Ohfuckohfuckohfuck…I can't believe that I'm late again. Mr. Pirelli told me yesterday that if I was late one more time, he'd fire me. I don't see the problem; all I do is stock shelves in his drug store, clean up a little when things were quiet. What's the big deal if I'm a few minutes late? It's not like I work the register and holding up customers by being late. But with Pirelli it doesn't matter, punctuality is everything.
"Eddie," he said the other day, "I can't have you coming in late all the time. We've talked about this before. You need to be here at 9am when we open the store or else you're no good to me."
Maybe I can still make it on time, maybe the train will be in the station when I get down there, maybe he'll be on the can when I get there and won't notice. Oh good, it's there, stay open, stay open…
"Could you hold the doors? Thanks."
OK, now I've got Ten Minutes to get there, but the train takes fifteen. Plus another five minutes to get to work, so that's ten minutes late. Ten minutes isn't so bad. Who notices ten minutes? Just wait for the train to get downtown then haul ass to work, it'll be fine. Just read your paper and take a deep breath. Ahhhhhh. Better. Now let's see how fucked up the world is today.
Opening the paper, I hear the screech of the rear subway door slam shut and a shuffling of feet. Looking up, I see an unshaven black man, probably in his thirties, a bright red sweatshirt over a plaid shirt, both hanging off of his small frame, paint-splattered blue jeans and untied work boots. He pushes his way through half of the crowded car as he begins to speak.
"Ladies & gentlemen, I'm sorry to bother you. My name is Douglas and I am currently living on the street. My apartment building burned down last May and I have not been able to get on my feet since then. If you have any spare change or extra food to help me out today, I'd really appreciate it. Thank you for your time and consideration."
God, these guys are too much. Everybody always wants something for nothing, don't they? Isn't there a shelter or somewhere to help these guys? Why do they make us feel like we're responsible for helping them? If I don't meet his eyes, then it's like he's not there. Just concentrate on the paper and ignore him. Here's my stop, finally! Now if I can get ahead of this Spanish woman with the cart and run up the stairs, I can be there in four minutes. That's only eight minutes late. Maybe Mr. Pirelli won't notice.
He noticed. "Eddie, we need to talk."
"Morning, Mr. Pirelli. I'm sorry I'm late; there was some problem with the train. I'll be on time from now on, I promise."
"Eddie, you promised the same thing Monday, Tuesday, last week, and last month. I'm tired of hearing it. I'm sorry, but I can't keep you on."
"Mr. Pirelli, please. Just give me one more shot. I'll be here on time, please."
"Eddie, I can't, I got a business to run here. I think you forget that sometimes. You have a few days pay coming to you. I'll put the check in the mail on Friday. Take care of yourself. I think you should go."
Damn, I needed that job. It wasn't until I stepped outside that I realized just how much. I've got nothing. One dollar and forty-eight cents in my checking account. A Metrocard with ten dollars left on it. Rent is due on Thursday and there's no way, even with the check I was getting from Pirelli, that I'd have enough to cover what I owed my landlord. I still owed him half of last month's rent. Plus, there were the phone and utility bills that hadn't gotten paid in over a month. I needed a job, and quick. I picked up a copy of the Voice on my way back to the train. As I passed the park a block before the station, I changed my mind about returning home and sat down on one of the benches. Hell, maybe I'd see something about an opening in the neighborhood and head over there. You know, really jump on the opportunity.
I had forgotten how intimidating the help wanted section of the paper can be. There were an infinite number of jobs that I'd never qualify for, ads for jobs in sales or real estate where you needed a resume and tie and shiny shoes. There were postings for phone jobs, but I'm no good on the phone. I'm more of a people person. Any jobs where there was an extended interview process probably wouldn't pay me in time for me to pay my rent. Here's an ad for a delivery person, but I don't have a bike, or the money to even buy a used bike. None of the ads are looking for stock help. Here's one for handing out fliers, I could definitely hand out fliers. I'd smile at people passing me by and they'd want to take one out my hands, to see what my smile was all about. I called the number from the ad, but all I got was a recording for me to leave my name and number. I used my most professional voice and left my name, number and the best time to call. With no other prospects, I figured that was enough for today. I deserve at least one day to regroup, think about what to do with myself. Hell, I only got fired a half hour ago. I'll head home, take a nap and start the search for real tomorrow.
As I entered the apartment, I flipped the switch to turn the lights on, but nothing happened. Damn, I wasn't that late! How could they turn off the lights? I'd only gotten two letters from ConEd with the red stripe on them, the ones that let the whole world know that I was late with paying. I thought that they'd give me more time to pay, I wasn't that far behind. I took a beer from the fridge, if I wasn't working, I might as well start drinking. I had just about a full case of MGD left in the fridge from the weekend, and there was no time like the present to get drunk.
