Interlude - Last Sunday

Despite being already hired (twice), I went down to my scheduled interview at the bookstore. I couldn't help myself.

Half Magic is a chain of used bookstores -- and if there's anything better than a bookstore, it's a used bookstore. The local one for me is in the faceless mega-franchise sprawl of Redmond, WA, a world of Cost Plus, Red Robin, Claim Jumper (and yes, Borders) in their sea of parkinglots. Half Magic, though, is off in a forgotten little corner of town, where you park on uneven dirt by a wire fence near the railroad tracks. You open the door and there's the homey musty used-bookstore space, with creaky carpeted floors ramping gently from room to room at slightly different heights, poetry and travel sections big and central, the inviting display of old LPs in their original covers pulling you in. Tall slouched guys with interesting beards stand behind the counter, and soft frizzy-haired girls in aprons and nametags wander the aisles...

I followed a steeper sort of ramp downstairs for the interview, in a tiny windowless niche office with books and papers everywhere amid wall posters and humming computers. The manager was named Holly and was in her late twenties, a thin, intense, friendly girl with long brunette hair and heavy rectangular glasses--sort of the Laura Veirs look. We sat in tiny chairs almost side by side; I told her I was already employed, alas, but might be available for occasional weekend work; she needed someone who could do Mondays, alas; we wound up having a long fun conversation about our lives and histories. Then I browsed a little and headed home, as I knew I would.

Ah, to work in a bookstore again. She warned me that the job entailed lifting boxes and cleaning bathrooms; I tried not to show how much my computer-chair body rejoiced at the words. It paid $9.00 an hour: for a moment that sounded like a lot.

Dog With Two Bones

Welcome back! When we last left our hero, he was in the discomfiting position of having said yes to two overlapping employment options. What happens next gets even wilder. But first let us describe the contestants (using fictional names of course):

First: PhoneMonkey Communications, an old favorite, the company I belonged to for 14 years ending in October of 2008. They're a nimble, friendly little telecommunications software outfit with the knack of shifting habitat and popping up in unexpected States; originally encountered in Tucson during my years there in the '90s, they've since spread and can now be found in Massachusetts, California, Florida, and (coming full circle) Phoenix. When I moved to Seattle in 2000, PhoneMonkey experimented with letting me continue full-time as a telecommuter; the arrangement lasted nine years. (Probably they wanted to claim Washington as another habitat.) Yes, they laid me off in '08, but I can't complain, since in '99 they let me take unpaid leave to finish my novel.

Alas, the novel didn't sell. Not PhoneMonkey's fault.

Second: a local manufacturing company here in Seattle which I'll call Ballard Pterodactyl. They occupy a rambling series of factory floor spaces and dusty fluorescent office niches, upstairs and downstairs along half a block of an old blue-collar street of which they seem the original occupants. Defying the neighborhood gentrification, they persist in their wooden building that dates from the '40s, and inside one can find preserved a vanished Seattle: dim hallways that remind me of the back passages at Pike Place Market, narrow stairways like the ones aboard Puget Sound ferries. Nevertheless, they do a global business with clients in Europe and assemblers in China.

We return to our story. On my cellphone, in the car, I'd said yes to my ex-manager at PhoneMonkey to return for a four-week contract, telecommuting as before, starting on Monday. The car was pulled over to the curb mere yards from the Ballard Pterodactyl building, where I had an interview at 3:00 (and finalizing the PhoneMonkey details with my ex-manager ran the clock to 2:59). I dashed across the street in my jacket and nice shoes, and interviewed from a position of such undesperation that I demanded $5/hr more than I'd be getting from PhoneMonkey--and they agreed to it. The contract would also be for much longer, maybe most of a year. I tend to suck at interviews, but to my vast surprise they seemed all but ready to hand me the job on my way out the door. We agreed on a start date of April 1, and they promised to contact me with their decision soon.

This much you already know.

Now here's the twist: I didn't tell Ballard Pterodactyl that I'd just accepted a contract with PhoneMonkey. (Why spoil a perfectly good interview? They still might not even offer me the job.) HOWEVER, at the interview I dutifully handed over my page of references--on which was listed PhoneMonkey! Indeed, I'd just handed Ballard Pterodactyl the number of the very same ex-manager with whom I'd just finalized the contract.

This literally didn't occur to me all day. I came home in a tizzy of double success, thinking that even IF Ballard Pterodactyl offered me the job it didn't start till April 1, so I MIGHT be able to squeeze both contracts in...and I worried about the East Coast trip...and I had dinner and went to bed...and then in the middle of the night I came bolt awake. Ballard Pterodactyl is going to call my PhoneMonkey manager, I thought, and they're going to LEARN that I've already been hired, and I won't get the offer. What's more, my manager's going to LEARN that I committed to an April 1 contract elsewhere, and I might LOSE the contract I already have.

I've recently been reminded of the parable of the dog with two bones (thanks to the TV show Farscape, which Sara and I have been revisiting on DVD). A dog with a bone looks in the water and sees another dog with another bone. Wanting both bones, he opens his mouth to seize the second one, and plop, the first one falls in and disappears, leaving him, in the words of Ben Browder, looking at himself, with nothing. (5:45 here)

Oops.

So I got up at 4:30 in the morning and sent an email to my guy at Ballard Pterodactyl, saying "You should I know I've been offered a job elsewhere (at PhoneMonkey, in fact, one of my references, ha ha, how ironic!). Of course I'd prefer to work for YOU, but you'll have to let me know soon so I can turn the other company down."

