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This writing was accepted for publication in the 84 page perfect-bound issue... cc&d magazine (v213) (the September 2010 Issue) |
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First Impressions
Michael Fourman
First impressions are big. When I first met Max he seemed compassionate, different from my previous employers. I was wrong.
“I have a little kid,” I explained, desperation forcing my voice louder than I wanted.
My play at sympathy was met with a cold stare from an unyielding granite face. “You can finish your shift, Maggie. I&’m sorry.” Sorry didn&’t cut it. I&’d never been let go from a job before, for any reason. I didn&’t know what to do or what to say. My stomach felt like it&’d been kicked with one of Max&’s size eleven steel-toed boots. Being a single parent was hard enough, but being jobless, too, made life nearly impossible.
In the following months I scoured the town, looking for anything that would pay a wage, but was met each time with the same sympathetic smile and apology. The economy made jobs scarce, and, with just a high school diploma, I wasn&’t exactly at the top of anyone&’s hiring list. As my labored search became more frantic, I had to make tough choices. The car payment and credit cards were no longer priorities, but I kept food on the table and a roof over our heads. Mac-n-cheese served as supper most nights, and I barely had enough money left to keep the utilities on. I worried but never cried. I was scared but stayed strong. When unemployment benefits ran out, my frantic search became a predatory hunt for something, anything, that would earn me a paycheck. Finally I caught a break. It wasn&’t my ideal job, but it beat the alternative.
My friend, Pete, warned me, “Are you sure about this? I mean, I know that area of town. It&’s dangerous.”
“Dangerous? It&’s not like I&’m catching king crab on the Bering Sea. I&’ll be fine.” My light-hearted response placated Pete but did nothing to ease my nerves. I&’d buried concerns for my own physical safety under the hopes of financial security.
So I focused on my new job, starting with my wardrobe. With the last of our money, I bought several skirts and a nice pair of heels. It felt good to dress up and not go to work looking like a grease monkey in Max&’s shop. Stress had consumed me with doubt, but the nice clothes strengthened my confidence.
As I prepared for my first day on the job, I battled fear for control of my body. It took over an hour to fumble through my make-up, and then I fussed with my hair for another hour. First impressions are big, and, after a finicky couple of hours, I was finally ready to impress.
Our final box of Mac-n-cheese became our dinner, and, without milk, the sauce would once again be watery. Bobby&’s mouth drooped with disappointment, “Mac-n-cheese again?” It ripped my heart to see him disappointed; I prayed my new job would make a better life for us. It had to.
“I have to go — wouldn&’t want to be late on my first day,” I announced. “Bobby, be good, for Pete&’s sake.” Pete&’s frown and obvious disapproval flattened my attempt at humor.
Bobby flashed me a gapped-tooth grin, “You look like Cinderella, Mommy.” Although my life felt like anything but a fairytale, it was moments like those that kept me going.
The foreign sound of my clicking heels on the sidewalk brought back memories of Sunday church services, but they were quickly shoved aside by Pete&’s warning replaying in my mind. Walking through this part of town was unnerving. But at least I wasn&’t on the Bering Sea. My pace slowed as I reached the entrance to the Venture Building, but my heart continued to beat frantically. Trash overflowed the lone receptacle used to collect greasy fast food bags and discarded newspapers. A nearby traffic signal clicked through the go, caution, stop routine several times. Oh good, “Jesus Saves”, according to the balloon font graffiti defacing an adjacent parking garage. Anchored to the sidewalk, I stood, palms sweating, contemplating how to make the most of my first impression. Would I be witty or keep it professional? My mental conversation was interrupted by a dark sedan creeping along the curb.
The tinted car window descended, and a well-dressed man leaned over like he was lost and needed directions. “How much?” he asked.
He seemed nice. “Fifty,” I nervously replied, climbing in. After all, first impressions are big.
