2.12.98

(We interrupt the 'OF THE FIRST TIME' story to bring you this ... interruption.)

I got a job.

Okay, it's just a temp job but ... it's a job. If I ever hear from all those rat-bastards who I sent resumes to, and follow-up emails and voice-mail messages, blah, blah, blah... I might just have to go off. Seriously.

It is apparently too much to ask for potential employers to let potential employees know where the hell they stand. I could rant and rave and whine and moan about that for hours, ad nauseum, but I'm trying really hard to let it go.

Ahhhhh....

Just let... it... goooooo.

Serenity now!

So, the short of my new job is that I'll be writing in-house technical manuals for this company's employees to use in learning a new computer system.

I hate starting a new job. It's so intimidating and you don't know where anything is and you don't know who anybody is and you're wondering if you can actually do the job.

Maybe it's just me and my strong inferiority complex but doesn't everyone get that sinking feeling the first few days on the job that while you have duped the masses they just might find out what kind of bullshitter you really are? I worry too much.

But the upside to all this anxiety is that I will have a paycheck for a little while. This is a very good thing. I can't wait to buy some clothes. Right now my business wardrobe is pretty pathetic. At the last job I had I was pretty much desk-bound and there was really no need to dress up, bind the body, to interface with my computer for eight hours. Also, they didn't pay me enough to buy new clothes even if I wanted them. Half my monthly paycheck went to rent and the other half to bills.

I am now an official Los Angeles commuter. I drive from the Marina Del Rey area (taking the 405) to "the valley." I like saying "the valley." I just found out that "the valley" is actually referring to the San Fernando Valley. It takes me about thirty minutes to get to work if I leave at 7 a.m. Unfortunately, it takes me an hour or an hour and a half to get home. I try to leave work at four but, then, so does everyone else.

Luckily, T. is letting me drive his car and he drives mine. My car would overheat and explode just looking at the 405 let alone braving the stop-and-go trip home. T. must love me very much.

Anyway, I've had two days on the job and I don't really have anything tangible to do there yet. Here's hoping it picks up. Otherwise I'll be inclined to sleep at my desk.

I have also come to the conclusion that the world's worst drivers reside everywhere. Having moved around a lot I have been subjected to the world's slowest drivers in Eugene, Oregon, the world's dumbest drivers in Columbus, Mississippi, the world's strangest drivers in England and the world's angriest drivers in San Antonio, Texas. Nowhere have I yet to encounter the world's politest drivers or the world's most skilled drivers or even the world's most-likely-to-use-a-turn-signal drivers. Bad drivers are EVERYWHERE. However, now that I have said that I would like to comment on California drivers.

The California driver drives differently. The California driver will use his/her vehicle as a battering ram or roadblock if necessary. The California driver uses his/her horn to signal when they are going to change lanes, when they are going to cut you off, when they are giving you permission to cut them off and especially when they are planning to run a red light. I have become liberal with my car horn. I have been amazed so far with the amount of congeniality, though grudgingly-given I'm sure, of the drivers during rush hour traffic on that there 405. So far, I have not found it impossible to maneuver my way around the freeways. And, that's a good thing.

Don't be surprised when I come up with a scathing commentary on the horrors of the California freeway. One thing I inherited from my father is a contempt for other drivers. They're all craaaaazy.