Green Hair and Misfortune

un

"Damn, I've been waiting all day to ruin a brand new shirt. Thank God that's over with, the anticipation was killing me," I said sarcastically, almost announcing it to the whole restaurant. My cheap table was looking over at me, their faces stuffed to the brim with the free chips… I hate people like that. They went out to order a couple of drinks and chow down on anything they didn't have to pay for, then they got themselves all tied in knots at the word "damn". No problem, I'd just leave them a nice note on their check. They'd be ordering the lobster next time they showed their faces around here. I grinned slightly, but the grin was erased as I bumped directly into another waitress carrying a plate of food. "Oh, great, now there's guacamole in my hair to boot!" I announced flatly. Mary looked angry… uh-oh. "Alright, that's it. I'm going to fire you if you have ONE MORE INCIDENT OF ANY SORT! I'm absolutely sick of this, Alicia. You can't go a day without doing SOMETHING, you've got to be just bad luck or something…" She rambled on for another good ten minutes, when she opened her eyes and saw me taking orders. "…So that'll be one tea and one water. I'll be back in a minute." I then went directly into the women's restroom.

"So here I am," I think to myself, absolutely fuming at this whole place, "with guacamole in my hair and a thirty dollar blouse ruined, and all I can think about is that I'm not getting that tea for table six." I sadly turned on the faucet and began completely ruining my hairdo, because even the best hairdo was no longer good once it was a la guacamole. Green hair was in fashion nowadays, but somehow edible green hair would be pushing it. Besides, I simply can't stand having people look down at me like some pathetic girl who has to be a waitress, of all things. They should wake up, it pays really well. A good way to start if there is one, just getting money at an extremely easy job (if you can avoid the moving platters).

"Yoo-hoo… earth to Alicia," I thought to myself, my justifications getting out of hand, "time to wake up and get that tea you were so obsessed about five minutes ago!" I turned around, and to my horror there was Mary, watching me talk to myself. Mary- an enemy if there ever was one. She was always looking down on everyone, I suppose being general manager can do such to a person. Note to self: never get promotions. Mary was the type of person who has more staff then they needed and got the biggest thrill out of firing a few people every week, and hiring most of them back in a year when they were living in a shack begging for change. "Mental problems, tsk tsk, that won't look good on your resume when you're fired." She whispered smugly, so that no one else in the bathroom could hear her. I wanted to kill her right there, but I knew that if I did I wouldn't get my paycheck tomorrow, and thus wouldn't be able to pay my rent, and would be well on my way down the beggar road. Talk about a dream job- sitting on your ass all day waiting for someone to give you a nice shiny quarter so you can buy a glass of water at the nearest gas station. Once a week you can afford a bag of chips, too, but not the big one. Just the little 50 cent ones with about seven chips in them. I was pulled out of my dreamland by more comments from Mary. "Are you some sort of retard? How long are you going to stand there staring into space?" I decided I would go and take out my rage on the freeloaders from table three. I also unfortunately failed to notice the toilet paper that had been planted on my back (by an obvious suspect).

I nearly threw the check onto table three. I was sitting there grinning like an idiot, waiting for them to read what I had written on the receipt. They kept talking. I blinked, growing impatient. "Excuse me, I brought your receipt…" I waved it around for effect. They ignored me completely, gossiping mindlessly. "HELLO? Receipt. Here. I have. Take. Read. Pay. Tip. Thanks." I stalked off, forget my need to see their faces when they saw my note. I completely missed it. I don't even know for sure that they reacted. But they had better have been mad, 'cause I was fired that night. Mary finally got me with that receipt, sadly. My little nightmare about begging on street corners would soon be a reality and all because of a little pent up anger… my friend Alice has suggested a psychiatrist awhile ago, and I had nearly punched her. Friends don't tell friends that they have rage problems. Besides, my problem was Mary, and it appeared that that problem was well out of my way for the time being. Now, where to get a job where they didn't care about your past employment…

deux

The next morning my alarm went off an hour and thirty-seven minutes too late. An excellent indicator of the day to come, though I made no big deal of missing my first two interviews. Who cares? The day was still young! And El Tempo was expecting me in a half-hour. So I, much to my displeasure, yanked myself out of bed. Like most mornings, I managed to fall on my abandoned pile of books and pens, letting out a loud "OW, DAMMIT! That HURT!!" Just wait ten minutes and the neighbors will be knocking on the door asking me what exactly motivates me to curse with their grandchildren in the house. I will explain that I pay my rent, and that if I want to throw porn videos out my window it is my right to do so. They will blink for a minute, taking it all in, and then they will yell at me for corrupting America's youth. Yeah, like they don't do that themselves…

I looked in the mirror. Ouch, that was NOT good, there were huge circles under my eyes and I looked, quite frankly, like Frankenstein's bride. My hair was sticking up everywhere, and it a lovely dirt brown as the morning light shined on it. This would not do. I would have to make an early morning shopping trip (early morning being around 1 PM).

