Hire me

I remember the days when I'd get up in the morning, stumble into the shower, drink a gallon of coffee, apply a ton of make-up--I'd get my eyes just so, and my lips...so perfectly defined and pouty where they should be even though it was all trompe L 'eil. Next, blow-dry, curl, blow-dry, curl, done, and then, breathless, time to find that last pair of panty-hose with only one run near the crotch--'where did I put those things?' and at some point after a 15 minute bus ride and a brisk walk, I'd arrive at work ready to touch up the makeup, grab the coffee and light up a cigarette (that was in the dark ages when you could still smoke at your desk and nobody knew they were dying from your second hand smoke because the heart attack from all the stress looking-for-panty-hose-knowing-you-were-going-to-miss-the-damn-bus was going to get you anyway.)and think, 'ok, six more hours to go and I'm home free.' All that for what? Well, I was a young woman on the go, a pink collar do-bee, time and stress management class taker and goal oriented gal on her way up in the world. Gosh, I am getting out of breath thinking about how productive and optimistic I was about my future in the corporate world. I was a young mother though, too. A single parent at that, and eventually that role became more important than office politics and networking.

Today I more or less work in the horse industry--less being the key word here: for two years I worked 5 to 6 days a week at the barn where my horses lived. Today I take odd jobs at different facilities while looking for a permanent job. I am a laborer, I do chores, I take orders that don't always make sense. I keep my mouth shut, I play in manure and like it. I work in places even the Mexicans wouldn't consider--and I don't blame them. But you know what? I slide out of bed, maybe get a shower in, grab whatever jeans are handy because they just get dirty even if I'm just thinking about horses, and if it's cold I can cover everything up in Carhart's. The horses don't care, they are happy to see me whether my lips are full treatment pouty, semi-pouty, or just chapped all to hell, because they, the horses, are hungry and I can fix it quick. Work in an office? You've got to be kididng me. So go ahead and hire me; I'll stand at the end of a frozen hose for two hours in a sub-zero wind chill, just so you can yell at me the next morning because, yep, the hose was frozen last night again, I'll risk my life to fix a dangling blanket strap, get hay down my back and in my mouth, and somehow in my underwear (there are worse things), smash my fingers on that stall door for the upteenth time, because it is a relief that I don't have to always put on a pretty face or wrestle on a pair of panty-hose just to do a job. KST