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Philadelphia: The Salad Dressing King

When Reuben and I settled in Northeast Philly, we had a local called Arugula.  They had great chicken cheesesteaks and cheap drinks.  It was a diner/bar at the bottom of a hill in the center of a three-way intersection.  They had cloth napkins, vinyl booths and a jukebox that seemed to be stuck on “Hey Nineteen” by Steely Dan.  You would find us there almost every evening drinking beers and chatting with the bartender, Tracy.  Tracy was a pretty woman with long bleach blond hair.  She is one of those women who is pretty in her youth, but because of smoking and drinking wasn’t going to age well.  She was thirty, which already seemed pretty old to me. I was 23.

One afternoon, I got off early from work and raced back to Northeast Philly. I got back too early to pick up Reuben from work.  My young dumb self rationalized it would be best to wait for him at Arugula. I mean, Reuben worked just up the hill from Arugula and who doesn’t love a little day drinking?  Home was an extra two minutes away and I had to pick him up in an hour, makes sense, right? Oh 23, dumb, dumb 23.

When I got there, Tracy greeted me with her normal enthusiastic “Hey!!!”, like I was Norm at Cheers. I ordered a pint of whatever was on special.  There was a man at the end of the bar who looked like a construction worker, his name was Gary. He had a perfect Fu Manchu and was wearing a t-shirt with no sleeves. The Fu Manchu has always been a popular choice in Philly.  This was the late 90’s, pre-hipster ironic facial hair. Gary was Tracy’s boyfriend. The three of us chatted it up, mostly about traffic.

About a half-hour later, the front door opened and an older gentleman walked in.  Tracy said, “Hey Morty!”  I had never seen him before.  I also had never been to Arugula at 3 pm on a Thursday. Morty was an older gentleman in his early to mid 70’s.  He was wearing pleated light blue Bermuda shorts, an elastic waisted shirt, white knee-high dress socks, dress shoes, and a straw fedora.  It was everything you would expect from an elderly man named Morty in Northeast Philly. He sat down and ordered a whiskey and we continued chit-chatting.  Eventually, Tracy and Gary broke off and were having a private conversation at the other end of the bar.   That left me and Morty to chat.  We talked about everything. I didn’t have much to say, I was 23 and answering the phones at a Medicaid HMO. Morty had a lot to say. He was divorced with two children. He referred to his ex-wife as “That Bitch.” It seemed a little harsh, but who am I to tell my elders how to speak. He also told me about his business. He, along with his brother, supplied the finest restaurants in Philadelphia with their salad dressing. Morty then referred to himself as the “Salad Dressing King of Philadelphia.” Then Morty started droning on about his new Cadillac.  He begged to go out and look. I knew he wouldn’t shut up until I looked, so I went to the front door and stared out the window. It was big and white and looked expensive. He started listing off its features, leather heated seats, sunroof, and a cd player. I pretended to be impressed.

The jukebox started playing Beat It. Tracy started singing and my attention went back to the bar. I was finally relieved from Cadillac talk. Tracy grabbed Morty’s fedora and did the Beat It dance behind the bar. Then Morty got up and did a little dance in front of the bar. It was a dance you might see a grandpa doing at a Bar Mitzvah. Morty really seemed to be enjoying the company, because he started buying the drinks. (SCORE)  I was having a great afternoon.  I got off work and I was drinking for free.  Life was grand at 23.  Tracy went back to Gary, so Morty and I were alone again.  He seemed to be getting drunk and started slurring his words.  I guess six whiskeys is a lot, what did I know.  We continued our chat, but Morty was making less and less sense. Then out of nowhere Morty leaned over and whispered

Morty: I want to take you to Jersey.
Me: Oh really, why? (I swear to you I was this innocent.)
Morty: I want to rent a hotel room and tie you up.
Me: Um……..Um…..

Morty smiled a very drunk horny smile.

I blurted out “I have a boyfriend!”

Morty’s face changed.  He was enraged.  The same venom with which he spoke about his wife, he leveled at me.

Morty: You are lying!!!!  (He was spitting and gesticulating.)
Me: I swear to you I am not. (I totally was.)

