fredericks (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fredericks) wrote2005-08-09 08:21 pm
fredericks) wrote2005-08-09 08:21 pm
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The dream, only slightly arousing, was more than a little puzzling. She remembered a man, his face fuzzy and somewhat indistinguishable in the way of dreams, but his presence familiar. A past love, maybe. A damned good lover, judging by the way his lips molded themselves to her own and the way his hands moved over her body. His mouth moved down to her breasts and she moaned her approval. He stopped and was gone, suddenly; in his place another fuzzy male presence, this one less familiar. Not a past love, that much was certain. He followed the same movements of his predecessor but his technique was … lacking. She felt her dream-self sign internally, but she didn’t stop the program, feigning a moan on cue once he started tonguing her nipple. Perhaps things will improve down the line? she thought to herself. As if on cue the dream evaporated and she started the slow rise to consciousness.
Lifting her head off the pillow she squinted and looked over at her alarm clock. 8:13. She calculated groggily. 17 minutes until it went off. Just enough time to-
The knock on her door startled her. She heard the childish babbling that had to belong to her newly arrived cousin. If he opens the door I swear-
He pushed hard and the door popped open. She knew she’d have to invest in a doorknob and a lock one of these days. “Sun’s up, time to get up!” he crowed. She scowled and tried to look intimidating. The untidy halo her hair made around her face most likely helped the effort immensely. “Kentias, what did I tell you about knocking last night? Now knock and I’ll let you in.” She gently hustled the cheery child out of her room, closing the door behind him. He seemed a perfect candidate for Ritalin as he could not keep focused at all, evident in the fact that he didn’t knock to be let back in but instead went scampering off somewhere else.
Sighing she took two steps back and sat on her bed, absentmindedly adjusting the ribbed cotton undershirt that was acting as her sleeping clothes in the summer heat. There goes my 17 minutes of sleep. She bent over to her “dirty hamper” (the phrase didn’t really fit, since she dumped almost all her clothes, worn or fresh from the washer, in there and picked out what she needed on a daily basis) and retrieved her sweatpants, bra, and grey “Explore” tee, then made her way to the bathroom to wash up. The shower had been out of commission since the hot water pipe leading to it decided to spring a leak days before, so she was forced to “rag off” at the sink, reliving the ritual she’d been forced to go through when she was younger. Her parents had been convinced full body water emersions would worsen all fevers and bronchial illnesses, and so all sick children in the house had to take a wash cloth ("rag"), full the bathroom sink with water and wash their dirty bits, paying special attention to armpits and “down there”. The adult was surprised to discover how effective it was at making her feel fresh, if not totally clean.
She left the bathroom and started ironing her clothes. She had an interview at 1 PM to go to at the Barnes and Noble on 17th and 5th, and wanted to look, at the very least, presentable. Black loose blouse with a dipping front – it showed clavicle and a glimpse of cleavage, but was vaguely professional looking and, dammit, she liked the shirt. Blue jeans, boot leg and cut long – not much choice in the matter. But they were neat, having been purchased two weeks before. And clean, since she’d washed them…uhm, recently. The exact date escaped her. Heading back to her room to grab her silver bracelets and watch she heard jabbering in the bathroom as her aunt and her mother tried to get cold water into the tub. “Uh-oh, water!” Kentias called from the room adjacent to the bathroom, the room where the pipes ran into the bathroom. She popped her head in and looked where he was pointing, and then went back to the bathroom. “Guys, you should maybe stop with the cold water. It’s spraying all over the back bedroom.”
Downstairs in the coat closet she searched for, and then slipped on, a pair of brown clogs. Like her clothes, her shoe selection was severely limited. It was either the clogs or a pair of scuffed tan Skechers. She felt a twinge of envy towards her younger brother, the one with the impeccable fashion sense and seemingly unlimited amount of clothing (the FUCK does he afford all of it?), before she shrugged and wrote herself off as a loss. She went to the porch and modeled in the front of the mirror, Kentias acting as impromptu fashion guru. “So, how do I look?” The kid glanced at her image and said one word, “Good", before turning his attention back to the water guns. She was happy.