Still in my pajamas, I walked to Randall's. Wiping the sleep from my eye, I looked at their large hair color display. I grabbed what looked like a lovely shade of red. I'm so colorblind. I got home and it was green. For awhile I sat there arguing with myself…

"Well any color's better than your natural."

"This is green, for Christ's sake…"

"But it's not dirt brown."

"You have a-- GREEN I SAID!!"

"So?"

Someone had to win. I took the dye out of the box and applied it to my scalp. I would have no problems with spilled Mexican food for the next… hmm, how long was it again? I looked down.

Permanent color, wouldn't you know it? So I'm stuck looking like broccoli for the rest of my life. Or does permanent color last that long? It seems kind of senseless. Who in their right minds would want green hair at eighty? "Hello, I'm bringing my mother to the nursing home. She was a punk when she was twenty," somehow doesn't sound like it could ever be commonplace. I shook my head, I was doing my space launch thing again. And ACK! It was time to go! Screw makeup, no time! Must run! I grabbed my car keys, mainly for the memory. It wasn't as if I could drive it, after all, it was back home in Michigan. So I scrambled for my bus card and hoped that I wouldn't sit in gum or next to a hobo.

Well, I don't think the guy I sat next to quite qualified as a "hobo", per se, but he was VERY close. He smelled bad, wore month old clothing, and hadn't shaved since 1970. And I think I might have some of that gum on my ass. I can't tell because I haven't seen any appropriate mirrors yet, but the minute I got to the restaurant I will be sure to go to the ladies' room.

After the whole bus ordeal I was maybe a block away, and already late. I stopped to scratch "prompt" off my resume. They'd never believe it. Scratching it out now would just save them the realization later, provided that I got the job. But by this time I already doubted my ability to appear professional and, in essence, perfect.

I pushed open a particularly heavy door, just managing to shut my foot in it. "SHIT!" I screamed, in surprised pain. The entire restaurant stared at me. I just blinked, with a strong sense of déjà vu. My foot felt just about ready to fall off but all that I could think of was that there was no way in hell I'd get this job now. I've already disillusioned quite a few of their customers. A man walked over quickly, whispering "We do NOT know her…" to all the people he passed. I shut my eyes, trying my best to focus on the extreme pain and not on my embarrassment to be living at this moment. "What do you WANT?" he hissed at me, "We will not serve you lunch." I groaned, and hesitated as I said "Well it's a good thing I didn't want lunch then, isn't it? I CAME here for a job, but that obviously isn't going to happen because I am about to lose a foot, and surely I can't balance a tray with only one foot to walk on." "If you think losing a foot is the only way we wouldn't hire you…" the man began, but I decided it was best to interrupt. "Have you ever heard of sarcasm?" "Yes." "Can you recognize sarcasm?" "Yes." "Then why are you explaining to me just why I'm not getting a job here…?" He stood there for a minute, trying to make sense of me. Then I could've sworn I saw a little light bulb just above his head as he said "T… that's not the point." "Nice try," I said loudly as I exited. I didn't have long to get to my next interview.

I pulled out a buck and stood at the bus stop, I had twenty minutes to get across town in high traffic time. It was extremely unlikely by this time that I would make it, but I still had to try. This dollar represented a grab bag of chips. It was the grab bag or a job.

Quite frankly I was tempted to take the chips.

Sadly, however, chips can't pay my rent, so the whole job thing's kind of necessary. Without one I'd have to call home, admit that my parents were right all along, and come home to exactly what I've been trying to get away from.

The bus arrived approximately five minutes later than promised. I was just a tad pissed, could they not be on TIME for those of us who weren't? Hypocritical of me, I know, but I reserve the right to rely on the speed of someone else to make up for my tardiness. And I really needed to do well on this interview. Rent was due next week, and I was about fifty dollars short. You really don't get a paycheck for quite awhile when you're new at a restaurant, they make you train for awhile, but I'd worked in a different location of the same place so all should be well…

I sat next to a perfectly normal person this bus ride. I was thrilled. That is, until their three-year-old child threw up in my lap. Wonderful, just wonderful. So my next interview would include such questions as "Do you ALWAYS walk into food institutions with barf in your lap?" I couldn't wait.

Directly on cue, we pulled up to my stop. Maybe there was a disgusting public bathroom I could visit during my short walk the rest of the way to get cleaned up. And maybe I could find a genie and wish for clean clothes to wear. Either way, really. I'd settle on whichever I came upon first.

Naturally, I encountered neither. Someone up there likes the idea of Alicia the Hobo. Or hates the idea of Alicia With a Spare Buck Once a Month. Possibly both. So --picture this-- I walk into this high-class restaurant and show off my formerly black pants, while everyone stares. Various whispers go across the room; some wondering if I am some sort of sick, twisted joke. The manager hears the hubbub, and appears from his almighty office. He looks down to the resume he is holding, then up at me, then back to the resume… et cetera. And then he finally asks me who I am.