I yelled to Tracy and said, “Hey, don’t I have a boyfriend?”  Praying she would catch on. She did and said, “Yes, she does, they live together.”

Then Gary got in on the action and said: “Oh her boyfriend is so nice.”

Morty was screaming at me at this point about how I led him on. He paid his bill and stood at the door screaming some more. He called me a cock tease and a bitch among other things.  If he hadn’t been wearing orthopedic shoes and white dress socks, I might have been scared, but instead, I was just stunned.  I was nervously giggling. I didn’t think it was funny, but I was so shocked I was no longer in control.  I think it made him angrier, because Morty stormed off in his Bermuda shorts, but not before flipping me the bird.  This man looked like one of my Grandpa’s friends and he was calling me a cock tease.  How do you even process a grandpa calling you a cock tease? When the Donald Sterling scandal came out, I thought of Morty. He’d be in his 90’s now.

Philadelphia: The Swarm

Several months after I moved to Philly, Reuben and I were able to rent an apartment.  We both had been living with his parents, until I could find a job. It was early December when we moved in. We spent the next few weeks trying to furnish our apartment and buy Christmas presents on our meager salaries. He suggested Wal-Mart.  I had never actually been in a Wal-Mart. I only shopped at Target. I’m kinda high-end.  Nevertheless, I acquiesced, because my wallet said Wal-Mart, even though my heart was at Target.

I was a little overwhelmed by the size of Wal-Mart.  The store was so large. We got a cart and started wandering through the aisles picking up household items and arguing about space and necessity. Reuben had a penchant for things featuring Bette Davis and I had one for toilet paper and throw pillows. Don’t Ask!  We decided to split up for a while to cool off and feed our addictions, without the other’s intervention.  I headed towards the throw pillows and that’s when things got interesting.  I was looking at some amazing floor pillows, trying to figure out how I could get them past Reuben, when a band of kids of varying ages passed by.  They were all a little unkempt. One of the smaller children had a kool-aid stain around his mouth and another had snot running down her face. The older kids clothes were visibly dirty and their hair was uncombed. They were screaming, laughing and tearing it up in the Wal-Mart at midnight. They were also completely unsupervised. As they were passing, one the of the older boys (he looked about 10) spotted me, stopped and called to his fellow ragamuffins to come look.

Let the games begin.

They stood at the end of the aisle and stared, I focused my gaze on the shelf.  After about a minute, I had enough, so I turned my head and stared back. They were startled that I was aware of them, so they ran. This was not to be the end of our encounter, instead they decided to stalk me. They were quick, agile and organized tracking me from aisle to aisle. Their strategy was to stay at the end of the aisle and peer around the shelves giggling and pointing.  When it looked like I was going to change aisles they ran several ahead and watched to see where I was going.  Their precision at tracking was pretty good, so I decided to play along. I faked them out a couple of times by making like I was going to change aisles and then I didn’t. That didn’t fool them. They gave me about a minute and when I didn’t move, they ran back to their original positions. During one of my fake-outs, one of the swarm faltered. The oldest girl got a little too excited and ran into me. After that tactical error, they regrouped and decided to split in half. Now they were positioned at both ends of the aisle. When one of them wanted to take a closer look, they walked quickly down the aisle, staring at me with the side-eye. The rest of the swarm, remained at the ends waiting for their turn. (Kinda of like a Soul Train Line.)  During the oldest girl’s next turn down the aisle, she decided to break with tradition and stood in front of me doing Rockette kicks. Her big finish was to circle me doing a jazz hand shimmy. The Swarm was in hysterics, I just stared blankly. I really wanted to laugh, but that would break the fourth wall. I have never seen a band of children work together in such unison. They were as organized as a paramilitary regiment. They kinda looked like the children of militia members.

