Tag Archives: job interview

Knowing is Half the Battle

I feel like ass.

I spent almost all of last night half awake and half asleep, tense and nervous about today. I was awake enough to worry and be aware of the fact that I wasn’t doing myself any favors by not sleeping, and asleep enough to dream about Rachel. I usually don’t dream about her, thankfully. I have to hold on to the little things that actually go right in my brain, and one of the few nice things is that in the midst of all of the nightmares and anxiety dreams and  Chris-dreams that I have every fucking night, I at least somehow manage to not dream about Rachel.

Generally. I guess I save her for special occasions.

They were good dreams, too, in the sense that in my dreams she was my girlfriend and we were happy and the only painful part was waking up.

And brilliantly, and probably predictably, I set the time on my alarm clock last night but forgot to actually turn it on. So I sat straight up in bed 30 minutes after I wanted to be awake and ran like mad for the shower. I went to Target, to the job interview. I made it on time. And I must have said enough of the right things, because they offered me the job.

Along with the drug test papers.

The drug test had to be completed in 24 hours. It was 10:30 am by the time I got out of there. I came home and looked up a few things on the internet, and got back in my car.

And for the second day in a row, I drove back to North Carolina.

I had a job interview last week that I obviously wasn’t charming enough for, and I was stupid and took the last of my Omni Cleanse before even going to the interview. And I’m sure that there’s a place I can buy a detox kit without driving two hours to Greensboro, but I don’t know of it yet and I couldn’t find one on the internet. And knowing is half the battle.

So I made it to Glitters a little after 1:00 in the afternoon and bought two detox kits — which thank God. Thank God I bought two. Thank God that right now is one of the tragically few times in my life that I had money to spend on something besides rent and car insurance.

Because I got back in my car and started taking the four pills and the shot of really nasty fruit punch flavored diuretic. Before I’d left Virginia I’d filled up an empty 2-litre with water and slammed the thing on the ride there. I was feeling good. I had time. It’s a little more than a two hour drive, it was a little after 1:00, and I had till 4:30 to get to Prime Care for the drug test.

Except that right after that, it suddenly went from being a little after 1:00 to being a little after 2:00 and I was on the wrong highway and it took me damn near 40 minutes to turn around and get unlost. WTF?? How did I lose that hour? What happened? Was I just paying attention taking the detox kit and zoning out? Or did I really just spend an hour driving in the wrong direction with absolutely no memory of it?

I was fucking scared. I’ve had secret suspicions before that I really do sometimes mentally shut down and operate on auto pilot, and then realize I have no memory of my own actions. Not that often. Not often at all, really. But it’s happened before. And I don’t know. I don’t know if I’m being careless or if there’s something deeper going on. But driving for 40 minutes in the wrong direction, and not having any memory of it, especially when time is so important. That’s a colossal fuck-up.

I know Greensboro just barely enough that I was able to turn around and get back on track. But I was scared and lost and not at all entirely sure I was going the right way. It was a shot in the dark that thankfully worked. Almost.

Prime Care closed at 4:30. I made it back to Lynchburg at 4:36.

Technically I have 24 hours to complete the drug test. I can get up in the morning and be there at 8:00 when they open and still be within the rules. But I don’t know if Target is going to find out that I waited so long to show up. I really fucking hope not. I know it wouldn’t look good at all. And I really fucking hope that there’s not going to be any hassle, that I’m not going to have to beg and plead my way into a late drug test.

I completely missed my other job interview. I was still an hour south of where I needed to be. I didn’t want to fucking work there anyway, but still. I can’t just do that. It would have been a job. It would have been a start.

So what do I do now? This is the second $35 detox kit I’ve wasted. The time frame of guaranteed results for this one closed about a half hour ago. But between the one I took today and the one I took last week and the amazingly huge amount of water I’ve been drinking — maybe that would be enough? Maybe I can pass a drug test on that alone, especially if I get up an drink another litre of water before I go in tomorrow morning.

Or should I take my last kit in the morning? Do they become dangerous? And more importantly, if I take another one tomorrow, will it be really obvious to the drug test people? I guess all they can do is make me take another one, which after this, after three detox kits and insane amounts of water, I’m sure I can pass on my own.

I know this one made me feel like ass, which the Omni never did. Perhaps it was because of stress or the two hours of sleep, but when I got home I was depressed and sore all over and barely awake and really wanted to puke. I sat and talk to my mom for just a few minutes before I had to go lay down. I hurt all over. My heart hurt and my body hurt. I laid there and fretted and hurt for a few hours and slept for a few hours.

And now I have to decide. Take my last kit in the morning or wing it?

