I decided that I needed a colonic. Or maybe I needed to fast. Somehow, I needed to purge myself of the evil that was festering in and around me. Only then would the gods provide me with the energy that I needed to get a job.
Some serious thinking had convinced me that I was not cut out for the legal life. I know what you are thinking. Just five years ago, he spent $90,000 on a law degree, and now he’s not going to use it? What’s the problem? Who does something like that? Believe me, I’ve thought plenty about that myself, but the freedom to be a degenerate was far outweighing my desire to work as a lawyer. I could eat spaghetti out of a can, and I could wear the same pocket T’s for another ten years, if I could follow my dreams. It was actually a pretty easy decision. I could not spend one more day of my life talking to, working for, working with, or even looking at someone like Constantine. I knew that would kill me.
This decision did not come without any consequences. I was getting calls of support from across the country.
The Parents (New York): “What the hell is wrong with you? You’re killing us. What are we supposed to tell our friends?”
Grandma (Florida): “Mommy just called and told me you’re not a lawyer anymore. How does that happen? I thought you had graduated. If you needed money, why didn’t you tell me?”
Great Uncle Simon and Great Aunt Carol (Somewhere. I don’t know where they live. I don’t even know who these people are. I think I met them twice.): “Listen, you have to be a lawyer. You’re just confused right now. Come over and we’ll cook you a nice Shabbat dinner and talk about things. Don’t do this to your parents. What’s wrong with you? Call us back.”
Aunt Anne (Connecticut): “You’re killing your mother. Is that what you want to do? Kill your mother? Kill her after she raised you? That wouldn’t be very nice.”
Uncle Mikey (New York): “Before you stop being a lawyer can you lend me $1,500 so I can get a motorcycle.”
Despite the showering of goodwill, I had to go on with my plan. I was going to spend the rest of my time on this planet following my dreams. I did have to make some money in the meantime, but I could work anywhere. That was the new plan. That was the right plan.
Now came the tricky part, I had to find a place to work that matched perfectly with my new outlook on life. Ultimately, I settled on the mall. It was perfect. Low stress, cute mall girls, food court. An entire ecosystem under one roof. It would be like I was living in an 80’s movie. I thought about where I would like to work at the mall and it hit me like a bolt of lightning. Caps. Caps was a baseball hat store. I loved hats. And, since my hair had started thinning, I loved hats even more. I was partial to baseball caps, but, hey, I could sell any kind of hat. I imagined a paradise of no stress and apathetic co-workers, where everyone was free to ignore the customers and daydream their life away. Sometimes you have to follow your dreams. There was no time to delay. I hurried over to the mall, pen in hand, ready to tackle the application process. First stop: Caps.
“Do you have any positions available?” I asked the 16 year-old behind the counter at Caps. I waited anxiously for his response. I didn’t wait long.
“Sorry, dude. We’re all filled up,” he said.
My heart deflated. Could this really be happening?
“Nothing?” I asked in a last ditch effort to sway the young man’s mind.
“Sorry, dude, nada,” he said.
Nada. I heard it, but I couldn’t believe it. My dream job had slipped away. But this was the New Dave. The Dave that sets his goals higher, the Dave that strives for job happiness. Surely, I could find another job in the mall that would suit my requirements. Don’t you worry, pen, you’ll get some good use yet. This new Dave doesn’t give up so easily.
I meandered aimlessly through the mall, looking at store after store, gauging which retail establishment would be right for me. Then, I passed Sneaker Heaven, a women’s sports shoe and apparel store. The blue-green sign that hung above the store glowed like a halo, albeit an off-color halo. Ladies shoes. Yes. I would like to sell ladies shoes. I assumed that ladies would be traipsing in and out of the store all day long. Sure, they all wouldn’t be cute, little twenty-somethings, but I could deal with that. Sneaker Heaven is where I needed to be.
I gathered my thoughts, entered the store and prepared to get myself a job. Sneaker Heaven was a decent-sized store. Various women’s sneakers ranging from tennis sneakers to running shoes lined the two walls with a register for check out sitting in the back of the store. There was clearly an entrance into the back area. Shoe stores have always been a mystery to me. People are always walking in the back, and then re-appearing with boxes. If I was a betting man, I’d bet there was a little warehouse back there. Insightful, huh? After a few deep breaths, I strolled up to the register and asked Peaches – that actually was the name on her name tag – if there were any positions available.
“Yeah. What do you want to do?” Things were looking up.
“I’m looking for something in sales.”
“Sales? You mean you want to work the floor? Help people try on shoes? Aiight, aiight. You have to fill this out,” she handed me an application, “then you’ll talk to my manager, Jim. Just bring it back here when you are finished.”
This was perfect. I got out the old pen and got to work.
Name: David Michaels (piece of cake)
Address/Phone: C’mon this thing was too easy.
Education Completed: J.D. Degree
Work Experience (last job first): Associate Director, Hobart & Klein
That should suffice. I finished the rest of the application, and sauntered back up to Peaches at the register, “Here you go.” She said she’d see if Jim had a minute to talk with me. A minute later, she walked out with a kid no more than twenty-one.
He walked out of the back. Hmm, there must be more back there than a little warehouse.
“David?” Jim said to me. I nodded. “Do you want to come back here so we can talk?”
Did I? Did I ever! I followed skinny, frail, pimply Jim into the back where we sat down at Jim’s little desk and the interview began.
Ah, there was an office back here. Jim was living the life. Lucky fucker. Off to the right was the warehouse. It was kind of disappointing. It was a lot smaller than I had imagined. The office wasn’t bad though. It wasn’t the biggest office in the world, maybe 8x8. I sat in the fold up chair across from Jim in my jeans and t-shirt. He must not get very many visitors back here. Maybe I should have dressed up a bit. Jim was in khakis and a polo shirt. He looked chain restaurant chic.
“It says here you have a J.D. degree? Is that some sort of high school equivalency?” he asked, very confused.
“Actually, Jim, that’s a legal degree. I’m a lawyer.”
“Ummm, well, if you don’t mind me asking, David, why would you want to work here?” said Jim, absolutely perplexed.
“Well, Jim, I took the last few months and really took a look at my life, you know, where I was at and where I was heading, and I didn’t really like what I saw. I mean, sure I could sit at a desk making over $150,000 a year, but that’s not what I wanted, Jim, you know?” Jim stared at me like I was smoking crack. “I want to be happy. I’m really interested in selling sneakers.”
I knew you had to sell yourself. That’s how these things worked.
“Dude, you’re more like a manager or something,” Jim didn’t know what to say.
“I want to be out there selling. I know I don’t have any retail experience, but I really think I could do a great job.”
“It says here that you worked at a law firm, or some kind of bank. For real?” Jim said, stunned.
“I know, it’s not the best experience, but if you give me a shot I won’t let you down, Jim.”
“I mean, if you really want it, you can have the job. You know, it pays eight dollars an hour, right?”
“I sure do. Wow! Thanks Jim. I can’t wait to start,” I was psyched.
“You can start next week if you want. Let me look at the schedule here for a sec. How does Monday from opening to three sound to you?” Jim asked.
“Perfect.”
“You’ll need to wear a pair of black pants. When you get here, I’ll give you two Sneaker Heaven referee shirts to wear,” Jim filled me in.
“Great!”
“OK, then, we’ll see you Monday,” Jim shook my hand.
“I can’t wait.”
That night, I went back to Michelle’s with a new found sense of purpose.
“I got a job,” I declared to Michelle.