The game had been going on for least twenty minutes, when I finally met Reuben in the bedding section. I was carrying a giant throw pillow, which immediately started an argument. Reuben was never and will never be pro throw pillow. I didn’t mention the swarm, although they were still in hot pursuit.  When they followed us to the next aisle, Reuben realized what was happening.  He asked, “Has this been happening the whole time?” and I answered “Yes, don’t worry about it.”   They followed us to one more aisle and Reuben had, had enough. He announced “That’s It” and then marched over to the swarm and clapped at them, like animals.  Their faces went from joy to shock.  They weren’t prepared to be addressed directly, so they just stood there with an “Oh Sh@t” look.  Then Reuben yelled in his deepest guttural voice “Get out of here!!” They spread like buckshot.  Reuben followed them part way down the aisle clapping at them as they scurried off.  I died laughing right there in the Wal Mart.  Reuben walked back and said “Crap, that was annoying.”    To which I replied, “See, If we had gone to Target, this wouldn’t have happened.”

Philadelphia: Misfits and Wiccans pt 2

The first day of the rest of my life, started pretty uneventfully. The dress code was casual at best, so I didn’t have to bother with ironing.   I dressed in fifteen minutes and was out the door within a half an hour. When I got to the “office,” everyone was already there.  The Misfits were a lot mellower this morning. (Hung Over) Tracy was lying across the top of the sofa.  She opened her eyes and waved when I walked in.  Rich and Dan were both sleeping, sitting on the floor with their backs against the wall. Toothless was sitting at the receptionist desk, but she didn’t acknowledge me. I was fine with that, because she was still cursing under her breath.  I didn’t see Tara, so I sat down on the couch in front of Tracy and waited.

Tara appeared at one of the back doors about five minutes later.  She waved me over and I followed her through to the poster storeroom.  The towers of posters were so tall, I couldn’t see over them.  Tara walked me through the entire selection of posters. She said “Every morning we take at least twelve and sometimes up to twenty with us.” Tara sold two the day before, which apparently is a great day. I helped her pick out replacements and then we loaded her car.  John came into the room and screamed “Morning Meeting.” I followed Tara into yet another garage, which turned out to be the old dude’s office.  The room was pretty bare except for a desk in the corner and the only light came from the top windows of the garage door. The rest of the windows were covered in brown butcher paper.

I had never been to a business meeting so I wondered if we were going to talk about sales projections, territory and competitors. (I had no idea what any of that meant, but I heard it on TV.)  Turns out, the morning meeting was more of a pep rally.  We stood in a circle holding hands and John started the meeting by leading us in a prayer of sales.  After a moment of silence, he started clapping vigorously. Everyone else followed suit. The clapping was followed by yelling; Hey, Hey, Ho, Ho and then a weird sales chant.  Suddenly, everyone (including me) started running in a circle yelling and waving their hands about.  I bet you’re wondering, why I didn’t run for the nearest exit.  The problem is I went to theatre school, where improv games are a rule not an exception.  I just assumed they borrowed the techniques to better their salesmanship. (I had never been to a sales meeting, anything seemed plausible.)

Once everyone was properly pumped, we disbanded and headed to our cars.  Tara and I got into hers and drove away from the city.  We smoked and rode around for ages, traveling deeper and deeper into the Pennsylvania countryside.  Def Leppard and Fleetwood Mac was the soundtrack of the day.  Tara and I sang at the top of our lungs with the windows open and our hair blowing in the wind.  I felt like I was on a road trip. Finally, Tara said she knew of a spot that hadn’t been tapped yet. She made a U-turn on a police turnaround and drove back two exits. Once off the highway, we drove down an industrial road for a couple of minutes until we came to an office building.  Tara pulled into the garage, we got out and she grabbed two posters from her trunk.  We walked into the building and suddenly Tara seemed nervous and a little lost at what to do next. (At this point, it finally clicked that something was off.) She studied the building directory for a few minutes and then pointed at the name of an accounting company.  We took the stairs to the second floor and walked directly into the office without knocking.  The whole room was filled with white, middle-aged, grey haired women, who turned in unison and stared at us.  My face started to burn with shame and embarrassment. It felt like we had walked into someone’s home uninvited.  Tara nervously said “Would anyone like to buy some art?” The oldest of the women came to the door and asked us to leave.  Tara said “Sure” and we walked out of the room and then ran out of the building.  As we were running,  I started to question my participation with the company. Tara didn’t seem all that comfortable with her participation either, but neither of us expressed it, we just ran.

