For the most part, I attempt to keep my job on the down low. The simple fact that I am two years out of college and still can't land a job in the Rio Grande Valley as anything other than a teacher depresses me. It's also rather embarrassing.
Today, I saw my former creative writing professor. There's not hiding from this man; he knows me just by the sight of me. It's not like it was preventable. The parking lot I'm in charge of is right across the street from the university gym, where most of my former classmates and college professors work out (mostly because it's deducted from their paychecks or added to their tuition). We talked for a bit, before some rude jerk who cursed me under his breath, pulled in and paid the toll. He had the small chance of driving by and parking without paying, but he chose to make my life miserable.
Before the interruption, the professor asked me if I was still hosting poetry readings. The truth is, I haven't been in the mood, nor have I been writing very much. I've been jotting down ideas and thoughts, but nothing major. I was hoping that working at the baseball stadium would wind the cogs again and words would pour out. However, this blog is the only creative thing I've done since - well, since anything really.
I'm going to end this before I get too "emo." But I suppose what really gets me down about this job (even though I'm good at it, well, when I was allowed to chase down cars and force the patrons to pay) is that I'm the odd man out. Unlike my fellow co-workers, I don't really care much for picking up girls. I'm too old to play that game. Thing is I'm not the oldest one in the group. It doesn't make me uncomfortable when they talk about these "hot girls" (and they're all pissed off because I took the parking lot right across from the University gym), but it does exclude me from the group. For the most part, until work starts, I keep to myself. And I don't attend their after work reindeer games either.
Today, I saw my former creative writing professor. There's not hiding from this man; he knows me just by the sight of me. It's not like it was preventable. The parking lot I'm in charge of is right across the street from the university gym, where most of my former classmates and college professors work out (mostly because it's deducted from their paychecks or added to their tuition). We talked for a bit, before some rude jerk who cursed me under his breath, pulled in and paid the toll. He had the small chance of driving by and parking without paying, but he chose to make my life miserable.
Before the interruption, the professor asked me if I was still hosting poetry readings. The truth is, I haven't been in the mood, nor have I been writing very much. I've been jotting down ideas and thoughts, but nothing major. I was hoping that working at the baseball stadium would wind the cogs again and words would pour out. However, this blog is the only creative thing I've done since - well, since anything really.
I'm going to end this before I get too "emo." But I suppose what really gets me down about this job (even though I'm good at it, well, when I was allowed to chase down cars and force the patrons to pay) is that I'm the odd man out. Unlike my fellow co-workers, I don't really care much for picking up girls. I'm too old to play that game. Thing is I'm not the oldest one in the group. It doesn't make me uncomfortable when they talk about these "hot girls" (and they're all pissed off because I took the parking lot right across from the University gym), but it does exclude me from the group. For the most part, until work starts, I keep to myself. And I don't attend their after work reindeer games either.
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