Mika
I’ve walked through town for hours but everywhere that I’ve stopped to inquire about a job will want my social security number and everything.
Having fake documents to buy a plane ticket is one thing. Having fake documents on file with the internal revenue service is completely different.
Deciding that I should head back to the hotel soon, I look around at where I’m at and realize that I’m now on a street I’ve yet to walk down.
Deciding it can’t hurt to go just a little further, I take a right on the street.
As a car passes, I look over and spot a little shop on the left with a sign that says Poison Pen.
It looks to be a tattoo shop but what has my attention is the sign in the window advertising for an apprentice with artistic talents in drawing.
Crossing the street, I read all the requirements on the sign.
Must be good at drawing.
Must take directions well.
Must not be a dick.
That last one has me chuckling to myself.
I love to draw. I’ve done it my entire life. It’s actually something that I learned a long time ago that calms my nerves.
However, I wouldn’t call myself an artist.
Thinking that it may not be for me, I turn to go when I hear someone at the entrance.
“Hi! I saw you looking at the sign. Are you looking for a job?”
Looking up I see a woman close to my age with a friendly smile that has several tattoos covering her arms.
“Oh, I’m not sure I’d be a good fit.” I answer honestly.
She looks me over carefully before answering.
“Can you draw?” She asks.
“Yeah. I’ve been drawing since I was little. My best friend Jan swears I’m amazing at it but I’ve never really shown it to anyone else.” I start to feel a little nervous.
“Why don’t you come in and draw something for me? Kind of like an audition.” She smiles, opening the door wider.
“Um. Can I ask first how it pays?”
My question has her brows drawing together so I hurriedly say, “I don’t have my social security card or anything with me. It could take a while for it to get here.”
“That’s not a problem. You’d be paid in cash here and get a 1099 at the end of the year so you can file your taxes.”
Smiling at the relief that I feel, I walk inside with her.
“My name is Arin by the way and this is my shop. We’ve not been open very long but long enough that I need some help around here.”
She walks over to a desk, picking up a drawing pad and pencils, handing them to me.
“My name is Mika.” I introduce myself. “What should I draw?” I ask.
“Whatever comes to mind. It’s best if you draw something from your own heart.”