As we were loading the posters back into the trunk, two women from the office appeared across the garage with wallets in hand.  They called to us and asked to see our selection. In the end, Tara sold two posters.   She turned to me after the ladies left and said  “See, that was a great sale.” (I think she was trying to convince herself.) We drove around the rest of the day singing and talking.  We both really liked Tusk by Fleetwood Mac, so we played it at least twenty times that day.

At 3:30, we went back to the “office.”  Toothless was still at the front desk when we arrived.  Tara and I sat down on the couch and Toothless struck up a conversation about a lingerie catalog, she was thumbing through.   Then she started regaling us with her and John’s sexual escapades from the night before.  Apparently, she had dressed in a french maid’s uniform and you can fill in the blanks, but I will say there was a lot of laughing and grunting noises made during the telling of the story.  I sat quietly with a strange smile pasted on my face, hoping they wouldn’t notice how uncomfortable I was. John came out and asked Tara to come to his office.  She whispered to me, that she was going to give me a glowing report.   About five minutes later, John called me in.  I wasn’t sure what I was going to say to him.  He asked if I would like to continue and I said “Yes.” (Still can’t explain why I didn’t take the out.)  I have a problem with follow thru, sometimes I follow thru to a fault.  John said “Great, come back tomorrow same time and you’ll go out on your own.”  I knew I wasn’t ready for that, but my pride would not allow me to say so.  I drove back to Sarina’s with a pit in my stomach knowing I would have to go back there tomorrow.

When I got home, Sarina quizzed me about how it was.  I said “Great,” leaving out all of the details.  I spent the whole night tossing and turning in bed.  I just kept asking myself “How in the world am I going to sell posters out of my car?”

I was exhausted the next morning, but I got up early and drove back to the “office.” Tara greeted me with a big smile and Rich came over and said “I’m going to help you set up your car. Can you pull it around to the back?”  Rich turns out was a really nice guy. He got in my car and put my back seats down and then lined my trunk with a box.  We walked around the storeroom together and picked out some posters.  He told me which ones sell the best and then he loaded them up, just in time for the morning meeting.   The meeting was the same as the morning before, lots of yelling and clapping. (I was hoping the meeting would never end, but it did.)  The moment finally came for me to go out on my own and sell posters to unsuspecting normal people.  I was so scared.

I got in my car and drove around for about an hour, until I worked up enough courage to get out and try.  I stopped at a dentist’s office, walked in with my samples and the receptionist gave me a puzzled look.  I asked her if the office had any interest in new art work.  She said “I don’t handle that.”  Then the dentist appeared behind her and said “Sorry, I collect art and spend a lot of time and money investing in original art work. I wouldn’t put cheap reproductions in here.”  I said, “Sure, your art is really nice, thanks.”   I slunked out of the office completely embarrassed.  I drove around for another hour, until I made the decision to go back to Sarina’s.  I just couldn’t do it. So, I parked the car in the garage, sat on the couch and watched TV for the rest of the day.  I called Reuben at work. (We didn’t have cell phones yet, so it was a dead giveaway I wasn’t selling.) He said “Where are you? Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”  I said “Oh, I’m quitting, I couldn’t do it.”  He response was “It’s only Noon.”  I said “Uh-huh, that’s all I could handle.”  He laughed and said “Why don’t you come over for dinner after work.”  I said “Ok.”

I drove back to the office and everyone was so excited to see me.  Rich asked “How did you do?” I said “Oh, I didn’t sell anything.”  Tara said “That’s ok, it’s only your first day.”  John said “We should keep the posters in your car, so you don’t have to load up tomorrow.”  I knew I wasn’t coming back the next day, so I said “I’m not sure they will be safe because I park my car on the street in Center City. Can I leave them here?”  John said “Sure, we’ll leave them in a pile, out-of-the-way.”  I left the office, but not before I told everybody that I would see them tomorrow. (I didn’t want to hurt their feelings.)

Around midnight, I called the office and quit via the answering machine, citing a family emergency.  That call ended all contact with the poster cult, but I still wonder what happened to everybody, especially Tara.  I sort of felt like I abandoned her, but it’s every man for themselves.   To this day every time I hear Tusk by Fleetwood Mac, I think of my time with the Poster cult.

