That covered American Literature.  You would then write an essay, (English 102), about the economic and psychological impacts of the depression on the Joad family.  And it all had to be done in two days from the time the assignment was handed out.  So you rush off to the book store, get the book, read the entire fucking book, read the 20+ chapters in your Psychology book and 10+ chapters in your Economics book and then write a fucking 5 page essay about everything.  Get it done and turn it in because the next book is Catch-22 and it’s due two days from now.

JEEZUS!

But I did this with no fucking home.  Yes, I stayed on the floor of someone’s living room but they had kids and grandkids that came over and I did not have a quiet place to study.  In addition, I was also out pounding the pavement every single fucking night looking for an apartment to live in AND a job.  And by, “pounding the pavement”, I mean I was.  There was no internet, no Monster.com job board, none of that shit.  I had to walk to every single business I could find and inquire about work.  Sometimes I got to fill out an application and sometimes, I guess I just looked too sweaty and desperate and they wouldn’t even let me fill anything out to go on record.  And I knocked on every apartment door in the First Hill and Capitol Hill area.

I hardly ever got to sleep.  I didn’t have much to eat.  Yes, along with staying on the floor I was offered food but when you can’t contribute, it’s a little hard to take their food.  I ate enough to get me by but I was never satisfied, hunger wise.  I did my homework, I looked for work, I looked for places to live, I wore the same fucking clothes over and over and over.....

Finally, three weeks later, I found a place.  Truthfully, I think the apartment manager was making it up but I think he also saw how hard I was working.  It was the very first building I had ever lived in there in Seattle.  This is the building the assistant apartment manager was in, where I was sleeping on the floor and the manager told me that they had a summer “move in” special.  He also said that because my information was already on file, I didn’t have to come up with last month’s rent or deposit.  In other words, I could move in for about $200.  Which is pretty much exactly what I had.  I never saw any sort of advertisement for a “move in” special.  I think he made it up just to help out.  It wasn’t the last time he helped me, either. 

As I struggled to regain my life, I had to ask for help from charities to pay the rent.  I got help from St. Vincent De Paul one time because I just didn’t have it.  I just didn’t have the rent.  I was still trying to get above water again.  They came by, tried to talk to me about Christ and gave my apartment manager a check for the rent for one month.  (I later repaid them when I worked at a courier company and we would have a charity drive at Christmas.  There was a list of charities and we were going to pick one to give money to.  I told everyone that I worked with my story and that’s how we picked St. Vincent de Paul to get the donation.  Trust me, I don’t forget.)

Eventually, though I was earning the money, sometimes it just didn’t get there in time.  I paid a few late fees from time to time.  I always told the manager ahead of time and I always paid the rent and the late fee without complaint.  So finally one time, he paid the rent for me and then I paid him back when my check came in so that I wouldn’t have to pay the late fee.  It seems a small gesture but for someone struggling, it was huge. 

Unfortunately, life did not repay this gentleman accordingly.  He and his wife were on vacation, driving up HWY 1, (or is it 101...I forget the number), on the Oregon coast, coming back to Seattle when a drunk hit them.  She died.  He was banged up beyond belief but survived.  He was Jehovas Witness so there was no funeral but there was some sort of ceremony.  I went.  I couldn’t believe what he looked like.  He was purple all over his face and neck from all the bruising.  It was horrible.  I cried.  I hugged him.  He continued to be the manager for awhile, he lost a LOT of weight and then one day, he left.  I never saw him again.  And it’s not fair.  He was kind, giving and caring.  His wife was wonderful.  And people like that get shit on by life while fucking loser fucks like my co-workers and neighbors now continue to cackle and back stab their way through life.  It is NOT fucking fair at all.  And it pisses me the hell right off sometimes.

Back to employment.  I found a job selling insurance through a credit card company.  A college friend and I got this job.  We went and took our class and got our fucking book of what we were supposed to say, (they had an answer for everything), and were put on the phones.  When we made a sale, we were supposed to ring a bell that sat on our desk.  I made phone call after phone call, being denied left and right all the while, bells were going off all over the place.  It was frustrating.  But I just wasn’t in to it.  Not only because it was a bullshit telemarketing job but I was bothered from the start because the mid-west had just been pelted with rain and a lot of people lost their homes and everything because of flooding.

