The Daily Derenger

11/21/2002

Another day has come and gone. (And let it be known that I write these Daily Derengers typically around 1a.m. so I can properly reflect on the day's events. I hope you read these as not that which could be found in your morning newspaper but rather as a bedtime story or rant to ... nobody in particular.) Enjoy.

I strolled into another staffing company for yet another paper-filling-out and brief Q&A session. Of course I got the job. But it was not without drama. After I completed the initial application, I was gestured over to the computer area for some testing. "Look here," I said with the pathetic confidence of a truly keyboard-incompetent individual. "I'm not here to show any typing skills. Frankly, I would embarrass myself if I did. I've taken those tests and done quite poorly on them all. I'm here to land a gig stuffing envelopes, sorting mail or neutering a dragon - where's the proficiency testing for that stuff?"

The gentleman seemed a bit shocked but relieved in the fact that I saved him some valuable time explaining Lotus to me. "Lotus ... you mean those big bugs," I questioned. "I didn't walk in to the Orkin staffing firm did I?" He smirked and went to find someone to deal with me.

I gave her the same song and dance about my work history. She wrote some notes on my application that probably read "keep away from small children and all things flammable." She then offered me some immediate work. Apparently their company gives gifts to all their clients every holiday. Hello - Thanksgiving is next week. Hooray for me and a paycheck.

My first assignment will entail delivering bags of nuts to these clients. I can even wear tennis shoes. But no jeans. Heaven forbid I grace the presence of the corporate headquarters of Astro-glide in some Levi 501s. How could they take nuts from a guy in jeans? Clearly if I had on some beige slacks with a pair of Nikes there would be no problem. Enough of that banter. I start Friday at 8:30a.m. sharp. I'm sure I'll have plenty to say about that nutty day.

Tomorrow (which is today in case you've forgotten again when these things are written) I'm hanging out at the Hooters in Orland Park, IL, the host city of my comedy doings this weekend. My radio-DJ friend Phat Matt will be there live from 2 - 7p.m. promoting "Show Us Your Cans," a food drive put on by 96.7 Will Rock in Joliet. I'm playing at Riddles Comedy Club and you best be there on Friday or Saturday. Phat Matt and his phat, generous self is recording my sets to help make my first live CD! So damnit, you please better be there!

11/20/2002

Yesterday I interviewed at my third temporary staffing company and today I interview with my fourth. My next step is getting run over by a truck filled with toaster ovens. Why toaster overs? Who knows? But why am I 27-years-old and interviewing with 4 temp agencies?

Getting hired is not a problem because these places generally hire anyone with a pulse and trasportation. As I've stated before, my computer skills have me qualified to work only a lottery machine at Amoco, a job I held when I was 17 and living at home. And more financially stable. Now I'm back at home with no money, no job and the '88 Pontiac LeMans has been replaced with the '97 Geo Prizm. Where's the justice I ask?

Most of the jobs call for clerical or administrative work which is stuff I can't and don't ever want to do. I will serve burgers to snot-nozed kids again before I enter data into a computer only to have it crash sporadically. At this rate, Denny's and Lonestar, here I come!

I must confess that there have been some short and long term jobs offered to me. One called for a 3-week committment filing stuff while another required me to be in front of a computer for 3 months at 40 hours a week for 11 bucks an hour. That translates into virtual suicide. Still another possible job was at a newspaper working as an electronic librarian. That sounds like C-3PO with with glasses telling people to be quiet.

Now don't get me wrong, I realize that I've made this bed for myself. There is a price to pay for chasing the dream and salivating at prospective barely-double-figure-an-hour jobs is it. The only reason I haven't give much consideration to the jobs is because of my travels with comedy. They can't hire someone who will be gone as often as me. I did think that there were 3 or 4 day assignments that I guy in my situation could fill. So far those have been few and far between. Will somebody please call HBO or ABC and tell them to read my pathetic life on ShaveYourHead.com and make a show out of it? Come on now. If Tom Arnold and Arsenio Hall can be stars then I can too! In the meantime, I'm gonna be poor and tell jokes in central Illinois to pay my car insurance and AOL bill.

Stay tuned for more horrifying reality.

11/17/2002

Chellie used to like me. She really did. I can remember the days when we sat together watching television or just laying around. She would purr like a cat as I would rub behind her ears and scratch her back. Now she just ignores me like we never had a past at all. I feel so cheap and used.

Chellie is Cyndi's cat who I have the pleasure of taking care of this weekend. Cyndi asked me to "watch" her cat. "Watch her do what?" I asked. "She does nothing worth watching."

When I first moved back to Chicago and met Chellie, we hit it off right away. She would come sit on my lap and play with the strap on my cell phone. Now when I walk through the door she looks at me as if I'm carrying a Super-Soaker 4000 with her name on it.

Cyndi's been gone for about 2 1/2 days at the writing of this column. She's called twice to check on her cat. I'm not quite sure what she's expecting to hear though. It's not like she left behind a kangaroo or duck-billed platypus - they would be tough to care for as not too many of them are domesticated in Chicago. Or probably anywhere for that matter.

Now I get the picture that Chellie is a big part of Cyndi's life. But damnit, she's a cat. And no longer a very playful or active one at that.

I just went over to feed Chellie and I never even saw her. I'm certain she was there somewhere but since she can sense danger and bald men whom she doesn't like, she stayed hidden. And when I say hidden I don't mean Osama bin Laden hidden. Cyndi's place is a small studio apartment where a haystack could be put only to have the needle found within minutes. The only locations where Chellie could hide would be under the bed or the bathtub. It's one of those old kinds of tubs and hiding underneath it in the summer is the cool thing to do. Literally.

She wasn't under the tub so I knew she was under the bed. Cyndi's place isn't well lit so I couldn't see if it was the cat in the shadows of the bed. A slid a shoebox towards the cat-like object and it didn't budge. "Oh well," I said. "I'm double parked and ain't gonna risk gettin' a 50 dollar ticket on some dumb cat." And with that I left.

I did feed Chellie as well as give her fresh water. She's gotten a bit plump over the years. I guess when you have a phone booth to live in there isn't a lot of exercise to do. Chellie's belly of fur drags on the hardwood floor and serves as somewhat of a dust mop. Her calico coat is full of colors and with the dust, gray gets added to the mix.

By the time you've read this, Cyndi will probably have returned home. Chellie will almost certainly be elated to see her although I think it will be more of the other way around.

What do I make of my existence at this point? I provide curb-side, cab-like service via the Prizm and look after a friend's cat while I've written nary a gut-wrenching joke in weeks. I haven't received a legitimate company-issued pay check since March and when I'm pressed with the decision to pick Speedway or Amoco, I take the former and its 3-cent-lower-per-gallon cost. I turn 28 in 2 weeks. Perhaps HBO or Comedy Central will have called by then.