Yesterday I had two interviews in Downtown Seattle. I have
always hated driving downtown; it brings out the worst in me, and sometimes I’m
surprised by how bad the worst is. I fantasize about simply plowing through the
masses of pedestrians that putt along oblivious to the fact that I would really
love to make a right turn if they would just pick up the pace a little. In my
mind lines of cars disintegrate into a million pieces in front of me, never to
be seen again. Cyclists ricochet off my fender and no longer presume to share
the lane as if they were an actual vehicle. If I ever get a downtown job, I
will most likely take public transit to avoid both stress and incarceration.
But the very worst part of having to drive in Seattle is
parking. If I choose the convenience of parking in a garage I have to pay an
hourly rate that eliminates my future children’s chances of a college fund, and
if I by some miracle find street parking, the rate is still $4 an hour plus tax,
and I have to be sure to come back every two hours to pay more. Yesterday I
found street parking where I had the opportunity to increase my driving prowess
by parallel parking on a hill behind a man taking his sweet time loading a giant
stroller into his trunk, and once parked I honestly wondered whether or not the
friction between my tires and the road was enough to keep my car from sliding
down the sharp grade and into the fish stand at Pike Place Market. I would have
moved if I thought there was a remote chance of finding anything better.
My first interview went well, I think. I’ve had several
compliments on my interviews, but I’ve yet to land a job so I tend to take them
with a grain of salt. But I think that I represented myself well, which is
great because basically the job would be me assisting programs that are saving
the world. I’d really like for world-saving to be something I do full-time.
That interview was over about 1pm, and my next downtown
interview was at 3pm. So I found the place, parked on the street, paid for
parking, and hung out in the Columbia Tower which is where all the cool
downtown-types hang out. There are three coffee places and a shoe-shine stand. At
2:15 I went back to my car, paid for another two hours of parking, and headed
to the job interview a couple blocks away. I rode the elevator up and down
several times, unsuccessfully tried to find a bathroom that did not require a
passcode, and tried to make my hair look as if I hadn’t just walk/jogged three
blocks in the rain, which I had.
At 2:45 I went to the interview and was disappointed that
unlike the first interview, the organization’s front desk did not have a candy
bowl. That will be a factor should I find myself with two job offers in the
near future.
When the interview was done I was extremely relieved and
ready to go home. I knew that I would have just enough time to pick up the
house before the world’s best husband got home. I charged up the hill, content
to let the rain wash the last dregs of professional out of my appearance, and
arrived at my parking spot, but not, however, at my car. It was then that the
“No Parking 3pm-6pm” sign really caught my attention. Oh. Snap.
I called the car-kidnappers and noted the location of my
dear little Altima and then proceeded to call my sister to lament my situation.
That’s what I do in lamentable situations: call my sister. When she moves to
Taiwan all on my phone’s contact list will probably be hearing from me a lot
more often, especially when I have something to kvetch about.
I headed toward the light rail to ride home where my husband
could pick me up, but after envisioning his look of excitement at having to
drive up to Seattle to rescue my car and then back after a long day of work, I
wondered if another option might be available. My sister patiently reasoned
with the obstinate King County Metro website and then recommended a bus.
Whenever I’m on the bus, I’m never more than about
two-thirds sure that I’m on the right route to get where I’m going. There’s always
the chance that I’ve totally screwed up and am going to end up miles away from
my destination (it’s only happened to me once, but it had a lasting effect).
Still, I hopped on the 72 bus and got off at my prescribed destination. My
sister, who was my equivalent of Houston at this point, admitted that the
walking directions from the bus stop didn’t actually give a final destination.
I was supposed to end at 610 North Lake Way, but the last direction just said,
“Turn left on 6th.”
She stayed on the phone with me as I trudged through the
rain in my nicest business clothes and shoes, took a wrong turn, looked
jealously at runners enjoying a local path, and finally found myself walking
along a plastic barbed-wire-topped fence.
“Then what?” I asked.
“That’s all it says… I hope I didn’t lead you on a wild
goose chase.”
I, too, hoped that I was not now in an unknown part of
Seattle miles from the light rail with a dwindling cell-phone battery.
But then, through the slots of the plastic fence, I saw a lovely,
if somewhat dinged up, gold Altima.
“We did it! We made it!” We both rejoiced, triumphantly, and
I ran through the gravel toward the little tow company office. “Thank you!
Thank you!”
Stupidity is often expensive, and my lack of attention to
detail (a thing never to mention in job interviews) cost $125. It’d be really
wonderful if I landed one of those jobs, because it would make the whole ordeal
more significant and somewhat less frustrating in hindsight. If not, it will
just be one of my many adventures in a long quest to find gainful employment. A
quest, by the way, which I shall carry out no matter how hard the rain, how
steep the hill, or how much I want to kill pedestrians.