Guess where we called?

That didn’t sit well with me.  What sat even worse with me was the one sale I made.  It was an older gentleman, he was in the mid west and I started talking to him about insurance.  He started telling me about the floods.  I had to keep to the fucking heartless script.  He balked a few times, I had an answer for those balks because of the soulless script.  He decided to purchase.  I rang the bell.  The supervisors applauded me.  I felt sick to my stomach. 

At lunch, my friend and I went to get food and decided, no, we’re not going back.  It’s unethical what they are doing.  I didn’t care that it was a business and they are in it to make money, I had a major problem with them preying on the vulnerable.  I’m absolutely for capitalism and I understand businesses are there to make money but I also believe they should still have some sort of fucking ethics.  So we left and never went back.

I then found a job selling light bulbs.  I should never have had this job.  It wasn’t for me.  Not just it wasn’t right for me, it wasn’t designed for me.  I went in to apply.  When I went in, I did not know that it was for people with disabilities.  It was a way to give them employment.  When the boss told me that in the interview, I was getting ready to leave because I didn’t have a disability.  He then decided to change his mind and he said, “But you do have a disability.  Your disability is that you don’t have a job.”

Let me tell you something, when you’ve been homeless and hungry, you make stupid impulse choices.  All I could see was an opportunity to work, at that precise moment.  So I took the job.  The job was in four hour shifts with four hours between.  What this meant is that I came in, did four hours of work, had four hours off and then had to come back and work another four hours.  This meant that I spent about 15 hours a day on this job.  I would take the bus to work, work four hours, take the bus home, sit at home for an hour, get back on the bus, go to work for another four hours and then take the bus back home. 

Anyone who has ever taken the bus knows it’s not like you just hop on the bus the second you are off work and get taken directly home.  It means you stand at a bus stop for long periods of time, you sit on the bus for long periods of time as it winds, slowly, dreadfully slowly, down the streets and people get off and people get on and you hit every fucking stop light along the way and traffic doesn’t want to let you in and what would take 15 minutes in a car takes and hour and a half on the fucking bus.  So I was spending about 5-6 hours dealing with the bus and 8 hours at actual work.  Plus, I did not have a disability.  I don’t remember if I sold any damn lightbulbs or not but after my first day I realized I was not coming back.  Two reasons, one being the bus, naturally and two, I was taking away a job from someone who legitimately needed that help.  I did not have a disability and I was not happy about “working” the system.  I don’t like when people do that, cheat the system.  The system is there for a reason and it doesn’t work when people cheat it.  And it wasn’t fair of me to do that to someone who truly did have a disability. 

So I then found myself in a class learning to sell knives.  God.  What a joke.  Again, desperate for work so make a stupid impulse decision.  Luckily I had enough smarts to know before I bought the stupid knives.  It was a nice set of knives.  What you were supposed to do was buy the first set at $140.  Yah, ok.  Then you were to go, door to door, to family, friends, neighbors and show them these knives, let them use the knives, see how wonderful this set truly was.  It was a good set but it was all bullshit because you spend this money, do all this hard work convincing people to buy them and the company takes most of the profit.  Fuck that.  When the class was over, I left.  I’m not stupid enough to fall for a pyramid scheme even when I was that young and naive.

And that’s how I found myself working in a hotel just down the street from me.  I started out in housekeeping, cleaning up the shit pig sties of other people.  You know what?  People are fucking disgusting.  I cleaned and scrubbed and changed things out and it was a horrible job.  We were treated like shit by the guests, by our bosses, by other employees of the hotel.  Not everyone was a total prick but a lot of people were.  Some guests were nice and tipped well and one Chinese man gave me a really cool Chinese calendar which I thought was very thoughtful.  One lady was so happy with me for leaving her two bathmats, (her room was fairly clean and she had a Stephen King novel on the night stand...my favorite author, so I gave her extra everything when I cleaned her room while she was out), that she tipped me $20.  She knew who I was because we had to leave a card with our name on it so they knew who cleaned the room.  Frankly I think that was there if they had any complaints but sometimes it worked in our favor because the guest would seek us out to thank us.  Eventually I pulled a muscle in my back, very badly, to the point I had to go to physical therapy, so they put me on light duty and I became a “runner”.  This was MUCH more enjoyable. 

