wrote no .
ELEVEN
Moments after I left a pet store with an application for a non-existent job, the sky opened up. The desert storm was short, more like a like a violent cloud sneeze. It lasted just long enough for the rain to plaster my shirt to my torso, making me look as skinny as a freshly shampooed cat. I ran for shelter in the wrong direction.
I stopped to get my bearings at a nursing home called Colonial Gardens. The receptionist, Kate, smiled at me Mona Lisa-like, and asked how I learned about the job opening. I looked at her blankly. She informed me they had just fired two aides on the night shift, and more were going to get the ax. “I haven’t even had time to advertise for the positions and I’m not looking forward to sifting through a bunch of applications.”
I hadn’t planned to seek a job there. I didn’t even know the place existed. Of course, I asked to apply.
As with the Starbucks application, there was an open-ended question and half a page of blank space. I rewrote part of a Caltech essay attempt from memory, and it seemed to fit the question well. What are three examples of your consideration for others? My knowledge of germ-fighting techniques came in handy. I had just read an article on MRSA, the antibiotic-resistant bacteria common in hospitals and nursing homes. I wove my knowledge of that together with the techniques I would use to keep surfaces clean and keep the residents safe. When I finished, Kate told me that the staff of Colonial Gardens did God’s work. “Unfortunately God’s pay scale starts at ten dollars an hour.”
That was more than I had hoped for. It was thirty-eight hours a week, because they had to provide benefits at 40 hours. Three eighty a week, minus taxes, FICO and social security, for ten months would give me approximately fifteen grand for tuition, room, and board. Patients would be asleep on the night shift, wouldn’t they? I could do homework and get paid for it. I wanted that job.
“We’re like family here,” she said. “That’s what we strive for.”
“Me too,” I said, dumbly.
I assumed Kate would tell me to come back for an interview at a time when I was prepared and not dripping wet. Instead, she said the executive director, Mr. Wofford, was waiting for me. This was peculiar. To my knowledge, she hadn’t told him I was there. She had been sitting in front of me the whole time I filled out the application. If she had let him know about me, it was via telepathy.
Mr. Wofford wasn’t much taller standing than sitting. His handshake was surprisingly firm and he seemed intent on crushing my little finger.
“You made quite an impression on Kate.” He led me into his office and gave my wet clothes a quick glance. He turned to the window. The sun was shining. I fought the urge to explain that it had been raining hard, for exactly four minutes.
He asked me to sit. I perched on the end of the guest chair so my moist clothes wouldn’t dampen the entire seat. The A/C was on full blast and blowing against my wet shirt. I heard squeaking coming from somewhere in the office.
He scanned my application. “These are some impressive academic achievements. You’re planning on college?”
This was a gotcha question. What if they were looking for aides who would stay around more than a year? They wouldn’t want to train someone who would leave.
“Probably UNLV,” I said, choking a little.
“You say you’re a helper,” he said. “Can you elaborate?”
“I’ve helped many people. I helped my... I saved my BiMo…biological mother’s life a few times.”
“You know CPR?”
“Yes, I do.” But I couldn’t save my BiMo when it really mattered . “I learned it when I was ten.”
Mr. Wofford smiled. “So young, yet so pragmatic. But what we’ve been missing in our aides is empathy. Many of our residents are tossed aside. Ignored by society. Some are ignored by their families. Might as well be flotsam.”
“I can relate,” I said, too
ELEVEN
Moments after I left a pet store with an application for a non-existent job, the sky opened up. The desert storm was short, more like a like a violent cloud sneeze. It lasted just long enough for the rain to plaster my shirt to my torso, making me look as skinny as a freshly shampooed cat. I ran for shelter in the wrong direction.
I stopped to get my bearings at a nursing home called Colonial Gardens. The receptionist, Kate, smiled at me Mona Lisa-like, and asked how I learned about the job opening. I looked at her blankly. She informed me they had just fired two aides on the night shift, and more were going to get the ax. “I haven’t even had time to advertise for the positions and I’m not looking forward to sifting through a bunch of applications.”
I hadn’t planned to seek a job there. I didn’t even know the place existed. Of course, I asked to apply.
As with the Starbucks application, there was an open-ended question and half a page of blank space. I rewrote part of a Caltech essay attempt from memory, and it seemed to fit the question well. What are three examples of your consideration for others? My knowledge of germ-fighting techniques came in handy. I had just read an article on MRSA, the antibiotic-resistant bacteria common in hospitals and nursing homes. I wove my knowledge of that together with the techniques I would use to keep surfaces clean and keep the residents safe. When I finished, Kate told me that the staff of Colonial Gardens did God’s work. “Unfortunately God’s pay scale starts at ten dollars an hour.”
That was more than I had hoped for. It was thirty-eight hours a week, because they had to provide benefits at 40 hours. Three eighty a week, minus taxes, FICO and social security, for ten months would give me approximately fifteen grand for tuition, room, and board. Patients would be asleep on the night shift, wouldn’t they? I could do homework and get paid for it. I wanted that job.
“We’re like family here,” she said. “That’s what we strive for.”
“Me too,” I said, dumbly.
I assumed Kate would tell me to come back for an interview at a time when I was prepared and not dripping wet. Instead, she said the executive director, Mr. Wofford, was waiting for me. This was peculiar. To my knowledge, she hadn’t told him I was there. She had been sitting in front of me the whole time I filled out the application. If she had let him know about me, it was via telepathy.
Mr. Wofford wasn’t much taller standing than sitting. His handshake was surprisingly firm and he seemed intent on crushing my little finger.
“You made quite an impression on Kate.” He led me into his office and gave my wet clothes a quick glance. He turned to the window. The sun was shining. I fought the urge to explain that it had been raining hard, for exactly four minutes.
He asked me to sit. I perched on the end of the guest chair so my moist clothes wouldn’t dampen the entire seat. The A/C was on full blast and blowing against my wet shirt. I heard squeaking coming from somewhere in the office.
He scanned my application. “These are some impressive academic achievements. You’re planning on college?”
This was a gotcha question. What if they were looking for aides who would stay around more than a year? They wouldn’t want to train someone who would leave.
“Probably UNLV,” I said, choking a little.
“You say you’re a helper,” he said. “Can you elaborate?”
“I’ve helped many people. I helped my... I saved my BiMo…biological mother’s life a few times.”
“You know CPR?”
“Yes, I do.” But I couldn’t save my BiMo when it really mattered . “I learned it when I was ten.”
Mr. Wofford smiled. “So young, yet so pragmatic. But what we’ve been missing in our aides is empathy. Many of our residents are tossed aside. Ignored by society. Some are ignored by their families. Might as well be flotsam.”
“I can relate,” I said, too
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