Page 11 of Happy Harbor
“Are you crazy?”
Slash leaned back and smiled. “Some people say so. I take it as a compliment.”
“I can’t get into that kind of trouble.”
“Look, I see how people treat you around here. Just like they treat me. It’s because we’re cooler than them. Think of how awesome it’d be to have the rest of the year off. I play in a rock band, and everybody’s older. I could practice with them all day down by the abandoned barn. You can come too.”
Boring classes and mean girls, or go with crazy Slash to hang out by the abandoned barn and listen to subpar rock music. She thought for a moment, wondering how these were her only two options.
“Okay, let’s do it.”
* * *
“So, you’re saying you were fired?” The man, whose name she’d already forgotten, eyed her from across his expansive desk. This marketing firm, the third she’d interviewed at this week, was at the bottom of her list. Two others had already said no thanks, so she was willing to take pretty much anything at this point.
“I was let go,” Josie repeated, pasting a fake smile on her face. “But, as you can see, I’ve got years of experience. My clients were always pleased with my work, and the growth I’ve shown on those accounts is huge. I’ve included some charts to show you?—”
He put down her résumé. “Look, I know Sandra, and she wouldn’t let someone go unless they really did something bad.”
She sighed. “Ted, I’ll level with you. I’m tough. That can turn some fellow employees off, and that’s the long and short of it.”
He smiled. “My name is Todd.”
“Oh, sorry. I normally have great attention to detail, but it’s been a bit of a long week for me, as you can imagine.”
He stood up and stepped around his desk. “Thank you for applying, but I don’t think you’d be the right fit for us at this time. I do wish you the best, Josie. I hope you land somewhere great.”
There was a long pause as she decided whether to stand up and leave, or fall to the floor, grab the cuffs of his cheap slacks, and beg for a job. Any job. Receptionist. Trash taker-outer. She didn’t care at this point, as long as she could pay her rent in a few weeks. Finally, she stood. It was so quiet in the office, she swore she could hear crickets.
“I want you to know that I would’ve done a great job here. I could’ve taken you to the top, even above Sandra. I guess you’ll never know.” Without another word, she walked out of his office and onto the sidewalk outside.
The air was crisp today as the end of winter floated into spring. Soon, yellow pollen would fill the air, and Josie would sneeze her head off for a few months before the hot, humid Atlanta summer kicked in. She loved summer with the clear blue skies and sun beating down on her skin. But today it was still pretty cold, so she pulled her cardigan around her tightly and started walking toward her car.
Rejection was something she was used to in her life. For most people, the idea of getting shot down for three jobs in one week would be devastating. For her, it was familiar. Most of her life had been about getting rejected by her degenerate mother, and when your own mother rejects you, nothing else in life really gets you down. At least she could thank her for that.
Still, she needed a job, and quick. As she walked, she noticed a couple of help wanted signs at places like the bank and the dry cleaners, but she wasn’t ready to give up on her career just yet. Somebody had to need a marketing specialist. Some business that was failing had to need her special set of skills.
Her stomach growled, so she stopped at her favorite food truck overlooking an urban park area. It was quite the tableau of busy hipsters on their lunch breaks and homeless people taking naps or asking for money. The city was an amazing environment where everyone had a place. Well, except the homeless people. They didn’t technically have a place.
“What’ll you have?” the portly and severely sweaty man asked. It wasn’t like it was hot outside, but he was still sweating like he’d just run a marathon in the middle of the Mojave Desert.
“I’ll have a Philly cheesesteak with extra onions and a side of fries. Oh, and a sweet tea.” Today she was drowning her sorrows in carbs and trans fats.
“Coming right up.” He handed her a receipt with a number on it, and she walked to an empty picnic table at the edge of the park.
Something about this place comforted her. Maybe it was because there was so little nature in the city, and this small sliver of grass reminded her of her grandmother’s backyard in Happy Harbor. They used to sit on her swing under the Spanish moss–covered trees and talk about life and the future. Nana would regale her with stories of her youth, and Josie would talk about boys, school, and sometimes her mother. Her grandmother had done everything she could to make Josie’s life better.
“Order thirty-eight!” the sweaty man yelled as he hung his head out the truck’s window. Josie took her basket full of artery-clogging goodness and sat back down at the picnic table.
She took her first bite and moaned. Why was bad food so incredibly good? Why didn’t God make broccoli taste like this? There was something inherently unfair about the whole thing.
Just as she was finally relaxing and letting her mind wander, her phone buzzed in her pocket. She put down her sandwich, wiped her greasy hands, and answered it.
“Hello?”
“Is this Mrs. Campbell?”
“MissCampbell,” she corrected the woman for some unknown reason.
