A lot has changed since my last Poor Report two months ago (good god!). I celebrated my golden birthday, got heavy into the Heart discography, and moved from Los Angeles to Philadelphia. Despite these changes, once thing’s stayed the same: I’m still broke as shit.
I’ve been in Philly for just over a month, and it’s mercifully proved to be a lot more affordable than Los Angeles, which was one of the main reasons informing my move here in the first place. My rent is literally half the price in Philly, you can easily get slammed for under $10 on any given night, food is cheaper, it’s easier to steal (jk kind of!), etc. I’ve replaced my standard $4 Gold Room tequila + PBR special with the El Bar’s version of the Citywide - $3 for a whiskey + PBR pounder (this ‘pounder’ business is new to me too. It’s basically like a tall boy I guess but the same price as a can/pint anywhere in L.A.). Plus, I played the New Girl In Town card pretty hard the first couple weeks I was here, so when it just “happened” to come up in conversations with strangers at bars that I had just moved here, they jumped at the chance to show me what the City of Brotherly Love was all about by getting me faded for free. Gabe at Johnny Brenda’s: feel free to comp my drinks annnnytime ;) ;) <3 <3 *~~ ;) <3 ;)
Finding a new job has been a little harder than I thought –I’d accrued some false confidence when I had interviews lined up before I even got to Philly (none of which I got, hooray). My creepy job in L.A. offered to keep me on as a remote employee, but working this already-awful job from my house in West Philly is lonely and boring, so I was pumped when I had an interview for a barista job at some corporate faux-French coffee shop chain.
I ignored some red flags that should’ve clued me in to the lameness of this job. Like during the interview, when the guy asked me if I had any visible tattoos, I half-joked, “Not yet! But this is Philly! I gotta start working on my sleeves if I want to get any cred around here, ha-ha!”
“I hope you’re joking,” he snarled. “We take personal appearance very seriously here, and a tattoo’d staff is not the image we’d like to project at LPQ (p.s. ‘LPQ’? Who is this asshat?).”
I gulped and tried to recover with some remarks emphasizing my wholesome, bare-skinned, corporate-friendly nature, and Asshat offered me employment right then and there (another red flag. I coulda been real shady!). Anyway, I was pretty excited (too excited) despite his Asshatty-ness because it meant I could quit Creepy Remote Job once and for all.
So I show up at orientation the next week at 9:15am for the 9:30am meeting, patting myself on the back for getting out of bed before noon and showing up 15 minutes early. But sike! I roll into this joint with a spring in my step only to be met by a group of stone-faced squares obediently sitting at the table watching Asshat give a presentation about, I don’t know, W-9 forms or something. Turns out the orientation was at 9:00, not 9:30. Whooops!
“I was very clear about the 9:00am sharp start-time,” said Asshat. “I’m afraid I’m no longer able to offer you employment.”
I was all, “Actually you WEREN’T clear, motherfucker! I didn’t want to work here anyway! I want tattoos! Fuck you! Fuck the system!” I screamed before I socked him in the face and ran away.
So anyway, I’m quasi-jobless (again) and running out of money (again), so I’m going to do my best to resume the Poor Reports of yore. I’m in a new environment with new opportunities for Poor scheming (I found out that I can use my California food stamps here still, so that’s scheme #1 locked down), so I’m curious to see what *~zany*~ conniving ways I can live frugally in Philly (already a website, I checked).