Am I Naked? Because I Think I'm Having a Nightmare.

So I started a new job.  Or third job.  I sort of work at a local comics shop, helping with promotions and working on the website, handling content.  That doesn't pay though. It's just a resume enhancer (plus occasionally getting to read things for free).

I lost my job delivering in September and that threw everything out of whack.  Since then I'd been living off of money that I'd borrowed months before.

I was pretty much down to the wire when I got a job. I'm doing delivery for a restaurant.  One of the owners was kind enough to speak to me for a few minutes when I walked in the door.  A week later the GM called to tell me I was hired.  Bare in mind there was no interview.  The guy talked to me informally, but I didn't have the time or forethought to ask basic questions which I now know I should have.

The thing is, I'm super neurotic. New jobs tend to highlight this aspect.  I get into a blind panic.  "What am I doing?  I can't wash dishes?  What if I fuck up??  What if I accidentally set the kitchen on fire??"  You get the idea.  Mostly this is retarded.  But sometimes you just know?  You know what I mean?  Sometimes you know something is not right, that it won't work out.  Sometimes YOU JUST KNOW.

I'd had this feeling of dread all week.  It started with the day I went in for "orientation".  I couldn't help but wonder what you need to orient a driver to.  I spent half an hour trying to learn their computer system, which wasn't even set up properly. The rest I spent rolling to-go forks into napkins.

This did not help the dread.

It got progressively worse as I waited on my first shift Friday.

I won't go into all the details, because it would take too long. But make no mistake, there is a long list of signs from the Universe not included here that scream GET. OUT.

I was being trained by the host. He's the poor guy that gets stuck making deliveries when they dont have a driver... which is ALL THE TIME.  See they only want me on Friday and Saturday.  Those are the only days when they have enough deliveries to support a driver.  Why?  Well, I asked someone if I was the only driver. His response was "Oh yeah. You might not even have any deliveries."  Umm. Excuse me? "Well you might have 2... or 4... or even 8."  Interesting fact: if you deliver for a living, 10-15 orders is a decent night. Any less than 10, especially on a weekend, is a SHIT night.

I quickly got the impression that these people were inadvertently telling me things I was not supposed to know this early in the game.  This restaurant has not existed more than a year at this location (the main branch still exists downtown) but apparently they've gone through drivers before.  That's "drivers", plural.  They can't keep a driver because they aren't set up as a delivery business. This is a restaurant.  They don't really know how to run deliveries as a formal business.  In my first 3 to 5 hours, I ran down a list of things that need to be done differently if they want to have a thriving delivery business.  Were I hired to do so, which I am not, I could advise them to that end.

Now all this sounds like typical "this isn't the job for me" shit, right? Hardly a "nightmare" as I described it. But that is where you would be wrong, my friends.

I had 5 deliveries that night.  It was about the time I was waiting on my first one that I was following my trainer to the kitchen. As we walked, my peripheral vision spotted something that made my brain say "Hey, pay attention asshole. Something massive is about to fuck you in the ass."  YOu ever wake up one day and realize you're a fucking loser who delivers pizza for one of the popular kids you went to high school with?  YEAH. THAT.

Let's call her Ginger.

GInger was the Queen Bee in my class.  And by "Bee", I mean "Bitch".  A lot of people disliked her.  To be fair, no one liked anyone in my high school. It was like if Rwanda was filled with assholes who drove Camaros and fought with humiliation bombs. And instead of burning children, got really drunk.  I'm not good at analogies.

ANyway, I never had a problem with Ginger.  She went her way, I went mine.  Never the 'tween shall meet.  UNtil Senior year when we had a class together and I developed a... crush isn't the word.  I developed a desire to be inside her.  Too subtle?  I wanted her to be on top of me imitating Charo yelling "Coochie Coochie!"  ... let's just move on, shall we.  This infatuation never went anywhere. Had I been a normal teenager, we'd have gone to separate colleges and moved on with our lives.  This did not happen. See I used to be an artist of some sort.  Senior year I took pictures of various classmates and drew illustrations of them.  She was one.

Now cut to 15 years later.  Life hasn't turned out the way I thought it would. I mean, I didn't get run over by a bus. I'm no longer a virgin... so that's good.  I never really felt like a loser when I delivered pizza. I mean, I knew it was a shitty job, but I made money and it was fun. And then it wasn't fun, but I still made money.  But here I am pumping gas for one of the rich kids from High School.  I can't tell you the kind of blind panic that hit me when I realized this.  It was like being struck down by Zeus' lightning bolt or face-fucked by Satan's cock.  I was half considering setting myself on fire and running out of the building screaming "I HAVE MONKEY A.I.D.S! RUN!" just to escape.

It's not even like I hate this girl. It's not about HER. I just can't take the humiliation of having such a menial job in her employment.  She left before we were forced to speak, thankfully.  But I'm sure she knew who I was. My name is far too unusual for someone who knew me for 5 years to forget.  She had to recognize it. UGH.

Oh, and to top it all off, I think one of the dudes hit on me. Actually, that was a highlight of the night. I mean, I'm not interested, but it's flattering. But with my luck it couldn't be a vaginal american.

So I don't know what to do. I need a job.  But I need to make money at that job.  And I don't want to feel like a loser, even if I am one.  What sucks is, I actually liked the people I met. Under more profitable circumstances, they would be a fun group to work with.

...I don't know.