Philadelphia: Misfits and Wiccans

I leapt out of bed early the next morning, ready for the day. (Definitely, not normal behavior.) My morning routine is usually a long and painful drama that sometimes ends in tears, but always includes snarling. But not this day, I had an interview in my field and was on the path to success. I was so sure this was my job; I treated myself to the garage. Parking excursions were not something I could handle, while preparing for the most important interview of my life.

I watched morning television in my suit until it was time to go. (I needed to get used to wearing it, I was going to be a business person.) Two hours before the interview, I left home armed with hand written directions, my poor ability to follow said directions and a full tank of gas.  (The previous weekend I got lost in Reuben’s neighborhood for two hours.  I just kept going up and down the same street looking for my turn, FOR TWO HOURS!!!) Given my track record, I had to prepare for the worst. But, I knew in my heart this day was different. (I only got lost twice and arrived forty-five minutes early!)

As I pulled into the parking lot, I got a little nervous. The location didn’t seem very arty. Maybe I had written the address down wrong. Maybe I was lost again, because I seemed to be in an office park for body shops. I stopped at the first garage and asked the mechanic if I was in the right place. He said “Yes” and pointed to the end of the parking lot.  I drove down and parked next to the “office door.” (It had a sign on it that said office; otherwise it looked like a body shop.) There were old tires stacked by the door and other miscellaneous body shop debris lying around. This should have caused me more pause than it did. Instead, I decided they were a company of underground artists who spray painted building murals. In their free time, they did work on canvas.  Presumably, they were Philly’s answer to Warhol’s Factory.  I sat in my car and imagined myself running with the artistic elite.

At 3:45, I decided it was time to go in.  When I opened the door, an unsettling feeling came over me. It felt like I was peering into another world (One where the sun was not welcome.)    Everything went dark, as the door shut behind me.  The room’s only light came from a couple of half dead fluorescent bulbs. The receptionist was sitting at a desk off to the side of the room.  I walked over and said “My name is Cara, I am here for my 4:00 interview.”  She looked up from her romance novel briefly and said “Ok”, then pointed across the room at the seating area.  It was furnished in “Early American Parents Hand Me Downs.” (Brown nubby plaid sofa, an old ratty coffee table and a puce shag rug.)  I perched on the very edge of the sofa, because it looked like it had been through a flood. The walls were covered in framed reproductions of the masters most recognized work (Monet’s Water Lilies, Dali’s Melting Clocks and Van Gogh’s Sunflowers.) It wasn’t as underground chic as I thought it would be.

The receptionist walked to one of the doors at the back and screamed through, saying something to the effect of your four is here. I recognized her voice from my phone interview the day before.  She walked back to the desk, grabbed her purse and started packing up to leave.  As she was doing this, a toothless woman with horrible bleach blonde hair came out of the office and sat at the desk.  Toothless slammed drawers and mumbled curse words under her breath while a cigarette hung precariously from her sunken, red lips. (Her drags were so long and deep she finished half the cigarette in one.)  She pulled a giant pile of cash out of a drawer and started counting, never removing the cigarette from her mouth.  I wondered if they were running a back to work program for homeless people.

The receptionist left and then one by one the strangest band of misfits arrived. First came Tracy, she was a skinny, jumpy, teenage girl, who laughed loudly, often and at inappropriate times.  Then came Rich, he looked a little like Anthony Kiedes during the drug years, (but not as clean.)  Then Dan, he was a football player type who liked to say f*ck a lot. (Also missing a few teeth.) Finally, came Tara, the most normal of the group. (She kind of looked like Stevie Nicks and was the only one who seemed to have bathed recently.)  They could have been in the cast of Trainspotting except for the Philly accents.

