Too poor, too poor, just a little too poor.
This afternoon running a few errands on my way to campus, I found myself getting uncomfortably warm in my un-air-conditioned little car for the first time this year. I wiped my forehead, glanced in the rearview mirror and found I’d achieved that sought-after “sweaty bangs sticking to face in weird chunks” look. The look of the summertime, which I realized, is almost upon us.

I’m a little nervous about spending the impending school-free season here in Beachtown. My err, social life, has taken a weird turn and I spend most of my time alone, now. I look forward to those classes of mine with a voracity young Laura Ingles Wilder would admire.

Also, I have to find a job. I’ve got some freelance writing things here and there, but that doesn’t provide enough cash to, say, eat every day. So today I started scoping out my prospects in earnest. There’s waitressing-a-plenty at the thirty-thousand beachy restaurants around here. I’ve never waitressed. It’s the final frontier of service jobs for me. What makes me most nervous is that in order to get one of these jobs, I’d have to lie and say I’ve done it before, and I imagine getting hired and it being assumed I possess this whole bevy of skills that are completely foreign to me. That balancing-dishes-on-your-arm thing. That Social Code Among Waitresses and Busboys and Kitchen Staff thing. No clue.

I dunno. Call me cowardly, but so far, I’ve applied at a coffee shop, which is something I have ample, ample experience in, and a wine shop (My father’s a wine geek and I learned to use a corkscrew before I learned to drive. Before I learned algebra, even.) Neither pays very well and I’m not even sure either is hiring.
I kind of want a fish out of water job, to tell you the truth, Mr. H. Something totally new and unfamiliar. To assist on a fishing boat or I don’t know, a pirate ship. It’s the beach, after all.
Anyhoo, I’ll keep you updated.