conte [issue two - Intro to Narrative]

I find a security guard and ask him if there’s a place I can plug it in to charge. He tells me no, so I head over to the pay phones. I want to call Robin to tell her not to panic if she tries to call and I’m not around. The payphones don’t seem to work when you try to use a credit card on them, and I don’t have enough change to cover a 3-minute long distance phone call. However, there is an outlet nearby, and I set my suitcase beside it. Like the secret agent spy I am, I manage to sneakily plug my phone into the wall and cover it with my jacket. In this post-9-11 age, I could probably get thrown in jail for doing it, as various cords being hidden beneath a jacket on top of a suitcase isn’t the least incriminating thing that I could do. Nonchalantly pacing nearby, I eventually unplugged the phone after about an hour, figuring that would be enough juice to get me home. I call Robin briefly to tell her that the next bus out of Pittsburgh into Indiana will be at 3pm the next day- that I should see her at 4:30 in the afternoon or so. She insists on picking me up in Pittsburgh instead. My bus will get there at dawn, and I ask her if she’d rather just wait awhile, that I’ll be there pretty early. She says that she’ll leave around 7:30, so I’d just have to wait a little while in Pittsburgh. I like this plan better, because staying most of the day in Pittsburgh would be hell. Until then, I’m still in Philadelphia, and my train doesn’t leave until midnight. I can’t read because I start to doze off when I do. I can’t let myself doze off, because the place is filled with people who I barely trust when I’m awake.

The baggage guy in New York told me that there was no need to recheck my suitcase, so when I’m about to board the bus to Pittsburgh and the check guy tells me I need to check the suitcase, I’m a little miffed. There’s a long line for baggage check and I ask him if they’d leave without me. The next bus leaves at 2:30am, and there’s no way in hell I’m waiting around for it. He says that the driver won’t leave, but there’s a little doubt in his face. He tells me just to go to the desk and tell them what’s going on. That they’ll take care of me and let me on. I apologize as I slide my way to the front of the line. I ask if I can get my bag checked and the guy behind the counter rolls his eyes.

“Gonna have to wait in line, man.” He says.

I start to panic a little. I tell him that I have to get this bag checked, and I have to get the hell out of here.

“Back of the line, sir.” He says.

When the attendant outside peers in the door to check on me, he notes my position in line with displeasure. He asks if they could just check me and let me get on the bus.

“He coming over here with an attitude, acting like he’s all important and shit- I told his ass to get to the back of the line.”

This is ludicrous, because, in a sweaty, rumpled suit, complete with oily hair and bloodshot eyes, I can’t help but know exactly how unimportant I am.

“I’m not trying to piss anyone off.” I say. “I just need to get the hell out of this damned city!”

This is the wrong thing to say to a pair of guys who probably live here, but I don’t really care. From the back room comes a young lady in the same outfit as both the guys I’m dealing with, but it fits her better. She smiles sweetly at us both and asks if she can help. They let her check my baggage, and she wishes me a safe trip before going again into the back room.

Sleeping on a bus is impossible if you’re taller than five foot. There’s no legroom, the bus rattles like an enormous garbage disposal, and your head bounces merrily on the hard window every time the bus rolls over anything larger than a pebble on the road. To my left, a tiny lady stretches out on her seat, a bag under her head, and falls asleep as comfortably as if she were at home. Another broken few hours of sleep, and Robin will rescue me from Pittsburgh.

A few days and a doctor’s visit later, I’ll receive a call from the marketing firm, asking me to come back to New York for a secondary interview. I should be there at 9am sharp, they say- the process will last the whole day. The best part is that Robin has been asked to do a similar interview process with a marketing group in Mineola, a small town outside of Queens. We arrange our interviews to be in the same couple of days, and reserve a hotel room in White Plains for a couple of nights. Instead of the long bus trip to New York, we decide to drive instead. I-80 is a miserable stretch of nothingness and we do nothing but talk ourselves hoarse the entire trip. We’re excited and scared as we make our way into White Plains. Robin is in love with the town instantly. The goal has become to live here. It’s a lofty and beautiful goal- White Plains is an ideal place to live. We pay for our room in advance, and come away nearly broke. We’ve had a long trip, but the sight of that beautiful little city is enough to lift our spirits. Neither our empty pockets nor the sweltering room we’re staying in can dampen our goals. We both feel good with the opportunities we’ve been given, and both vow to make our goals a very real way of life.

I wake up at 7, and I’m out by 7:30 for my 9 o’clock interview. I go to the corporate park’s cafeteria and sit in the same seat I sat in some week and a half ago. I eat a muffin and sip some juice while I wait for a time that shows me to be early but not fanatical. 8:30 comes and I make my way back to the same secretary as before. She tells me to have a seat and I do. It’s 9:30 before someone comes out to see me. She calls myself and a young lady sitting beside me. We are introduced to Sarah, a woman who has worked here for six months. She takes us outside to her car, explaining that we’ll be shadowing her today so we know what the job entails.

The fact that we’re leaving the corporate park sets a warning alarm off immediately.

We haven’t even left the park before I’ve decided that I want out. The distance from the parking lot to the gates of the park is enough time for her to tell us that we’ll be working completely on commission, and that there are no benefits.

“We’re working on getting them, though.” She says.

She tells us how we must be freaked out to hear that the job only pays us based on commission.