I was so mesmerized by the Misfits, I found myself unable to stop staring. Dan and Rich play wrestled while Tracy was giggling in weird spastic spurts. They were making so much noise, the room was vibrating. Toothless started screaming unintelligibly at them. In unison, the Misfits screamed back. It seemed like a hostile exchange, but then everyone broke into laughter.   I turned my head for a second to watch this old dude (he was 30) walk through the room. When I turned back, the misfits were focused on me.  Rich (Anthony Kiedes) asked me all the obvious questions like “Are you applying? (What else would I have been doing in a garage/office in a suit?) “What’s your name?”  “Your accent is weird, where are you from?”  The others sort of chattered behind him with comments like. “Oh that’s cool.” “Her accent is weird.”  Then, as quickly as they had focused on me, they went back to screaming at each other.

Tara turned to me and quietly started coaching me on what to say during my interview. She also gave me the social structure of the clan.  Apparently, toothless was soon to be the wife of the boss.  The whole band of misfits was in the wedding, which was going to be a Wiccan ceremony in the woods.  (I had no idea what that was, but I smiled and nodded.)  Then she told me that  John (The Boss) was a Druid and Toothless was a high priestess (It was hard to believe she was anything but just plain high.)  The men were to wear robes and the women, corseted wench outfits. Toothless chimed in and started describing her bridal wear. She was going to wear an outfit made entirely of white sheer lace, possibly with her crotch out. She wasn’t really sure yet, but it would have a hood. I was now actively stamping down a little voice in my head that was telling me to run.

John finally came out to get me.  He was a tall guy about my age with long greasy red hair and a big red bushy beard.  He was dressed like a burnout, in cargo shorts and a Grateful Dead t-shirt.  John took me back to his office.  It was a horrible mess of paper, old filing cabinets and the back wall was a windowed garage door. (The windows had been blacked out with construction paper.) We both sat down on either side of an enormous metal desk covered in mounds of paper and an ash tray that had apparently, never been emptied. I handed over my resume.  He took a quick look and then started asking me about my personality.  You know the questions, i.e. (“Are you a go getter?”  “Do you like people?”)  I said, “Yes” enthusiastically to everything.  John told me that he had started six months earlier selling reproductions and now he had his own crew. He also said “Your success in this business is completely dependent on how much effort you put in.” I told him about my aspirations in photography and my time working in retail. He said, “Boy you sound like a great fit. I would like for you to come back tomorrow at 8am for training with Tara.” (Thank G*d it was Tara.)  Then he said, “You’ll shadow her on sales calls,” (I wondered where we would be calling.)  “Then you can decide if this is really something you want to do.” I said “Thank you so much for the opportunity.” (I still wasn’t sure what the “opportunity” was.  I knew it involved selling art posters, but to whom and where?) The lack of information didn’t seem to have any effect on my excitement. We shook hands and I walked out of his office and Tara gave me a look and I gave her a thumbs up.  She smiled, nodded and said congratulations.  I left the garage/office on cloud nine. (A job was a job.)

I decided to find Reuben and tell him the good news. So, I drove out to his parent’s house and relayed the day’s excitement to him and his mother.  Both of them “looked” excited, even though I was giving them a very vague description of a job. Naturally, I left out detailed descriptions of the people, office and the Wiccan stuff.

Reuben and I went out for a celebratory dinner and then I drove back to Sarina’s to prepare myself for my first day of work.  For the first time since I moved to Philadelphia, I went to bed excited.  If this worked out, I could start school! Things could only get better……  Tune in for the next installment.

Philadelphia: The Beginning

I moved to Philadelphia at twenty-three without a plan. Well, no real plan.  The general idea was to go to photography school, but I hadn’t spent much time figuring out how I would pay for it. (No concept of money) I already had bachelor’s degrees in Political Science and Theatre which qualified me for, well, not much.  My work experience at the time consisted of seasonal retail work, food service, an internship with the London Labour Party and one year as an office manager. I figured I could find a job doing “something” and then go to school at night.  How hard could it be?

Philadelphia has some of the best art schools in the country.  Also, my best friend (Sarina) and my college roommates (Bob and Reuben) were there.  If I am being honest, the art schools were a secondary draw.  Anyway, Bob, Reuben and I were planning to move in together and relive old times. (Party)  They went apartment hunting in my absence and found a great townhouse in Center City Philadelphia. Things were perfect.

