book is a set of encyclopedias, Winchester’s is one of those romance novels you can read in a few hours. Seriously .
I slipped to the yellow pages. Fuck finding a job. I wanted to see if there was a place that could make this a home for me. So I went to the A s and looked for art gallery listings. There was one listed. One! I wish I was kidding you. “One art gallery, dad? That’s all you guys have?”
Across the room, dad looked up from the paper. “Oh, uh…yes. But there’s also the Winchester Center for the Arts. Oh, and a few of the restaurants downtown have galleries of sorts inside where they display local artists’ works.”
I nodded. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t so bad after all. But what if I couldn’t get a job at one of the galleries? Fuck it —might as well apply everywhere. I asked dad if he cared if I kept the wants ads, and he said it was fine to take them. I was already feeling smothered here, and I hadn’t even been home twenty-four hours. It didn’t matter, though—that was the current state, and I had to do something about it. That meant I needed a job— any job—so I could regain my freedom. I needed some space. Hell, no. I needed a lot of space. I loved my parents, but I would never be an adult in their eyes. Especially if I stayed at home mooching off them.
After breakfast, I got ready in a hurry. I wasn’t about to let the grass grow under my feet. I put on a nice beige pantsuit, one I’d worn at the art gallery often, and wore my dark brown hair pulled back away from my face. I told my family I’d see them later. Mom hugged me and said, “You don’t need to do this right away. You can take a few days off, you know.”
Oh, no. I most certainly could not, but I wasn’t about to say that to her, especially whe n she was being so sweet. I squeezed her back. “Thanks, mom, but I’ve got to do this.” She smiled at me as I walked out the front door, ready to start a new life.
I went to the art gallery first. I had to keep my dreams at the forefront. I walked in and immediately felt underwhelmed. Saying the place was small was like saying Lady Gaga wanted just a little bit of attention. I approached the woman at the desk near the front. She was a tall thin woman with tight features. I told her I was looking for work but that I was also an artist, working mostly in acrylics and oils but some watercolors and other media when the spirit moved me. Just as I was slightly unimpressed with her gallery, she too seemed unmoved by my revelation . Of course, she probably got lots of wannabe artists walking through her doors all the time. It didn’t pay to be moved by someone claiming to be an artist. “I don’t need any help, but you’re welcome to fill out an application just the same.” She reached under the counter and pulled out a generic four-page application and slid it toward me. “You can also bring your portfolio in anytime and I’ll take a look at it.”
Okay, so maybe I’d been a little harsh with her initially. I hadn’t expected her to throw me this bone. Sweet. The vibes I was getting from her were still cold and definitely not promising, but I wasn’t going t o piss on the opportunity . “Do you mind if I fill it out here?”
“Feel free.” Her hand swept across the room near the entrance where there was a small table and two chairs. I imagined this was where they would put b rochures and maybe a guest book. I filled out the application, using the small notebook I kept in my purse that gave the nitty-gritty details of jobs I’d held in the past.
After leaving the art gallery, I drove to the Arts Center. They were closed on Mondays and Tuesdays, so I’d have to come back some other time. But I wasn’t about to stop. I was already interview-ready and itching for a job. So I went to every single place that had a want ad and applied. It didn’t
I slipped to the yellow pages. Fuck finding a job. I wanted to see if there was a place that could make this a home for me. So I went to the A s and looked for art gallery listings. There was one listed. One! I wish I was kidding you. “One art gallery, dad? That’s all you guys have?”
Across the room, dad looked up from the paper. “Oh, uh…yes. But there’s also the Winchester Center for the Arts. Oh, and a few of the restaurants downtown have galleries of sorts inside where they display local artists’ works.”
I nodded. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t so bad after all. But what if I couldn’t get a job at one of the galleries? Fuck it —might as well apply everywhere. I asked dad if he cared if I kept the wants ads, and he said it was fine to take them. I was already feeling smothered here, and I hadn’t even been home twenty-four hours. It didn’t matter, though—that was the current state, and I had to do something about it. That meant I needed a job— any job—so I could regain my freedom. I needed some space. Hell, no. I needed a lot of space. I loved my parents, but I would never be an adult in their eyes. Especially if I stayed at home mooching off them.
After breakfast, I got ready in a hurry. I wasn’t about to let the grass grow under my feet. I put on a nice beige pantsuit, one I’d worn at the art gallery often, and wore my dark brown hair pulled back away from my face. I told my family I’d see them later. Mom hugged me and said, “You don’t need to do this right away. You can take a few days off, you know.”
Oh, no. I most certainly could not, but I wasn’t about to say that to her, especially whe n she was being so sweet. I squeezed her back. “Thanks, mom, but I’ve got to do this.” She smiled at me as I walked out the front door, ready to start a new life.
I went to the art gallery first. I had to keep my dreams at the forefront. I walked in and immediately felt underwhelmed. Saying the place was small was like saying Lady Gaga wanted just a little bit of attention. I approached the woman at the desk near the front. She was a tall thin woman with tight features. I told her I was looking for work but that I was also an artist, working mostly in acrylics and oils but some watercolors and other media when the spirit moved me. Just as I was slightly unimpressed with her gallery, she too seemed unmoved by my revelation . Of course, she probably got lots of wannabe artists walking through her doors all the time. It didn’t pay to be moved by someone claiming to be an artist. “I don’t need any help, but you’re welcome to fill out an application just the same.” She reached under the counter and pulled out a generic four-page application and slid it toward me. “You can also bring your portfolio in anytime and I’ll take a look at it.”
Okay, so maybe I’d been a little harsh with her initially. I hadn’t expected her to throw me this bone. Sweet. The vibes I was getting from her were still cold and definitely not promising, but I wasn’t going t o piss on the opportunity . “Do you mind if I fill it out here?”
“Feel free.” Her hand swept across the room near the entrance where there was a small table and two chairs. I imagined this was where they would put b rochures and maybe a guest book. I filled out the application, using the small notebook I kept in my purse that gave the nitty-gritty details of jobs I’d held in the past.
After leaving the art gallery, I drove to the Arts Center. They were closed on Mondays and Tuesdays, so I’d have to come back some other time. But I wasn’t about to stop. I was already interview-ready and itching for a job. So I went to every single place that had a want ad and applied. It didn’t
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