Let the Chronicles of Social Sarah continue…

Arose yesterday morning after a night jam-packed with good times.  Ron, my former boss, was the headliner of my dreams – I had actually somehow forgotten just how terrifying he could be – how his hooded eyes could look at me and I would just curl up under my desk in fetal position. The entire night was a montage of job-related angst… Who knew that three hrs as a museum volunteer could bring up so much repressed distress? I tell you, it takes talent to be this dramatic even in my sleep.

Had coffee and oatmeal, then headed off to serve my community for three hours. I’ve been out of the world for eight months, but can I just say that some things are EXACTLY the same? There’s the patronizing know-it-all who overwhelms you with information that makes even the easiest of tasks seem paralyzing (we’re talking manning, or womanning, the front desk – seriously, how do you make that scary?). And there’s the “ally” – the one who rolls her eyes just slightly while the know-it-all is expounding, then makes some sort of disparaging comment as soon as we’re alone. The ally was nice – she gave me a tour, asked for my resume, and seemed genuinely pleased that I existed.

Three hours of front desk management then began. Precisely 15 people came through in 3 hrs – 2 little old ladies in need of free entertainment, 3 business men for a meeting, and 10 residents of the local psychiatric hospital. At 1pm, I was relieved by the next volunteer, a pushy old woman named Greeta (pronounced “greet – ah”). She demanded to know my name, frowned at my last name and demanded I spell it. I complied and she said “Never heard of that one” and sniffed. I explained that it’s more common in Pennsylvania, where my husband’s family from and she said “Oh, so it’s a Yankee name… seems like no Southern people even live in the South anymore.”  And yes, I found myself participating in this ridiculous conversation by explaining that my husband and I were both born and bred within 15 miles of that very spot… because I needed to defend my Southern-ness to this old bat? Nothing like encouraging her…

As I left, I received a text from Jennifer, warning me that Daddy was heading toward my house, in case I was wearing Non-PAC. That’s sister shorthand for “non parental-approved clothing”…. aka pants. And yes, I was wearing devil britches, thus making it impossible for me to go home and encounter my father. Yes, I’m 31 yrs old and still hiding from my father when wearing pants. So I headed downtown to distribute a few more resumes. Covered a wide array of Anderson businesses… first, a little shop, the kind that crammed with an incredible amount of trinkets and baubles and really smelly candles. Denied. Second, a floral shop. Denied. Third, a law firm with plushy chairs. Denied. Fourth, a jewelry store… and I confess, I walked in, saw the sparkling cases and the plastic smiles of the girls greeting me and tucked my resume safely in my purse and scampered away. My four months at a jewelry store in Charlotte scarred me for life. Fifth and finally, I headed to the library. Annnnd, that would be a big fat Denied.

Headed home, which was now father-free, put on my pajamas and soothed my soul with a bowl of cream cheese frosting. Have I mentioned that I love my house? It’s warm and clean (at the moment) and free of strange people and doesn’t deny me anything (including cream cheese frosting, which isn’t necessarily a good thing). So today, Social Sarah is staying safely in her house until her self-esteem has recovered from the rapid-fire rejections and exposure to the outside world, and she’s going to stencil her bedroom wall with a victorian damask design in light champagne. Still jobless, but my bedroom’s going to be delightful! :)