About 11:45 AM as I start this short entry. I’ve just come home from a triple-header of slaps in the face.
1. Went to see a photographer that I shall not name for fear that it’ll come back and bite me in the ass. Met her studio manager, who was nice and looked at my book and asked me some questions. Then I met the photographer in question, who took about 15 seconds to look through my book and ask me two questions. And then I left. The really lovely part of it, though, is that right before I left, I saw her write in big letters with a box around it on top of my resume, “NO EXPERIENCE.”
Well thanks for coming and here’s a red hot poker to shove up your ass. Excuse me, but how am I supposed to have experience if I’m new at this? And how am I supposed to get experience unless someone hires me? I’m obviously skilled at photography and know what I’m doing, so why the fuck does it matter that the assisting I have done thus far has been free and for friends at school? Does experience not matter unless you’re getting paid for it?
Fine, so she told me to call back in a while if I didn’t hear from the studio after a few months. Well la de fucking da. I’ll send you a mailer, and if you still don’t like me then go fuck yourself.
2. On the way home, I stopped to put gas in my car because it was almost on empty. I put in five gallons. You know how much it cost me? Almost ten dollars. The 87 octane regular was $1.959. WHAT THE FUCK????? And I saw the guy at the pump next to me filling up his fucking Ford Excursion with premium. I’ll bet it cost him close to $100 to fill up that beast. What a waste.
I hate cars and gasoline and internal combustion engines. I really do. Once I get a bike built, I am fucking riding wherever I can, and I will do so on every day of the year that doesn’t include several feet of snow on the ground.
3. I went to the bank down the block from me so I could go start a checking account. Oh the joys of Broadway Bank – let me count them. Minimum deposit and balance in all checking accounts $250. No interest on checking accounts. You are allowed to write ten checks per month before you start getting charged for writing checks. If your balance falls below the minimum, you get charged $8-10 per month. Oh yes, I don’t have a money, so PLEASE FINE ME.
In short, Broadway Bank is a fucking dinosaur with no clue as to how to run a business in this century. Fuck them.
And now I’m going to go try to think up some ideas for mailers to send out as part of the greater effort to not be unemployed. Mailers which will require me to buy new materials, and possibly a new printer, in order to produce.
The other two interviews this afternoon had better be a fuckload better.
