Crown of Trinkets

Saturday, July 14, 2001
So I am now employed. Good old Legacy Health Systems has seen fit in their hearts to offer me a Benefits Specialist position; not that I necessarily know anything about benefits but I'm sure I'll pick it up fast enough. Plus it's 4 days a week, which means nonstop 3-day weekends, which will hopefully translate into massive creative output--since I'm sacrificing some potential income for the luxury of free Fridays, I'll feel shamed into doing stuff. And as I know pretty well by now, shame is one of my biggest motivators. "Jacob, have you finished your Extended Essay?" "Jacob, how are we doing on that thesis?" "hey jake whats up with that tape you promised me two years ago" etc. etc. etc. So here's to shame and to free time and to finally being free from the depressing shackles of unemployment, and here's to me.

Today I went garage-saling again (hopefully that will not become a theme of this page, but then again it is entitled "Crown of Trinkets") and I went to the loveliest estate sale. Everything was cheap (definitely not usually the case at estate sales, at least around these parts) and everything was nice. I was ecstatic to purchase, for 25 cents, the ideal trinket crown: a crocheted beer-can hat (akin to the one at Disturbing Auctions but with more brands than the Monolympia hat seen there). It features the great brands: Rainier (on top! like a crown!), then going clockwise: Miller, Heidelberg, Bohemian Club, Blitz Weinhard, Olympia, and Budweiser. It is now displayed proudly in my house. I can't complain about finding a square-dance record with calls, either, and a few other kitschy records and coffee cups, etc. I like estate sales because you get a strong sense of the person/people who passed. In this case, they were Norwegians from Minnesota, which of course gave me an immediate sense of deja-vu. I was sad to have to pass on the "I got Goosed in Rochester" t-shirt, which was, oddly, transparent, perhaps from being worn too frequently? What a weird thought. If I were a young indie-rock woman I would be stoked, but in my current male state I feel weird about showing my pointy nipples off to the world. I also passed on a novelty plate (for 10 cents) with the inscription "I went out with the shrimp boats and came in with the crabs" or something like that; there is only so much questionable kitsch one can hang on the walls, and I already got the Crown to hang on the wall anyway.

So it is weird to finally be employed. I will have benefits as of the beginning of August, which means I'll change my eyeglasses for the first time in, I think, four or five years; I'll get to clean my teeth so I don't wake up every morning reeking of garlic and decay; I'll get someone to look at these bumps on my legs which have been there for ten years (my pre-college physical had them pegged as "probably harmless")--it is so beautiful that I could almost cry.

Speaking of crying, I was almost to the point of tears on Wednesday afternoon, when the call offering me a job came in. I had been moping and sulking and thinking "oh, crap, it's back to the humiliation of temporary employment once again, I'll never get a real job, oh woe is me, I'm overqualified for everything, boo hoo sob sob". I'm sure you have your own litany of self-pity. Thank goodness that was cut off before it metastasized within me any further. It is time to move past that and into a life of relative comfort (well, not that much, but at least I'll be able to buy organic produce, eat out once a week or so, and maybe do a little travelling) and a life of endless productive leisure and into the bright summer future in my beautiful home city and, finally, not to be restless. Oh beauty.

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