When you’re staying in a room and you call down to get a hair dryer or toothbrush or extra set of towels or whatever, I was the person who brought it to you.  There was one time I met a fucking rude ass bitch hag up in the Penthouse Suite.  She called down for “bath blankets”.  She wanted 10 of them.  We didn’t have “bath blankets” so no one knew what the fuck she wanted.  We did our best and gave her the biggest, fluffiest towels we had.  I had to carry these heavy ass things up 35 floors....elevator but I struggled to hold them the entire way.  They were heavy but I didn’t want to “soil” them by resting against the wall, I wanted them to be pristine for her so I dealt with the weight and the sweat and the agony up 35 fucking floors.

I got to the door, had to knock on it with my foot, she answered took one of the towels from me and told me to put the rest on the couch.  She opened up the towel she had in hand as she stood next to the tower of towels on the couch.  She huffed, “These are not what I asked for.  I asked for bath blankets!” and she swept her arm over the tower of towels so that they all landed on the floor.  You fucking bitch.  You have no idea what I just went through to keep these fucking things clean and you just throw them on the floor AND give me a nasty fucking attitude?

That was the night I called the mother figure and told her I didn’t understand people.  Why would someone do that?  She said that some people have to look at themselves in the mirror and don’t like what they see so they take it out on other people.  I told her that didn’t make me feel any better because this lady had money, why on earth is she unhappy?  She doesn’t have a clue what it’s like to really suffer.  I was told that she was indeed suffering, just in a different way.  I still don’t believe it.

It got to the point that I was getting ready to register for my final quarter at school.  Because I had just started the job, had not been in for the 90 day obligatory probationary period, I could not switch from full time to part time.  I was not allowed to do that until after 90 days.  Well, that would be two weeks after school started and I needed a job because being homeless and hungry was the worst experience and I did NOT want to go through that again.  EVER!

So I missed my registration date.  I was self advised, had only three classes to go.  One math, one lab science and one elective.  But I needed the job more.  I figured I would just go in winter quarter then.

About one month after my registration date, we got a new boss.  Come to find out, SHE would not have had a problem with me switching to part time, 90 days up or not.  FUCK!!!!!!!!!!  FUCK!!! FUCK!!!! FUCK!!!!!!  It was too late.  I already missed my registration.  Again I convinced myself it was going to be ok, I’d just finish in winter.

Winter came around.  I called wondering when I could register since I had so many credits.  I received the bad news.  You can miss any quarter except fall quarter.  You miss that quarter, you have to start ALL THE FUCK OVER with registration placement regardless of where you were just three months before. 

WHAT THE FUCKING GOTTDAMNED MOTHER FUCKING HELL BULLSHIT CRAP WHY, THE FUCK WHY, WHY, FUCKING WHY?!!?!??!?!?!?!?!  WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME?!  WHY IS THIS SO FUCKING HARD?!  WHY THE FUCK CAN I NOT GET A FUCKING SHIT FUCKING BREAK1?!?!?!?  FUCKING WHY?!?!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I went to the school to register...one of the last ones to register....and of course, the classes I wanted were full.  I could put myself on the waiting list.  I knew exactly where to go so I went up to the math and science department to do that.  No one was there.  Not a soul.  I’d been on those waiting lists enough times to know what the book looked like, where it was.  I pulled it out from the lady’s desk; just reached over and grabbed it.  I didn’t rifle through anything, I didn’t have to break in anything, I just reached over and grabbed the book.

And for the first time in two years, every name was in pencil.

You have NO FUCKING IDEA the temptation.  I stood there for about 10-15 minutes seriously thinking about it.  In the end, I couldn’t do it.  It’s not right.  I can’t screw someone else over like that.  That is not fair to them.  I would have to be number 30 in science, (meaning, no chance in hell I was getting in), and number 20 something in math, (again, meaning, no chance in hell).  I put my name down.  Surprisingly, I had no chance in hell of getting in and I did not get in.

