Part Of My Life - Interview

I wish I was a writer. I can't write worth a flip. Stories, I mean.
Writing down my thoughts and papers for homework is easy,
but writing fiction is nearly impossible.

So I am forced to writing my life. I don't even have to spice
things up. My life is naturally humorous. Just one big joke.

I'm going on an interview today at the grocery store. Every High-
Schooler in town has worked there at least once. A few, I mean, a
very few, make it a career. How can pushing baskets and loading
cars be a career?

Anyways, my dream job has always been to be one of those basket-
pushers, a courtesy clerk. Yes, I have very big dreams for myself.
When I was a kid, I loved sacking the groceries and pushing the
baskets around the parking lot. I must have been a demented kid.

I hated filling out the application though. It always had
English/Spanish. Like, Name/Nombre, City/Ciudad, State/Estado.
It was so confusing. Why didn't they just have a Spanish
application? It would have made things so much easier. At least
there wasn't any logic questions. I have to get my mom and my
sister Becca to help me with those.

I'm about terrified of the interview. It's with a lady I've never met
before. I love meeting new people. I glare and growl at them, and
they leave me alone. We always have a wonderful silent and
unspoken of relationship.

I hate people. I hate kids, animals, everything outside. Messy
people, especially. My stuff in my room and my room are clean and
neat. I hate people touching my stuff.

When my mom and me get to the store for the interview, she tells
me, "They want to see you, not me, OK?" No! It's not OK! I
wanted you to come with me. I really scared now. Before the lady
finds us in the store, I make a stop in the restroom. My mom calls
me over when she sees me. She points and tells me to go there. I
head over to a lady waving at me next to the Customer Service
booth. I recognize her, but don't remember her name. That must be
the lady.

The lady says, "Debby's in there." In the booth. "She'll be right
out." So, you're not her? I think I could cry. A sweet looking lady
comes out of the booth.

We chat a little. I say, "Hi." I try to smile, then completely forget to
smile as she starts talking.

We go in an office in the back. It's kinda neat looking. She starts
talking again, about the job and stuff. I nod at everything she says.

She pauses, while looking at some papers. I remember something
about $5.25 being the pay, something else about bathrooms and
walking the store for trash and baskets.

She asks if I'll stay with them during the School Year. I dunno. I
like to have lots of time to work on my homework and make good
grades. I dunno about hours. Courtesy clerks get a raise once a year
and cashiers get one twice a year. Hey, that's cool.

I begin to fidget. I wish she could just have all this stuff written
down. Listening is another thing I hate. Maybe if she had a sword
and there were some explosions, I could pay attention better.

She says something about hours and asking my mom. I need a drug
test to get the job. Pee in a cup. Easy! Will I be able to pass it? No,
I'm a big druggy. Drrruuugggsss.

Actually, the only thing they'll find is a large deposit of sugar and
aspirin. I need something sweet now.

Next, she gives me some papers and I sign a few.I ask for the date.
She tells me. I write the wrong date down. Did you know I'm a top
student at school? I got into Who's Who, too.

She staples the papers and gives me directions to the drug testing
center. Mom knows where it is. I nod, picking up vague
information about where the place is.

I thank her and try to smile, probably scaring her with my crunched
up face and little eyes.

I find Mom shopping and saying that we need eggs. Eggs are gross.
The chickens that have them sit in a cage all their lives and get
really fat from seed contaminated with bug killer and other chemicals.
So the eggs have a large amount of cholesterol and junk in them.

I learned that from my IPC teacher who's a kind of a farmer. She
raises cows and has chickens and is allergic to something in
processed foods called MSG. She's a very opinionated woman.

When we go check out in the new Self-Checkout, the guy (who's
cute and blond) gives us an Employee discount. He must like me.
Or thinks that I work here. I claim the money my mom got from
the discount, telling her that it's mine since he thought I worked here.

I buy a Cherry Coke on the way out and wish I had bought some
candy. I'm shooting for 160 now.

Soon we find the car. I don't pay attention to where we park and
my mom hardly ever remembers. We're both doomed half the time.

I should have told the lady that being a courtesy clerk was my
dream job. She would have thought it was hysterical.