February 2009 Archives

To Work Or Not to Work....is that really a question?

Alexandra Cavallo

on February 18, 2009 4:05 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

LET'S TALK JOBS....

A Job. Apparently you have to have one. The world seems to operate on this elaborate system involving the exchange of goods and services for money. So there you go. I need a job.

But here's the problem, I'm not good at jobs. The workforce and I are like two magnetic north poles. We repel.

Let me preface this by explaining that, while I may not be very good at keeping a job, I have a certain knack for finding them. In my short time as a functioning (we'll use this term loosely) member of the workforce I've had more jobs than the average person. Many more.

Allow me to clarify. Most of these "jobs" (this term is to be used more loosely still) had the shelf life of take-out sushi. Read: they didn't last much past a day and a half.

Below, I present you with an abridged list of the various jobs I have held since high school:

· Salesperson at Abercrombie & Fitch- awful place to shop. Worse place to work. Time endured: 1 afternoon.

· Salesperson at Zumiez- sold snowboards and skate shoes to pimply adolescents and their parents. Time endured: 2 weeks. Had to quit, couldn't stand extremely overbearing boss imploring me to "make friend with my customers" anymore. I don't want to chat about good charlotte and tony hawk with 15 year olds. I want to go home.

· Caterer- I found that I didn't really relish serving canapés to snotty wedding guests over my summer vacation. Also, I kept dropping trays. Time endured: about once a week for 2 months. Record time. Quit before boss caught on to just where all that missing wine was flowing. In my general direction.

· Secretary at Dermatology Practice- filing records, making appointments, that old hat. Time endured: one winter break. After which I was fired. By the doctor. MY FATHER. Apparently catching a few Z's in the filing stacks not included in job description? Very sad time for family.

· Server at Greek Restaurant- served spanakopitas and gyros for a summer. Time endured: almost an entire summer. Until I was fired. For not showing up because I was shopping. Who knew? (Side note: this disgruntled boss is the father of a close friend. Bridges: meet Alex and her can of lighter fluid).

I also once worked at Starbucks. Until my mother came in to purchase a Mochachinno prepared by her very own pride and joy. And was told that the Starbucks Corportation had never heard of me. After that, I didn't "work" there anymore. Hey, she was happily under the impression that I was gainfully employed while I spent my after-school hours at the beach. Up until then it was a win-win situation.

Trust me, this list could go on for pages. But this is a blog. So I'm keeping it concise.

Needless to say, my track record is, well, spotty.

But it can only improve from here....right? Right?

I think I'll move to Australia.

The Genesis of this Fine Blog.

Alexandra Cavallo

on February 18, 2009 2:24 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

IT'S LIKE THE BOOK...BUT IT'S MY LIFE.

You all know the story. Alexander is having a really rough day. The worst. There's gum in his hair, his mom makes him buy really lame kicks, people on t.v. are making out and he's got dental problems. The worst.

But I think I just may have him trumped. Sure, Alexander is having a rough day...I'm having a rough life. Yea, yea, most of my own trials and tribulations are self-inflicted...perhaps even imagined.

But here's the thing. They are still happening. And they're making my life pretty hard. Hey Alexander, I'm having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad life.

It is my hope that writing this blog will serve as some sort of cathartic process, through which I can document my life's hardships and put them in perspective.

If nothing else, you'll probably feel a bit cheerier about your own life. I promise.

Traveling is Stressful.

Alexandra Cavallo

on February 17, 2009 3:21 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Early One Saturday Morning...

Crap! I overslept. Again. My contact lenses are plastered to my eyes, there appears to be some sort of small, woodland animal nesting in my hair and I'm pretty sure I ate a full plate of cotton balls before lapsing into a coma last night. Business as usual.

My bus to Albany is departing from South Station in 40 minutes and I really need to be on it. Problem is, the watch my parents gave me in lieu of an entire sweet 16 birthday party has gone missing. Now is NOT the time for a friendly game of hide and seek with my luxury timepiece.

What the hell. Not in the kitchen, the bedroom, the living room. Not under the couch. Not even in the litter box. I now have exactly 22 minutes to throw on clothes, pack a bag and somehow teleport myself to south station. No biggie. Except the thought of some Boston cabbie, bartender, or random homeless person sporting my watch at this very moment is sort of throwing a wrench in my best laid plans.

Am now in Full On Panic Mode. Commence the screaming, crying, flinging of household objects and general psychological breakdown that accompanies episodes of extreme stress in my life. I collapse on my bedroom floor in a pool of watch-less misery. Am now at eye-level with the half-eaten bag of Cheezits next to my bed.

Ohhh. Of course. How could i have forgotten. I always put my jewlery in bags of cheezy baked-not-fried snack products for safe-keeping after a long night of drinking. How silly of me to forget. Am relieved to find my watch intact, albiet coated with delicious real-cheddar flavor. However, I now have 17 minutes to make aforementioned bus.

No worries, with my watch safely strapped to my wrist I can do anything. And what I need to do is arrive in Albany in time for my best friend's 25th birthday. She's made it clear that there might be some unpleasant repercussions if I fail to do so.

Make it to the station with 3 minutes to spare, purchase my ticket and collapse in my seat, wheezing and sweaty, as the driver turns on the engine. Victory.

I immediately fall into the stress and alcohol-induced sleep of the dead. When I awake, 2 hours later, we are at a rest stop. In Connecticut.

I am on a bus to Manhattan. Which, if my limited grasp of geography serves me correctly, is nowhere near Albany, NY. Some quick calculations confirm that not only will I not make it in time for the party but, all told, the customarily 3.5 hour long trip to Albany will take me over 9 hours to complete.

Not to mention the extra 35 bucks I'll have to shell out at Port Authority. IN MANHATTAN.

I think I'll move to Australia.

Main Index | Archives | March 2009 »

February 2009 Archives

To Work Or Not to Work....is that really a question?

The Genesis of this Fine Blog.

Traveling is Stressful.

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