Enter Bob’s girlfriend, whom he left in Ohio. She decided at the eleventh hour to move to Philadelphia too. Luckily, the townhouse was big enough for all of us.  Everything seemed great. (More Roommates=Cheaper Rent=Beer Money) Bob’s girlfriend and I decided to coordinate housewares and get to know each other over the phone. From my perspective, the conversation went well. As it turns out, she didn’t feel the same way. Bob called me two nights before I was to leave home and said we couldn’t live together. (Wonderful birthday present) “Moose” didn’t think it was a good idea (After this, I never called her by her given name.)  Since we were no longer going to live together, Bob suggested I stay in St. Louis. I told him that living together was not critical to my move or my life. I probably was not that articulate. (Lots of four letter words) Reuben was living with his parents, so it wasn’t essential for him to find an apartment. (Bob, as it so happens, was also living with Reuben’s parents.)  I was angry and scared. “She’s leaving home” by the Beatles was on repeat for twenty-four hours, while I cried and packed. (My brother tried to hide the cd six hours in.) Two days later, without a home, a job or a plan, my Dad and I packed my car and headed towards Philadelphia and my new (uncertain) life.

I moved in with Sarina and her roommate Alix, until I could find a job and an apartment.  But, finding a job proved more difficult than I thought.  I called several temp agencies I worked with in St. Louis. Over the phone they were confident they could find work for me. However, once I turned up at the agencies, the work miraculously disappeared. (a common theme in my life and job searches) I had an interview with a student travel agency and again nothing. Alix taught me how to sneak into a U of Penn computer lab to look for jobs on the internet. (The internet was still fairly new in 1998 and Sarina and Alix didn’t have a connection at home.)  I responded to hundreds of want ads, but for all the effort, I still wasn’t able to find work.

My car also turned out to be a major obstacle in finding a job.  Sarina’s apartment was in Center City Philadelphia, which meant I spent most of my days moving my car every two hours. (The show “Parking Wars” isn’t actually dramatizing.) Competition for spots was so fierce, it sometimes took an hour to find a new space. There were frequent screaming matches among the car mover set and in some cases arguments turned physical.  Fresh from the midwest, I hadn’t cultivated my aggression yet. Philadelphia requires aggression to perform the most basic of tasks. (i.e. grocery shopping, drive thrus, post office, pumping gas and most importantly driving.) During my first month, I lost many a parking spot, by being polite.  Sometimes I would pull up to a spot, turn on my blinkers and then before I could even turn my steering wheel, someone would come behind me and throw their car in the spot. (Parking blinkers in Philadelphian translates to, here’s a spot, take it.) The use of blinkers in Philadelphia is always ill-advised. It’s literally asking people to take advantage of you. During my early days, I was taken advantage of a lot. But, by the time I moved four years later, I was the fiercest, most aggressive, volatile driver of all my friends.

One day on one of my parking excursions ( I had five daily), I picked up the Philadelphia weekly, (the free newspaper.)  I also got lucky and found a spot in only 30 minutes. I ran home quickly and started looking through the classifieds. (With 1 hour and 45 minutes, until my next excursion, I had to run.)  My eye caught this bright yellow ad that said “Do you like Art?”, “Do you like people?” Come work in a relaxed environment around art. We are currently hiring sales people.”  This was exactly what I was looking for. I knew this was it.  I called immediately and a young woman answered.  I told her that I saw the ad and was interested in the position.  She asked me some rather basic questions like “Are you good with people?”  “Do you like art?”  “How much experience have you had with sales?”  I told her about my love of art and my time working in a department store and how I much I just love people (I was a theatre major, I laid it on.)  She said great, “Please come in at four tomorrow for an interview.”  I couldn’t believe my luck! Finally, an interview.  I  was so excited, I couldn’t wait for Sarina and Alix to come home.

When they got home a couple of hours later, I met them at the door with my news. I described the job as working for an art gallery (The ad never mentioned gallery and neither did the woman who interviewed me, but what else could it be?)   I laid out my interview suit that night and double checked my directions. I was so hopeful.

This is the first installment in my Philadelphia series. Please come back for the The Interview. You won’t be disappointed…