I hated where it was. I hated what I was doing. I hated the temp agency that placed me there. I hated the amount of money they told me they were going to pay me, and I hated the amount of money they were actually paying me even more. 

I gradually became disenchanted with life. I was a little more disappointed every day. I didn’t have the energy to work on projects at the end of the day. I didn’t have enough time or money to do the things I really wanted to. I pretty much just gave up. I wasn’t thinking, I wasn’t having fun, I wasn’t having ideas, and I wasn’t laughing.

Since I left that job I’ve been rebuilding. I’ve been passively working on projects and trying to get back into the swing of things again, but I haven’t really been all there yet. For some reason when I woke up today I decided I needed do my Cat Daddy.

About thirty minutes ago I saw a man wearing suspenders to hold up his sweatpants, and this was enough to completely snap me out of it. I laughed out loud for twenty minutes, and realized this was direct result of my brain being shocked back to life.

I’m here, I’m present, and after a year and a half of constant negativity I’m ready to try again.

I used some of the cash I got from the bottle deposit to ride the MAX. Riding the MAX for no reason is a cheap and fun game. Just sit on there and see how long it takes you to feel uncomfortable. I usually make it a lot further than I did today, but that’s usually because I actually have somewhere to be. Today I was playing an un-winnable game on a half-sized train. I was shoulder to shoulder with some of Portland’s finest by the time we made four stops. Two juggalos, a woman with prison tats on her hands, and a homeless guy with a three-legged dog. My fears of whooping cough, hepatitis, and fleas forced me off the train after 10 stops.

I jumped off and rode a southbound train back down to Foster.  I walked around for a while in search of disturbing items to photograph, but I didn’t really see much. I was hoping for some needles or shell casings, but I really wasn’t in the right place for spent ammunition. All I found were a lot of fences with razor wire, a brick building that was starting to collapse, a hoarders house that I was afraid to stop and take pictures of, and a sandwich bag hidden in a lightpost.

I walked thirteen blocks down to 82nd, and walked about ten more blocks on 82nd until I felt like the guy behind me was going to stab me in the back and steal my camera. This is when I decided to jump on the first bus that passed. I like the bus a lot more than the MAX. You can’t get on the bus without paying, or showing a pass that indicates you’ve paid money at some point in time. That weeds out a lot of the riffraff.

The first person I saw when I got on the bus was an older gentleman with gold teeth, a baby, and an open can of Hurricane Ice protruding from the baby bag he was carrying. I regret that I was unable to snap a photograph of this, but he was already scowling at me before I had even noticed the old, “malt liquor in the baby bag,” trick.  After I found a seat the driver shouted back at us asking if anyone on board would be willing to fill out a “Courtesy Card” explaining that they had witnessed an incident, which apparently happened moments before I got on the bus. Only one person was willing to do this.

I didn’t hear the entire exchange, but I did hear him say, “Thank you. All you really need to write is that a man jumped out into traffic in front of the bus.” My stop arrived, and the man with the malt liquor got off at the same place. He had a coupon for a roast beef sandwich, and I had to go home and wash my hands.

My photography mission was mostly unsuccessful, but I am glad I left the house today.

June 11th, 2011.
People get nervous for their first day on a new job. I’ve trained at least five new hires and each of them was just as nervous as the last. I walked into this job calmly, knowing I was only making $8.50 an hour for a reason. It isn’t fucking rocket science.

I hate that I have to constantly train new hires, but it does pay off in unexpected dividends. People are funny when they’re nervous. Most of them admit really personal things about themselves right off the bat. I think they do it to get past the awkwardness of not knowing anyone.

The first person I trained was quite a remarkable specimen. Within the first hour I  met him he had:

• Pooped twice.
• Told me about how he had recently pooped his pants during a 20 minute car ride.
• Explained to me, in gross detail, why he poops so frequently.
• Told me how much he loves Pizza Hut.
• Told me he can’t eat greasy food like pizza because it makes him poop, “A lot.”
• Threw out the lunch his, “old lady,” packed for him and bought two slices of pizza in the cafeteria. A defiant act of coolness. I did not see him do it, but I envisioned him putting on sunglasses and diapers as he walked by a trash can and threw the sandwich over his shoulder.
•  Pooped again.

Despite the fact that he was an unappealing, accident prone, poop-machine; he was a very hard worker. In hindsight, we could actually really use a guy like him in our department.

Through this long and hideous rash of new hires I’ve learned that the workforce is a generally useless mass of profoundly retarded people. There is hope for us all.

A new year, a new job hunt.

Since you last heard from me I’ve been working.  Not on photo essays, or research, or scripts, or stop motion videos.  Just working.

I make minimum wage.  My company could afford to pay me at least $3 an hour more, but instead they pay that money to a temp agency to keep a bullpen full of freshly drug tested, desperate, and marginally employable 20 somethings warmed up for when I kill myself (or leave in the middle of a shift and never look back.)

I get paid every Friday, but not before my bank closes for the weekend.  No problem. I just do what every other hard working American does.  I line up at WalMart, cash my check at customer service and spend the little money I make the only way I know how to spend such a small amount of money.

The little time I have left is spent getting drunk, hanging out with my incredibly patient girlfriend, searching for shreds of hope and economic indicators that I may soon be able to move out of my parents’ house, and cookie shopping. 

New things on the horizon. Better things. Hopefully by the end of this week.  We shall see.