*
Before the interview, however, came the almost weekly at this point trip to Pace’s Financial Aid. She kept hoping that she could stop jumping through hurdles at this place and being the classes already, but it was as if the school strove to make the pre-attendance ritual as agonizing as possible – ridiculous, since acceptance to the school itself was a walk in the park. She got off the 6 at the Brooklyn Bridge-City Hall stop and walked over to the building, trying her best not to trip in the elevated clogs and make a fool of herself in front of the numerous tourists. The deadline for bill payment was in two days and by the time she got there there were a large number of students waiting to speak to counselors. Instead of joining the queue she directed her questions to the receptionist. Her financial aid package had been revised three times, and she was uncertain if enough of it would register in the computer to prevent a late fee. Also, she’d gotten a call before from someone in Pace saying she’d landed a scholarship of $3800, although she was unsure whether the amount was for each semester or split over each semester. The receptionist was of no help. She gamely smiled with gritted teeth, thanked the woman, and went over to the Nursing School to drop off her proof of Professional CPR certification. The receptionist over there was, as usual, cold, and she fought the urge to stomp out of the office, mainly because she was certain if she tried stomping anywhere in the clogs all she’d win for her efforts was a twisted ankle.
After the usual Pace pointlessness she took the 6 uptown to 14th Street and started over to the Barnes and Noble. Manhattan’s grid system was touted as idiot-proof, but it never made it any easier for her to determine east from west after emerging from the subway station, thus walking the entire length of a block (a long Manhattan block) before determining which way is Broadway and which way is 4th Avenue. Even with the delay she ended up arriving at the store forty-five minutes early. She signed in with the receptionist and waited, hoping the interviewer might have time in his/her schedule to squeeze her in early. She was under the impressions that a) the interviews were on individual bases and that b) it was a mere formality and she’d be hired immediately. Both were based on her last experience working at a bookstore during Rush, and both would be corrected within minutes as other people arrived for the 1PM interview and as the 12PM interview let out and 8 potential employees (rivals) made their way out of the office as she and the other interviewees watched. She felt something drop inside her and fought the urge to walk out. The scholarship money made the need for textbook discounts less urgent, but…She sighed and straightened her shirt. Might as well sit it out and see what happens, she thought.
At 5 to 1 they got called into the conference room. The six of them sat around the oval table as directed by the woman who escorted them, who then left. She looked around the room at the people she thought she’d be fighting for work. She didn’t feel too sure of herself. Then again, none of them looked particularly confident, which she considered a potential plus. The atmosphere was awkward and uncomfortable, so she turned and looked out the window onto 5th Avenue to pass the time. The interview began at nearly half past one, a fact that had many of the room’s occupants muttering and sighing – until the human resources rep entered, of course. The rep shared more information about the positions available and then clarified the times they needed filled. The evening shifts were more or less taken care of and they were looking for morning workers, a revelation which lent less hope to her thought of working for B&N, since her class schedule was 9 to 5. One gentleman, on hearing they were looking for part time workers, got up and left. She found herself wanting to follow him, and a voice inside her head chastised her: Stop being a fucking pussy; that’s one less dude you have to worry about. With that logic, she stayed.
