Since I was one of the first people in the world to discover Craigslist, that is the logical place I looked for work. (In 2007, that is still possible.) This time I applied for a contract to move computers via a temp agency that has been advertising for a month. I kind of took pity because they are never going to find twenty people in Florida who’ll keep their noses clean long enough to move two hundred and fifty computers.What’s important is that the temp agency turned out to be the hiring firm for Seimens. I got home as fast as I could and I’ve been polishing up my resume since. This particular job would be for WAMU (Washington Mutual) and is a weekend over-nighter. But for the chance to get in with a good company that pays twice the going rate in Florida, I’ll even cancel my gig at Jimbo’s.
I was out to Palm Avenue twice today for a computer hookup, doing exactly the same thing that Seimens’ wants. Except they have 15:1 technician ratio (available for call-in, the job I do not want) to help people in the field. Dr. Applebaum, when asked, says he does not want to be my job reference because he’ll lose me as his tech. This whole thing is starting to heat up.
Tomorrow, I plan to test out a new theory. Those PCI (Peripheral Component Interface) network adapters generally have a connection light. I’ve discovered at least one instance where the light does not register unless the computer detects a valid hard disk drive, and I need to validate the test if possible. Seimens is fond of things like that.
Then I got a callout to the Cocaine Cowboy, who has a mansion over on the lagoon near Filmore. He cancelled at the very last moment. His girlfriend drives the guys wild, she is a looker, I think she is okay for a girlfriend. He’s twice her age, so it is a money thing, which I see nothing wrong with. Remember, I’ve seen Venezuela where it is common for rich old women to have nineteen year old boyfriends.
My new piggy bank is in place, ready for the quarters of the thirsty world. Of course, Roberto thinks it is a dinosaur taking up space. I pointed out that he was much the same thing, and that it was my space anyway. He’ll come around. That’s the guy who got punched out by a teenager last week. He’s no math expert so I did not mention that I only need to make 7 cents per month off the vending machine to beat the rate of interest paid by my bank. Washington Mutual. (Within a few years, the vending machine "piggy bank" was the only thing left making any money.)
Rose left me a note. This is the pushy gal who wants to do the Fleetwood Mac tribute. She didn’t make it last Friday because it was pouring rain. I remember, for I was huddled under the back door of my station wagon loading gear. It is clear just one of us understands that the show must go on. She still gets a chance but the odds are diminishing fast. I’m noticing behavioral similarities between her and Pudding-Tat, who daily ensures my Florida room is not invaded by pop filters. (Those foam microphone covers. That I used to own several of. I think the cat is eating them.)
In other music, I downloaded the list Jean gave me. The most I can say is I’ve heard of the artists. She typically likes slow, moody guitar-vocal music, but I’ll cure her of that. I reviewed the items by Pink Floyd, but seriously folks, you could not pay me to sit still long enough to listen through garbage like Nirvana’s “About A Girl”. Then, you’ll totally love what I’ve done with the bass line to Clarkson’s “Beautiful Disaster”.
Much later I dropped by several clubs to see how my advertising was working. One of them, an “Irish” club on Dixie and Washington is off my list. The super-strange waitress (off-duty) went into this loop that I was accusing some grandmother of stealing my bicycle. Now that I recall, the grandmother did look spry enough to do it, unlike the waitress. The waitress further went on about some gig on the beach that I “got fired at’. Apparently while I was not looking. To this day I wonder who she mistook me for.
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