My Starbucks Job

I'm glad for it. Gets me out of the house. Gives me reason to go into Manhattan other than spending money I don't have on restaurants, jellybean stores, fruitshake stands, and comic book outlets.

Making coffee is complicated. I've only done register yet, and today I might be fixing drinks. I'm never happy until I've perfected what I'm doing. I want to do it so well that I'm sleepwalking through it. Anything short of perfection provokes anxiety. Hence I'm anxious about something as trivial as a Starbucks job.

In fact, I'd better go so I can get there on-time.

Oh, before I do--
SECONDS before I went down to the B-train, NJ Unemployment called me to do the phone interview for my benefits. They were to mail me my appointment time so I could be ready for this call, but I never got the letter. To think how close I came to missing the call puts my back hairs at 45 degree angles.

My local post office should be nuked.

The woman who interviewed me sounded sympathetic and seemed to try to find reasons to give me my benefits, as opposed to shooting reasons down. But I won't know anything until I received my mailed response. She told me it would either be unemployment checks (the delay since I first applied means they owe me two weeks worth already), or i'll get a letter explaining why I'm not getting any.

Then on Friday I went to the Part Two appointment for the one-shot rental assistance. (They actually call it the "One-Shot Deal".) The Part One interview people told me I had to have all sorts of proof that I would be able to pay next month's rent independently or else I'd not get the 'one-shot'. Now, why would that be? Anyway, they exaggerated.

I was interviewed by a tall guy named 'Igor' who had a heavy Russian accent. (I kid you not). He looked sleepy. He took my information, (that being the details for the reduction of my work in Jersey), and then he told me the same thing that the NJ unemployment woman did. I would receive the decision by mail. It was up to his supervisor to make the decision. The letter would either tell me that they sent the check directly to my landlord, or that I was denied.

If it weren't for the fact that I was asking for free money, I'd be aggravated. Here I am, depending on that lousy postal office for my fate. And what if, after three weeks of processing appointments, I discover I am denied for rental assistance? Then I'm flat out, folks. This blog will stop, I'll lose this apartment, and I'll catch you all on the flipside.

The other day on TV I saw an interview with the chick who raised money through her website to help her pay off her credit card debt. She's now written a book on how to control spending and solve debt and she appeared totally happy with herself. This chick was (still is?) a TV producer who lived on the Eastside of Manhattan. All I could do was shake my head at this woman's amazing, amazing timing. I couldn't even be mad at her, or anyone who gave her money (the amount of which were thousands upon thousands). She did something that I'm sure no one will ever be able to do again. She just asked for it and she got it. She didn't show off her boobs or had a webcam in her slumber parties or anything. She just asked for it, and she got it!

Now what kind of people gave it to her, is my largest question. And did those people give money to homeless people too, as a matter of daily practice? Were they her racial and social peers who couldn't bear to see one of their own begging? Kind of like that comedy skit, 'The Secret Lives of White People'; when a white guy walks into a bank the white teller just starts throwing money at him.

Well, I board that racial paranoia train because the friend lending me money is white, and I'm not. I would like to point out that he's GOT money and he's white--and I don't. I'm just saying.

Social education needs to improve. My culture ill-equipped me. I will now have to work hard at breaking this lackadaisical lifestyle. Some white people would NEVER EVER have taken handouts. And they are never out of money because they squeeze those pennies until Abraham howls. Why? Because they were TAUGHT BETTER THAN THAT. They have money markets and CDs and crap. They save for rainy days and nest-eggs. They have savings accounts with balances into the 00's and even 000's. Violating their savings to them is like spitting in their mother's faces. They make American economics work for them.

Why can't we black folk? We spend every dime we get, and even ones we find on the street. We're all about the RIGHT NOW. I try to convince myself that when I make enough money, I'll have savings. This has not happened to date.

I do know one sure thing, however. This isn't genetic. Extra melanin in my skin is not the cause of my financial woes. My financial upbringing is the cause. Poor single mother handing down precisely Zero values about saving money. In fact, when I started making good money in the post office, she cursed me out on the regular for not offering to give her any. Which, unfortunately, did not encourage me to give her any, thus justifying her naming me a selfish bastard. And to this day, I don't give what little money I have to homeless people.

Selfishness has been very very good to me.

But not really.

Well, maybe this spell of moneylessness is meant to teach me something. I should learn to be more generous to people who are "less fortunate" than myself, instead of finding reasons why they don't deserve my money?

Waitaminnit! That made SENSE.

CRAP.

Me at 10/24/2004 11:16:00 AM

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