I think I’ll take it, and I’ll just have to live with how it makes me feel. I have to go to the post office in the morning, too. I sold my old phone on eBay, and I really should have shipped it by today. I’m going to pay for overnight shipping to make up for it.

This has been a fucking expensive venture. Gas for a nearly 400-mile round trip. Three detox kits, two of which were wasted out of my own fucking idiocy. Overnight shipping for an eBay auction that I should have taken care of two days ago. Breaching on $200? At least $150.

And amazingly enough I’m doing all of this so that eventually I can move back out on my own and grow my own pot. And it’s not that I’m refusing to learn my lesson. The lesson here is that America is still fucking retarded enough to criminalize marijuana and people like me are going to have to continue to live in secrecy and black market tricks until our country realizes how much money it’s wasting on “criminal justice” and the “war on drugs” and how many millions or billions of dollars it’s losing on import taxes. Because hell yes I would go to a store and pay taxes on weed just like I pay taxes on cigarettes every other day, and so would you.

I feel a little better now.

Likelihood that tomorrow will suck: 66.67%

Virginia -- Eat the Kids First

I wish I know whose tag this is, because I would bow to them. That, my nonfriends, is brilliant.

I drove back to Winston-Salem today. I needed to. I had to pick up some money that was waiting for me. $1,266.83, actually. Which means that right now ranks up in the top ten wealthiest moments of my life. Which is sad.

And oh my god I fucking hurt now. I loved Winston-Salem while I was living there. I really did. It is such a beautiful little city. Even at my most depressed it still felt like home to me. And that word — home— I don’t use it lightly. I went to 12 different schools before I completed eighth grade. I love my Mom but damn she fucking gypsied the hell out of our lives.

Is gypsied a word? Fuck it. It is now.

I was 22 years old before I ever felt like I had a place to go home to  and I love that fucking city.

JerryFallwellburg hurts, and frankly, it scares me.

But I had to go to the bookstore and my old apartment and get my money and now I’m sitting here lonely and homesick and I want it back. I left WS running away from a broken heart. Fuck me. Fuck me and my broken heart. It doesn’t matter. I’m just one incomprehensibly insignificant little girl. Who cares if my heart is broken? I don’t even care half the time.

in other news, I. Am. So. Fucked.

I have a job interview tomorrow. Two, actually. I’ve gone through my entire supply of temporary drug test cleansers. Half the reason I chose to go today was because I knew I could stop at Glitters in Greensboro and stock up. If only I had called ahead to learn that Glitters is fucking closed on Tuesdays.

Let’s talk about irony. Can we do that? Irony is the fact that all the things on this list apply to me:

  • I am a fucking pothead. If there were no weed I would have no purpose in being alive.
  • I intentionally moved to a city where I know no one and have no dealer.
  • I still cannot pass a drug test. And I really need to.
  • I need to pass said drug test as part of a possible way of finding a new dealer and eventually becoming my own dealer.

Brilliant, Amanda. Fucking brilliant.

Job interview A, which is at nine in the morning, is for one that I would really like to have. And I know for a fact that they drug test. So here are the scenarios. In Scenario 1, I go to the job interview, it goes well, and they send me home telling me they’ll call me back. I drive like a bat out of hell to the closest head shop that I can locate on the internet tonight and stock up on piss cleansers. They call me back and I cheat the drug test and get the job. In Scenario 2, I go to the job interview. It goes well and they hire me that day and send me for a drug test, and I have to decline the job. In Scenario 3, I go to the job interview, it goes badly, and I still drive like a bat out of hell to stock up on piss cleansers for future options.

I’ve got a 33.3% chance of tomorrow not sucking.

Job Interview B is for a job I’d really rather not have, which probably won’t drug test. Even if it does, it’s at four in the evening and barring some catastrophe I’ll be loaded up on cleansers by then so it won’t matter.

Job interview C, also for tomorrow, is one that I would like to have, but is also not really a job interview. It’s just when I introduce myself to some guys that are opening a restaurant and will need waitresses in a couple of weeks.

A Chart:

Job A Job B Job C
Likelihood of finding a fellow pothead at new job who knows a dealer 50%-75% No fucking clue. Can’t even guess Seriously? It’s a casual dining restaurant. Those motherfuckers are high as shit. Stereotypically, at least.
Likelihood I’d meet some cool people to chill with 75%-100% 0%-25% Insufficient data
Likelihood of getting the job: 33.3% 75%-100% 50%

Likelihood that it’s already getting late and I’m wasting time playing with html for a secret blog when I should be finding headshop listings on the internets: 100%

Likelihood of me finding a free wordpress template I like: Fail.