Man, I need to find a job. Fresh off my stint as a government mail drone, I’m percolating with great ideas, but none of them are going to be buying groceries in the immediate future, and frankly, I’m in a funk. And out of prospects.

The problem is, I keep waiting for a kindly employment angel to appear and save my ass. Because that’s how it’s always been, at least since college—a friend has vouched for me and I’ve gotten a job, or at least a face to face interview. Now it’s just too tight, and I totally get that.

I should be out there chopping my own wood, like Abe Lincoln, Han Solo, or other movie notables. Sadly, my own instincts have led me nowhere except the post office and a yearlong gig writing for GoLocalPDX, who stiffed me out of a chunk of money. It wasn’t a huge amount, but it still chafes my hide when I get snookered into doing free work, or even worse, losing money on the deal. I’m usually able to sniff out a grifter, but I’d gotten dumb and hungry.

Not having a job at 50 eats away at you. It’s like a daily affirmation of your obsolescence. Plus, I miss having co-workers to gab with. All I have is a dog that needs a walk. Instead of shooting the shit, I’m gathering it up in a bag, looking more and more like the old neighborhood kook to the new arrivals fresh off the boat from California.

I’m currently exploring several remote possibilities, and nothing looks promising. I’ve set snares and traps around my social media territory, in hopes of landing a few writing or editing assignments, but there are never enough of these to pay the bills. So, I’m seeking honest labor.

An application for Plaid Pantry sits immediately to my right. I’ve been chatting with the older hippie dude who works down at the Southeast Belmont store and he was refreshingly candid.

“Do you think being a bartender is an easy job? Do you think anyone can do it?” he asked me.

“Oh, hell no.”

“It’s the same sort of action here. It requires you to be present, but also detached.”

Somehow, I think I can handle that. In fact, I look forward to what many consider an undignified position. With pride and self-esteem long since buried, I just wants to get paid. Even if it means (shudder) customer service.

Hello cruel world.