Page 8 of Mr Best Friend's Brother Grump

Hi Rosa,

Sorry for the short notice but your position has been postponed until the end of October. Apologies for any inconvenience caused. We’ll be in touch soon.

I had to read the words a couple of times, and because I was tired, the impact didn’t hit straight off. The job that I had come to start within the next couple of days, is not actually starting for another couple of months. Even though I am more tired than I can ever remember, my head is buzzing with, What happens now? I thought my life was on track. I had a plan; a job; a new start. Now what?

Then I must have fallen asleep.

The following morning. The apartment is quiet. Nathan’s probably gone already. I listen at Kendra’s door then knock gently before I go in with two mugs of tea. I sit on the bed and tell her about my job situation.

"So, I guess I am going to head back to Miami tomorrow.”

"Oh, Rosa,” Kendra says softly. “Do you really?” She puts down her mug on the bedside table and sits up. “Let’s weigh up your options.” Kendra says ‘options’ as if they are tarot cards laid out on a table, each one with a possible future for me, when I turn it over. I could only see one option, and that was going back to stay with Grandma. “You can go back if you want,” says Kendra. “Or you could sign up at a temp agency.”

“Okay. I’m listening.” I sip my tea, beginning to feel more positive.

“There are a few around here, but I’ll give you the number of one that I’m signed up with. They’re really helpful and they have loads of different kinds of jobs. It’s not just admin-type work. They do all sorts. It could be fun and you’ll meet people.”

“Yes. And I might look for an apartment close to the center,” I say, fully cheered up. “So, when they are ready for me, I’m there.” The possibility of not going back to Miami is taking shape. “And maybe I can volunteer some hours a week before I start my job there. That would be good, wouldn’t it?”

“Yeah. That’s right. And you can hang out with me some more.”

“Kendra. I love you. You’re a genius!”

“Yes. I am. Thanks.”

Kendra gives me the details of StellarTemp, the temp agency she was signed up with, as well as a couple of others that she says have a good reputation.

I feel so much better. My energy has returned, and I am looking forward to my future. I am in New York where options and possibilities are endless. All I have to do is reach out and grab what I want. Alicia Keys is singing in my head once again.

Buoyed up on my wave of optimism, I make an appointment at StellarTemp, polish up my CV, and print it out on Kendra’s printer.

The StellarTemp office is a couple of subway stops away. It’s easy to find on the first floor above a shop front. I press the doorbell button which is clearly marked beside the StellarTemp logo. The door is released with a buzz and a click.

Up the stairs, StellarTemp is one of two doors on the landing. I knock, turn the handle, open the door, then tentatively enter. A friendly middle-aged woman smiles up at me from her desk. She is typing something on a laptop as I approach. Holding up an index finger, she mouths, “One minute.” I wait, respectfully, by the door.

“Now, how can I help you?” says the woman, peering over the rim of her frameless glasses.

I say who I am, and that I have an appointment. She reaches over to a stack of clipboards and hands one to me. It’s a questionnaire. She asks me to fill it in. I have my CV printed out, but she says to hang on to it and give it to the personal agent directly.

“Take a seat over there, and when you’re done, I’ll pop you through to Magda, one of our agents. Alright, sweetie?”

The questionnaire is straightforward enough. The first page asks for personal details and contact information. I write Kendra’s address in the box provided. The next page is concerned with education. I fill that in. On the next page, there are several sections requiring details of experience. I fill in the top section with details of the Miami Cuban community center. Then I think for a bit to see if I can come up with anything else. My mind is blank. I write the details of the community center where my job will be starting, and note beside it, ‘starting soon’. On the next page, there are a series of questions about ideal job type, hourly rate expectations, and what skills I have that I could offer a prospective employer.

I read over my application and take it back to the receptionist. She smiles, nods, and indicates that I should leave it on the desk, while still typing. I go back to my seat and wait. After a moment, the friendly receptionist stands, walks around to the front of her desk, picks up my clipboard, and flips through the pages. She smiles over to me and walks through a door to adjoining office spaces. She doesn’t close the door behind her, and I can hear low murmuring voices. I can’t make out what they are saying.

The receptionist appears again and escorts me through a glass door to another office. I nod hello to a younger woman who is seated behind a desk. Her dark hair is cut short over her ears, but a long fringe sweeps low across her forehead. She looks up when I come in.

“Ahh, Miss Martinez, thanks for coming in. I’m Magda. Take a seat.” I sit on the chair in front of her desk. “I’ll be your personal agent at StellarTemp. Tell me what you’re looking for. What’s your ideal job?” She flips over the pages of my clipboard. “And what’s your current rate? I don’t see it here.” I tell her my role at the community center in Miami had been mostly voluntary. I hand her my CV. She makes a growly noise in her throat as she scans her laptop screen. "Currently, we have openings for receptionist, administrative, warehouse, customer service, event staff, retail, data entry, marketing, IT Support...” She trails off as she peruses my CV.

“Maybe events?” I say with a bright smile. “I’m good with people and I have experience serving food and beverage.” This was sort of true. I had handed out slices of cake wrapped in serviettes at my cousin’s wedding.

“Great,” says Magda without looking up. She takes my clipboard, flips over a page, and writes something on it.

“Just looking at the calendar here.” She points to her screen. “This opening was popped in this morning… Urgent… Yadah, yadah. There’s an event tomorrow night in Greenwich Village… venue, art gallery. The caterers are looking for wait staff. Seven hours… Time and a half if it runs over.” Magda lifts her head, refocusing her gaze on me. “Would that be of interest?”

“Yes. Sounds great,” I say with my best enthusiastic, confident voice, hoping I don’t sound desperate or manic.

Magda grabs a Post-it note, scribbles down the address, contact name, phone number, and some other numbers. She hands it to me saying, “Here are your login details. I’ll make a note in your profile about your outstanding commitment to customer service, alright?”

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