That morning, still in a cold sweat, I tried to reach my ex-manager at PhoneMonkey. I called her home office (she usually telecommutes) and reached her husband, who said, "Oh YOU'RE Matt! Um...you should get in touch with her right away...there's...well, I shouldn't be the one to...you just should contact her real soon."

My cold sweat now positively arctic, I tried every number I had for her, to no avail. Sent her an email--sat there miserably waiting for her call--hours went by--and of course she called just as there was a knock on the front door from some salesman. Thankfully Sara was there to handle that; alive to the situation and her own financial peril, she chased him off with the polite equivalent of a howitzer.

And--my manager wasn't mad! She wasn't canceling the contract, she hadn't talked to Ballard Pterodactyl yet, she still wanted my services. Apparently her clueless husband got me mixed up with some other PhoneMonkey employee. What's more, she had a VOICEMAIL from Ballard Pterodactyl, in which THEY admitted to HER that they were offering me the contract.

So that's how I officially learned that I had two jobs. With reluctance I told my ex-manager (whom I like a lot) that I would have to take the more financially-beneficial offer, and we agreed that my PhoneMonkey contract would be reduced from four weeks to two. She was disappointed too, as they really need another tech writer for the four weeks--and suddenly we both realized we were in a unique situation. She could HAVE my full contract...by giving me a bad reference when she called Ballard Pterodactyl back!

Ulp. There was a long moment of silence on the phone. Then we both laughed. "As if I would do that," she said. "I owe you a steak dinner!" I cried.

Good, friendly PhoneMonkey!

A short while after hanging up with her, Ballard Pterodactyl called and made me the official offer. And so, ladies and gentlemen, SOMEHOW, after just one week of unemployment, I have two contracts lined up, the first one starting Monday, WITH a week off between them where the East Coast trip can theoretically fall. I am--the dog with two bones.

What a Day

Wow, what a day. I don't think I've ever had a day quite like this in my life.

First of all, the most important matter: today was a big and risky day for Sara's ailing mother back East. This morning she was transported from her home in Vermont to a hospice care center in Riverdale, NY. The journey, in her extremely delicate condition, had us biting our nails and waiting by the phone, until the news finally came through that she'd arrived safe and sound. As of tonight she's ensconced in her room, comfortable, and finally, for the first time, under constant professional care. Sara and I could let out a huge breath that we'd been holding all week. It wasn't until two days ago that an ambulance was arranged for the transport (thanks to a friend's amazing philanthropy); for a while it looked like Sara's sister would have to drive her in her own car. At some point I intend to describe the absolute dysfunction of the health care industry that has surrounded my mother-in-law's decline, an all-too-timely subject. But for now we can breathe a little easier, especially Sara's sister, who's put her job and life on hold for the last week to be in hard-working attendance 24 hours a day in Vermont.

This alone would have made for a big day. But it also just might be the day on which my unemployment ended--from three directions at once!

All right, this is almost embarrassing to relate. I mentioned, I think, that my motto for jobhunting this time around was "try everything quick." In that spirit I had launched three different harpoons in three different directions, with varying degrees of desperation. (1) The first day after my layoff, I actually got in the car, drove down to the local bookstore, and filled out an application. At the time, the idea of slouching at my computer sending endless resumes into the ether seemed the picture of despair; I wanted to pound the physical pavement, to have at least one real human being know that I was looking for a job. I used to work at bookstores in my twenties and loved it. (2) I slouched at my computer and sent resumes into the ether. Can't skip that step, and it's actually required for collecting unemployment. (3) I hit up contacts, namely my old company that laid me off in 2008; I'm still friends with my ex-coworker and manager there.

So, today, first, this morning the bookstore called and invited me for an interview on Sunday. Second, I went into Seattle to interview with a company that had called me the day before, having actually been hooked by one of those vaporous resumes. (I took the call incongruously at a horse farm, where I was accompanying Sara on her equine massage rounds.) Third, ON THE DRIVE TO THAT INTERVIEW, my cellphone rang and it was the manager from my old company, offering me a telecommuting contract job.

I proceeded to the interview anyway, and we all seemed to hit it off great. They're eager to make a decision soon and I might hear back from them as early as tomorrow. Now, to both places I explained (with great chagrin) that I'm due to make an emergency East Coast trip at any moment, possibly for a week or more, assuming that at least one of them would say, "Ooh. Sorry. See ya." But lo and behold, both places accepted the situation without blinking an eye.

So tonight I have a terrible dilemma, in that I've said yes to both parties! The Seattle place hasn't actually made me an offer yet, so I might be safe...but even if they do, it might still work out...I told them I couldn't start until April 1, and I might be able to complete the other contract before then...IF I don't go to the East Coast...

But at this point I've stopped blogging and am just cogitating aloud. It's after midnight, what do you want? My head is still reeling, and Sara and I spent all evening dizzily discussing the day's events and their ramifications, until we had to throw our budget overboard and go out for Thai food. Now I'm dizzy and stuffed. I also feel like I'm suffering from an embarrassment of riches, to the point where I probably shouldn't even be posting this in public under the titular format I've chosen, which I expected to remain in force for a decently extended and hopefully populist interval. Not least among my whirling thoughts is worry for what's going to happen to my blog, which is fair to being blown off course, Jupiter II-like, mere minutes into its track for the stars. But we take whatever comes our way...

...and I think I'm stil going to interview at the bookstore on Sunday!