Grease Lightning
Here I am in my new apartment, in my new life as a used car salesman. And new cars are in there, too. But I also sell used cars.
I played this role when I worked at a camp in a skit we did involving one of the kids coming to my automall to buy a car and I was dressed in my brother’s loafers, a dusky blue corduroy suit, brown man-wig, mustache and a pair of not-quite-aviator shades that looked like I might’ve called them ‘manhandles.’ I talked like I was from New Jersey, in some old movie where they say “say?” at the end of every sentence, and I motioned to the camper to follow me as I showed him a few cars (other campers on their hands and knees) that were in very bad shape. (Clicking, hawing, arms and legs swinging at inappropriate times, you get it.) I can’t remember what shape the campers themselves were in, but I bet they looked like freaking Lance-a-little Armstrongs. In spirit.
So yes, I sell cars, and, considering my camp skit background, one might say I was groomed for the job. This is how it happened:
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Remember how my last post was roughly 6 months ago? And the few posts preceding my long and darkened absence dealt solely with applying for jobs, speaking to employers, even? (I had given my blog url out to several employers, which is a very stupid thing to do both because I have gone au natural a few times streaking through the pages of this blog talking about love, health and sickness, and because granting a critical party who will determine the course of your entire future for always naturally informs the content of what you write.) So, I sold out a little bit, but on to the next topic.
After 6 months of searching up and down, in cities I feel I could otherwise call home, wanting to leave this place behind and alight somewhere full of energy, with cafes and the theatre, music of all types threading through at all hours, dance, museums, throngs of people and food of every ethnicity, I kind of just said “fuck it” and started applying to places in Marion City, the sleepy town where I live and there is a fucking awesome beach. (I just said “fuck” twice, which cancels it out.)
And, like a fucking hero, the Lord Our Dear Savior slipped me into one of those wormholes again where everything lines up and all of a sudden you’re walking into a car place, resume in hand and the next day you’re hired, and now you’re searching high and low for every recipe you can find to make sausage. And on the 6th day, I moved into a new apartment, right on the blessed beach, which I’ll get back to at some point.
Whenever you slip into a wormhole, what’s on the other side is usually pretty astounding, for one reason or another. As it turns out, I really like my job except for those times every night when I feel like I am going to be fired soon. Night approaches, so I must type quickly.
That’s all for now.