After I put my name down, I went home and cried.  I worked my fucking ass off.  I graduated with decent grades, I went in to the military, I busted my fucking ass when I worked, I got laid off, I had a fucked up roommate leave me homeless, I continued with my school, I pounded the pavement to find work and a home, I took on any job I could find, (so don’t fucking tell me that the illegal immigrants will take the jobs Americans won’t take, I fucking took them!), I worked and missed my registration because I knew I needed work and school would have to wait a quarter, I was not given VITAL information that would have made all sorts of differences in my life, I got NO support from the family unit that also may have made this a whole fuck of a lot less stressful if I knew someone, IF SOMEONE had my back, I was at the bottom of the waiting list and I never got back in to school.

Everything went to shit from there.  I have been struggling ever since then just to keep my head above water.  Whenever I do get something saved up, something always fucking happens to wipe it out.  I have done serious shit labor, shit jobs for shit pay.  I don’t waste my money on stupid shit.  Did any of you know I don’t even have a phone?!  No, I don’t.  I have my internet and I have that because yes, I can relax and enjoy the internet but it also brings me money so I keep it.  Phone?  Not necessary.  I have a Kia.  Cheap ass car.  Runs fine but still cheap ass car.  I don’t buy shit except food for me and the pets and once in a great while I’ll get myself something.  Rarely but once in awhile.  I don’t go anywhere.  I don’t do anything. 

Because I am sick and fucking tired of it being hard.  I’m tired of saving up to have something happen.  I fucking park my car at work and it costs me a thousand fucking dollars.  I’m over it.

And sometimes, a sorority will come in and I’ll look at the girls in their little circle in the park, playing some sort of game as they get to know each other.  And I think, how lucky they are to be in school.  How lucky they are that they can go to school, stay in a dorm and get an education.  And the girls they are meeting will help them later in life as well.  These girls in their new sorority will be contacts, strings to be pulled, help along the way. 

And I get fucking jealous.

And I wonder, with what very little I did ask for, how different things could have been if I, too, had been given some support along the way.  And then I get pissed.  And defiant.  And determined.  And I’m going to fucking make it, somehow, someday, somewhere.  It will be my idea of success.  Not yours, not theirs but mine.  Because my idea of success at this point is not struggling every fucking day.  Not worrying about losing my job and ending up homeless again.  Not living paycheck to paycheck.  Having a place, paid for, land, paid for, some sort of job from home, on the internet, and just live out the rest of my days away from people, where it’s quiet, peaceful and I’m left the fuck alone.  I’ll never be “truly” happy.  That opportunity has long passed me by.  It’s just not going to happen.

Unfortunately, despite all the effort I’ve put in to this life, I will be just like the father figure.  I tried so hard to be more than this....but I’ll be just the same.  When I asked him if he was happy he replied, “I’m not unhappy.”

And that’s going to be me, as well.  I never wanted to be, “not unhappy”.  I wanted to be fucking happy damnit!  I now have to settle because we all need to admit, I’m no spring chicken and by the time I get to the “not unhappy” phase, I’ll be even older and in some areas, it IS too late to start over.  People do NOT hire older people.  Accept reality. 

There’s also the disappointment.  People have really disappointed me.  I have tried to live my life doing things the right way and it has not gotten me very far at all.  Seems if I cheated, stole and lied my way through life, I would be loaded with money and be a success.  But I cannot step on others to get what I want.  It’s not right.  At least I can live with myself knowing I didn’t do that.  I didn’t erase those names.  That should be my tag line:  “I didn’t erase those names.”

As far as family...I don’t have one.  So I really am in this alone.  And that kind of sucks.  But, it is what it is and at least I can shoot for, “I’m not unhappy.”

But I will always wonder how different it could have been with just the tiniest bit of support.  If you have kids, fucking support them.  Don’t tell them they can’t learn something.  Don’t deny them when they want to discover something, learn something, go somewhere that will make a difference in their lives.  And if they’re having some problems along the way, help them.  If they are trying to do everything right, they aren’t drug addicts or alcoholics or spending their money like it’s growing on trees in their backyards, if they are truly trying, help them.  Don’t fucking turn your back on them.  You never know how just even the smallest bit of assistance, EVEN IF IT’S KNOWLEDGE, advice, information, help with looking around and finding things....just let them know you have their back....it makes so much of a difference in their lives.  You had them.  You chose them, they didn’t choose you.  Don’t be an asshole to them later in life when they still need your help from time to time.  Give it to them.  You can completely change the course of their lives for the better.

<--- Here Endeth The Lesson