And we’re back on Monday. Worked yesterday, a Sunday and I certainly did not want to. But I had no choice. It’s the job I have. I dress like the job I want. Isn’t that the adage? Dress for the job you want, not the job you have?
If I were a farmer who wanted to be, let’s say, an office manager or a cigar salesman, does that mean I should be working in the fields in a suit & tie? Or would that be over reaching?
Saturday was a good day. Didn’t write about it. It was a good team, me, Raymond and Don Birch. Both Raymond and Don Birch want to leave the cigar shop after working there for 2 years. I can’t blame them.
There’s no future unless you’re management and neither are in the running for such a position since no position exists. Yesterday, Sunday was a different scene. It was me, Raymond and Calvin. Calvin’s the boss, assistant manager of the shop.
Whereas Saturday was laid back and everything still got done, Sunday was slow, narcoleptic. And Calvin being around didn’t help much. I do like Calvin though. Seems like a nice guy. According to Raymond, he’s a drinker and two faced and likes to pit people against each other.
Plus before my arrival, he used to use the word ‘homo’ in a derogatory way quite often. Not while I’ve been there though.
There was a cantankerous customer yesterday, fitting most every stereotype of a cantankerous man. An older gent wanted to step behind the counter while I was the only one in the front of the store and working with another customer while I was supposed to be going out to lunch.
He enjoyed pissing me off while he himself was annoyed with the fact that I wouldn’t allow him back there without someone else there. Behind the counter is where we sell the cigarillos, not cigarettes.
We can’t sell cigarettes thanks to Bloomberg and we also have to post an image of an x-ray showing a stroke victim with the bold words, smoking causes strokes. Several times a day we have people coming in to buy cigarettes.
Most customers ignore it and the European tourists are certainly put off. The American tourists think it’s disgusting and usually ask about the image. We tell them it was either put the images by the computer or have a poster in the window of the same x-ray image, thanks to Mayor Bloomberg.
On his agenda now is a plan to outlaw smoking cigars and cigarettes in New York City parks. Of course those rules don’t apply when Bloomberg is hobnobbing with his college buddies at the St. Regis where the fellow alumni all smoke cigars and drink freely.
Today I was off and I’m off tomorrow. I had an interview courtesy of an agency I signed up with years ago. The position was for the mail room, the money was quite close to what I used to make, nearly $20,000 more than what I make for standing around on my feet for 9 hours a day in a 10 hour shift.
I seem to be perfectly suited for the position and headed into the city nearly 90 minutes before the interview so I could take my time and not arrive sweating like a horse. Thanks to half a Xanax last night and the other half this morning I was pretty much cool, calm and collected.
The interview went well I thought and lasted about 20 minutes. Of course, as usual I spaced when the interviewer asked if I had any questions for them. I didn’t but merely stated that I was reliable and dependable.
At least I hope the interview went well. I think it did. I was told they were seeing other people which could be the truth, or it could be a lie. In any event, I just have to wait and see. At least I still have a job, standing on my feet for 9 hours during a 10 hour shift. With 1 free cigar a day.
Whether or not that resonated with her is another story. I did like the interviewer though, she seemed nice. I walked back to the bus terminal, trying not to sweat. Still calm and collected, though not as cool, I met up with Bill and his friend Tom.