A gig I didn't get

A man left a message on my voice mail, saying he *maybe* wants to hire me, but he'd have to meet me first.

Maybe that makes sense. I'm sometimes surprised that people are willing to hire me sight unseen, even for working in their homes. The man's tone of voice, though, seemed shady or skeptical. It's hard to explain, but the way he said what he said didn't sound quite like most people who call to inquire about hiring me.

Called him back, though, and asked about the work. He said it involves handling food, so he needs to see me before hiring me, to ascertain that I'm not Typhoid Doug or whatever.

Which, again, maybe makes sense. Where I'm from, though, you have to pass a test and get a food-worker's permit or "health card" from the county, for any job that involves handling food. I have no such proof of cleanliness from any agency in California, though, and the man on the phone wasn't asking me to obtain such proof. He just wanted to meet me and inspect me.

"Whatever you're offering, it has to be illegal," I said, "or you'd simply tell me I need a health card."

Click. He'd hung up, so I don't get that gig.

I'm not even all that finicky about the "legal" part of "I'll do anything legal." Nobody's asked me to commit a misdemeanor for $5 an hour, but I'd probably do it if I thought I'd get away with it. Make me an offer.

Gotta trust my instincts, though, and something seemed off about whatever that man was calling about.

From Pathetic Life #17
Thursday, October 19, 1995

This is an entry retyped from an on-paper zine I wrote many years ago, called Pathetic Life. The opinions stated were my opinions then, but might not be my opinions now. Also, I said and did some disgusting things, so parental guidance is advised.

Pathetic Life
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