The rep asked everyone to go around the room and tell something about themselves and why they were there today. Halfway through the introductions a young woman walked in, another interviewee. The rep did not look pleased. The young woman didn’t help her cause by wearing a very low cut blouse that bared most of her chest. Oh, you are SO not working at Barnes and Noble, you late floozy, Fredericks thought, and smiled. One more down.. When the questions got to her, she shared with the group her name (“Fredericks”), her occupation (“Student, going to nursing school”) and, deciding not to sugarcoat, the reason why she was at B&N (“I like books…and the discount is always helpful”). The answer got a laugh and a nod from the other interviewees, and she wondered why the hell none of them said it themselves, seeing as a couple of them were students. More questions followed, as to the group’s previous employment history, and then the final “personality” question, where the interviewer asked the group what books they’d last read or liked. The question seemed to be optional, since not everyone answered it, but she decided to go for it, seeing as the chance of her actually working in the store was small (“I just finished Conspiracy of Fools on the ride over [she had], about the entire Enron debacle, from 1997 until around 2002. Very interesting, and a different choice for me, since I usually read science fiction, fantasy, and graphic novels.”) The rep dismissed the group, saying expect a call by the end of this week or the next. When she passed the rep she said “Thank you” and attempted eye contact – unsuccessfully. A bad sign. She shrugged and grabbed a caramel from the bowl on the way out. Oh well .
Making her way down to 14th Street, again she was undecided as to which direction she should go to reach 6th Avenue. Luckily she met up with someone who’d interviewed with her a few minutes before and was heading towards Union Square. They spent a minute or two looking through Frederick’s handy “NYC Not for Tourists Guidebook” before the other woman decided to ask for directions. She was immediately pointed one way and the two parted, laughing, as Fredericks headed across the street in the exact opposite direction. Note to self: I should learn to suck it up and ask in the future she thought ruefully, as she placed the guidebook back in her shoulder bag.
*
On the long ride to Queens, since she no longer had anything to read (when she’d said she’d finished Conspiracy of Fools on the way to the interview she hadn’t been kidding) she sat there and pondered through her dream. She wasn’t big on dream symbolism, but knew how her mind worked (once she allowed it to, of course). She reached a realization, a probable meaning of the dream beyond the obvious “faking during sex accomplishes nothing”: faking your way through a relationship, any relationship, is bad news. It always amazed her how her brain had to be a drama queen in imparting its knowledge. Well she promised herselfI’ll listen to it this time.
Or the next time. Yeah. Soon.
Then her brain started humming along with Only and she lost her train of thought.
FIN
The things I do to make my day appear interesting.
Anyway, picked up Annie Proulx' Close Range again, because I like "Brokeback Mountain" (well, most of it) and I'm looking forward to the movie. Yeehaw, little darlin.
QAF is officially off the air and, whew! The fandom was definitely the best part of the show, in positive and negative ways. Eh, I'm going to miss all the craziness, I cannot front. What new show am I going to start obsessing over?
Lifting her head off the pillow she squinted and looked over at her alarm clock. 8:13. She calculated groggily. 17 minutes until it went off. Just enough time to-
The knock on her door startled her. She heard the childish babbling that had to belong to her newly arrived cousin. If he opens the door I swear-
He pushed hard and the door popped open. She knew she’d have to invest in a doorknob and a lock one of these days. “Sun’s up, time to get up!” he crowed. She scowled and tried to look intimidating. The untidy halo her hair made around her face most likely helped the effort immensely. “Kentias, what did I tell you about knocking last night? Now knock and I’ll let you in.” She gently hustled the cheery child out of her room, closing the door behind him. He seemed a perfect candidate for Ritalin as he could not keep focused at all, evident in the fact that he didn’t knock to be let back in but instead went scampering off somewhere else.
Sighing she took two steps back and sat on her bed, absentmindedly adjusting the ribbed cotton undershirt that was acting as her sleeping clothes in the summer heat. There goes my 17 minutes of sleep. She bent over to her “dirty hamper” (the phrase didn’t really fit, since she dumped almost all her clothes, worn or fresh from the washer, in there and picked out what she needed on a daily basis) and retrieved her sweatpants, bra, and grey “Explore” tee, then made her way to the bathroom to wash up. The shower had been out of commission since the hot water pipe leading to it decided to spring a leak days before, so she was forced to “rag off” at the sink, reliving the ritual she’d been forced to go through when she was younger. Her parents had been convinced full body water emersions would worsen all fevers and bronchial illnesses, and so all sick children in the house had to take a wash cloth ("rag"), full the bathroom sink with water and wash their dirty bits, paying special attention to armpits and “down there”. The adult was surprised to discover how effective it was at making her feel fresh, if not totally clean.