"Alicia. Uhm, Lee. Alicia Lee." "You… you want a job here?" "I sort of had an accident on the bus. Please don't hold it against me, I'm a good waitress. I swear--" "There will be NO swearing in this restaurant!" I sighed. Rich, stuck up snob. Standing there judging the hell out of me. Thinking that just because I didn't have on a fashionable $300 pantsuit I was too low class to associate with. No, I wouldn't get this job. But I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of having me leave without speaking my mind. I strolled into his office.

trois

His face was bright red. Needless to say I was scared shitless. I just kept waiting for him to pull a knife on me. I was eyeing every paperweight in the room, looking for things with sharp edges… any potential weapon. I honestly believed he'd hurt me, that was how angry he looked. But when he opened up his huge mouth, he politely muttered, "Forgive my rudeness. Let's just get down to business, shall we?" then louder, with more confidence, "You have quite the impressive resume." I couldn't believe it. I stared at the jerk for a good five or ten minutes. And then I blew up.

"You seriously think I'd even CONSIDER working here after what just happened? You just thought I was dirt because I'm not all that fancy and have had the horrible luck to find my way to a nauseous three year old child on my way here. You assumed that because I'm not a jerk like you I was… I don't know, what did you think I was? A whore off the street? A bum? Just some poor-ass loser? And what if I was? What if I am? Does that give you the right to judge me?" I threw in some descriptive cuss words in the rest of my speech. I don't know why, I was pretty much to glad to be alive and well to be angry at him. I guess I just thought sooner or later he'd do something to someone to deserve a good verbal bashing. And verbal bashing is my specialty, after all. By now I wasn't even listening to myself. I was just letting the crude, yet effective words flow.

And I thought to myself, Someday I'll have to learn to dazzle people with my wit and knowledge. Until then, I'll just spout big words and cuss words at them as if they were dictionaries. That'll do. As long as it gets the point across, right? I started watching the clock. This guy had about ten more minutes coming to him. I hummed in my brain. I didn't even know what I was saying. But I knew from the shocked expression on his face that it was doing nicely. I knew this wouldn't be something he'd soon forget. I looked up and saw a security camera. Ahh, perfect. Alicia lessons on tape. It's like a self-help video… only really derogatory. Okay, so it's not really like a self-help video at all. Note to self: don't try to compare things. It just never goes your way. DING! My little head timer went off. I stopped, most likely mid sentence, and walked away. I wasn't going to get the rent together in time. I would have to go home to call mom and dad.

Ring, Ring… the phone. My loathed connection to the parents that I hated so much. The parents I had moved across the country so that I would not have to see short of Christmas and Thanksgiving. And I was calling them. "Hello?" came my mother's age-worn voice. "Hi, mom." I tried my best to be enthusiastic. "Alicia!" Ugh, the high pitched squeal. Next she'd be asking me for a visit home. "Alicia, your father and I have been so worried! We thought you'd died out in the big city!" "Mom, I'm fine, I can take care of myself." The stupidest part of my mind was talking now. I was calling them because I couldn't take care of myself. "Er..." I added, to fix my error, "I do have this one problem." She sounded about to have a heart attack. One word of a problem and the woman goes nuts: "W.. what?? What sort of problem, sweetie?" I fought the urge to tell her never to call me "sweetie" again. "I… I need a little cash. You see--" her horrified scream broke through the beginning of my speech. "Oh no!! Oh no!! You can't make a living?" "Mom…" I began, trying my best not to sound annoyed, "It's okay. I just need a little help with this months rent, because I'm just starting a new job and won't get the paycheck quite in time." I could almost feel her warm smile. Funny how unable I was to stand that smile, even to ignore it. Her simple bliss infuriated me. She was so happy being nobody, nothing. "Well, can we just send you a bit? How much do you need?" "A hundred." I lied, I figured with my luck, I'd need the other fifty. "We'll send five hundred your way right now, I'm getting my checkbook and an envelope now!" And then I hung up. That was all I needed. Of course I should've anticipated her adding 4 times the amount to it, she had to make sure I was okay, after all. I would've been fine just saying fifty in the first place.

Your mom and dad love you, some tiny part of me whispered. Who cares?

quatre

Friday at last. I was going to just hang out. Not worry about getting a job. I could save that for another month if I felt the need. I pulled myself out of bed, with a little more enthusiasm than I'd been giving lately. I even put forth the effort to keep my eyes open.

Erm, at least for thirty seconds. Hey, that's a start, right? I looked into the mirror, to see if I could get by without doing anything in preparation for company. Yeah, my hair was a little tousled… and… it looked kind of green… I rubbed my eyes. I had to be dreaming. This couldn't be real. Oh, no. I saw the box of dye in the garbage, and was reminded of what I had somehow forgotten. My hair's still green. "Shit." I announced, wondering if there was time to buy new color.