She left the bathroom and started ironing her clothes. She had an interview at 1 PM to go to at the Barnes and Noble on 17th and 5th, and wanted to look, at the very least, presentable. Black loose blouse with a dipping front – it showed clavicle and a glimpse of cleavage, but was vaguely professional looking and, dammit, she liked the shirt. Blue jeans, boot leg and cut long – not much choice in the matter. But they were neat, having been purchased two weeks before. And clean, since she’d washed them…uhm, recently. The exact date escaped her. Heading back to her room to grab her silver bracelets and watch she heard jabbering in the bathroom as her aunt and her mother tried to get cold water into the tub. “Uh-oh, water!” Kentias called from the room adjacent to the bathroom, the room where the pipes ran into the bathroom. She popped her head in and looked where he was pointing, and then went back to the bathroom. “Guys, you should maybe stop with the cold water. It’s spraying all over the back bedroom.”
Downstairs in the coat closet she searched for, and then slipped on, a pair of brown clogs. Like her clothes, her shoe selection was severely limited. It was either the clogs or a pair of scuffed tan Skechers. She felt a twinge of envy towards her younger brother, the one with the impeccable fashion sense and seemingly unlimited amount of clothing (the FUCK does he afford all of it?), before she shrugged and wrote herself off as a loss. She went to the porch and modeled in the front of the mirror, Kentias acting as impromptu fashion guru. “So, how do I look?” The kid glanced at her image and said one word, “Good", before turning his attention back to the water guns. She was happy.
*
Before the interview, however, came the almost weekly at this point trip to Pace’s Financial Aid. She kept hoping that she could stop jumping through hurdles at this place and being the classes already, but it was as if the school strove to make the pre-attendance ritual as agonizing as possible – ridiculous, since acceptance to the school itself was a walk in the park. She got off the 6 at the Brooklyn Bridge-City Hall stop and walked over to the building, trying her best not to trip in the elevated clogs and make a fool of herself in front of the numerous tourists. The deadline for bill payment was in two days and by the time she got there there were a large number of students waiting to speak to counselors. Instead of joining the queue she directed her questions to the receptionist. Her financial aid package had been revised three times, and she was uncertain if enough of it would register in the computer to prevent a late fee. Also, she’d gotten a call before from someone in Pace saying she’d landed a scholarship of $3800, although she was unsure whether the amount was for each semester or split over each semester. The receptionist was of no help. She gamely smiled with gritted teeth, thanked the woman, and went over to the Nursing School to drop off her proof of Professional CPR certification. The receptionist over there was, as usual, cold, and she fought the urge to stomp out of the office, mainly because she was certain if she tried stomping anywhere in the clogs all she’d win for her efforts was a twisted ankle.
After the usual Pace pointlessness she took the 6 uptown to 14th Street and started over to the Barnes and Noble. Manhattan’s grid system was touted as idiot-proof, but it never made it any easier for her to determine east from west after emerging from the subway station, thus walking the entire length of a block (a long Manhattan block) before determining which way is Broadway and which way is 4th Avenue. Even with the delay she ended up arriving at the store forty-five minutes early. She signed in with the receptionist and waited, hoping the interviewer might have time in his/her schedule to squeeze her in early. She was under the impressions that a) the interviews were on individual bases and that b) it was a mere formality and she’d be hired immediately. Both were based on her last experience working at a bookstore during Rush, and both would be corrected within minutes as other people arrived for the 1PM interview and as the 12PM interview let out and 8 potential employees (rivals) made their way out of the office as she and the other interviewees watched. She felt something drop inside her and fought the urge to walk out. The scholarship money made the need for textbook discounts less urgent, but…She sighed and straightened her shirt. Might as well sit it out and see what happens, she thought.
At 5 to 1 they got called into the conference room. The six of them sat around the oval table as directed by the woman who escorted them, who then left. She looked around the room at the people she thought she’d be fighting for work. She didn’t feel too sure of herself. Then again, none of them looked particularly confident, which she considered a potential plus. The atmosphere was awkward and uncomfortable, so she turned and looked out the window onto 5th Avenue to pass the time. The interview began at nearly half past one, a fact that had many of the room’s occupants muttering and sighing – until the human resources rep entered, of course. The rep shared more information about the positions available and then clarified the times they needed filled. The evening shifts were more or less taken care of and they were looking for morning workers, a revelation which lent less hope to her thought of working for B&N, since her class schedule was 9 to 5. One gentleman, on hearing they were looking for part time workers, got up and left. She found herself wanting to follow him, and a voice inside her head chastised her: Stop being a fucking pussy; that’s one less dude you have to worry about. With that logic, she stayed.
The rep asked everyone to go around the room and tell something about themselves and why they were there today. Halfway through the introductions a young woman walked in, another interviewee. The rep did not look pleased. The young woman didn’t help her cause by wearing a very low cut blouse that bared most of her chest. Oh, you are SO not working at Barnes and Noble, you late floozy, Fredericks thought, and smiled. One more down.. When the questions got to her, she shared with the group her name (“Fredericks”), her occupation (“Student, going to nursing school”) and, deciding not to sugarcoat, the reason why she was at B&N (“I like books…and the discount is always helpful”). The answer got a laugh and a nod from the other interviewees, and she wondered why the hell none of them said it themselves, seeing as a couple of them were students. More questions followed, as to the group’s previous employment history, and then the final “personality” question, where the interviewer asked the group what books they’d last read or liked. The question seemed to be optional, since not everyone answered it, but she decided to go for it, seeing as the chance of her actually working in the store was small (“I just finished Conspiracy of Fools on the ride over [she had], about the entire Enron debacle, from 1997 until around 2002. Very interesting, and a different choice for me, since I usually read science fiction, fantasy, and graphic novels.”) The rep dismissed the group, saying expect a call by the end of this week or the next. When she passed the rep she said “Thank you” and attempted eye contact – unsuccessfully. A bad sign. She shrugged and grabbed a caramel from the bowl on the way out. Oh well .
Making her way down to 14th Street, again she was undecided as to which direction she should go to reach 6th Avenue. Luckily she met up with someone who’d interviewed with her a few minutes before and was heading towards Union Square. They spent a minute or two looking through Frederick’s handy “NYC Not for Tourists Guidebook” before the other woman decided to ask for directions. She was immediately pointed one way and the two parted, laughing, as Fredericks headed across the street in the exact opposite direction. Note to self: I should learn to suck it up and ask in the future she thought ruefully, as she placed the guidebook back in her shoulder bag.
*
On the long ride to Queens, since she no longer had anything to read (when she’d said she’d finished Conspiracy of Fools on the way to the interview she hadn’t been kidding) she sat there and pondered through her dream. She wasn’t big on dream symbolism, but knew how her mind worked (once she allowed it to, of course). She reached a realization, a probable meaning of the dream beyond the obvious “faking during sex accomplishes nothing”: faking your way through a relationship, any relationship, is bad news. It always amazed her how her brain had to be a drama queen in imparting its knowledge. Well she promised herselfI’ll listen to it this time.
Or the next time. Yeah. Soon.
Then her brain started humming along with Only and she lost her train of thought.
FIN
The things I do to make my day appear interesting.
Anyway, picked up Annie Proulx' Close Range again, because I like "Brokeback Mountain" (well, most of it) and I'm looking forward to the movie. Yeehaw, little darlin.
QAF is officially off the air and, whew! The fandom was definitely the best part of the show, in positive and negative ways. Eh, I'm going to miss all the craziness, I cannot front. What new show am I going to start obsessing over?