Tuesday was supposed to be a grand day. My discounted vanity from Amazon was slated to arrive and I was finally going to watch the Golden Globes so I could clear up space on my DVR. I also planned on taking out my waist length Marley twists and finally having an epic night of sleep. (I don’t think ya’ll understand the exquisite nature of sleeping on a fro. No weave or braids itching you. You don’t have to try and sleep pretty. It’s like sleeping on the bed sheets of the Lord.) Anyways let’s not get off track, so this was my Tuesday plan, but of course my plans are usually thwarted. Let’s rewind a bit shall we.
Last Friday I sat in my longest job interview to date. (Do you have any clue how hard it is to appear professional and competent for an hour?!!) I was informed on Monday that I’d miraculously made it to the next phase of the hiring process, but they needed to skills test me. I was given a testing time slot for 9 am on Tuesday Morning.
Tuesday Morning arrived and I awoke with calm reverence. Now I won’t classify myself as a “morning person” but I normally don’t mind my alarm. I‘m definitely NOT a SNOOZER (I really can’t understand why people snooze?!! It’s like being transported to a mystical land where you marry Idris Elba and then you’re exiled back to your tragic normal existence on earth).
|I just……… We are not worthy xoxoxo Le sigh
Anyway my alarm rang and as I stood up from my bed I noticed I had three little bug bites on my hand. I IMMEDIATELY began to panic.
Let’s be clear, I am not a brave girl. I despise scary movies and amusement park rides, but above all I am TERRIFIED of bugs. Naturally then, I assumed that the bed bugs of NYC finally found my Harlem dwelling and I immediately called my building management company in a state of panic. Now as most New Yorkers will know this proved to be a useless endeavor. I was gonna have to file a work order and blah blah blah inspection blah blah blah… it would take a few days.
Ain’t Nobody Got Time For That!!!!!!
By the time my management company was going to send out an exterminator I would have been eaten alive. Instead I turned to YELP, the number one how- to app that has aided in my survival of adulthood. My lover YELP always comes thru for me, and I was able to find an extermination company that would come inspect my apartment later that afternoon.
This all happened before 8AM, and if you recall I still had to get skills tested and make it to the laundry mat to wash ALL of my clothing/bedding. There was also the matter of the Golden Globes and my twists.
I gathered my wits and ventured downtown to take the tragic exam. And let me tell ya’ll that it was VERY tragic. I was tested on my knowledge of Microsoft Word, Excel, Outlook and Typing. The test is obviously rigged because my score was that of a drunken imbecile and here is why:
1. I didn’t understand how the test worked until I was halfway done.
2. Since becoming a full time Mac user in 2010 I no longer have the ability to understand PC
3. I don’t understand how to NOT use shortcuts
4. The test is just dumb.
Afterward, I stumbled into Starbucks to ego my pain while vigorously scratching my bites. I would be forever unemployed and itchy but at least I allowed myself the luxury of Half & Half instead of skim milk.
Resigned to my fate I ventured back to Harlem to spend the next decade at the laundry mat debugging my fabrics. (I realize now how ridiculous I am I didn’t even know if I actually had bed bugs but I convinced myself that I did and went about the treatment as such. This included drying everything first, washing, and then drying again). Millions of hours later I was finally finished with my laundry which was now pilled to the ceiling of my “foyer” in large garbage bags. (I use the term foyer loosely here. It is really a 4-foot space in front of my apartment door where my bookshelf and granny cart live.)
Whilst awaiting the exterminator’s appearance I decided it was wise to begin taking out my twists. About an hour into it, the exterminator showed up and that’s when things got even more humiliating. I didn’t want to frighten the man with my partially fro’d mostly twisted head so I shoved on a colorful knit cap that my mama used to wear. He went about inspecting my tiny studio and though he found no evidence of bugs I insisted that he treat my apartment anyway. (Recall my irrational fear of bugs.)
Here’s the awkward part. I’m a very friendly person, so that exterminator and I began having a smooth chat, which was fine with me. As he was spraying the beloved bug-be-gone he began to slyly try and figure out if I was single. He commented on one of my pictures and asked if the guy in it was my man. He also asked what I enjoyed doing and inferred that he as well liked the same activities. Now I have nothing against exterminators in general, but I despise when people come to my house to do a service and they try and flirt with me. It’s awkward and uncomfortable. Just like the time the refrigerator man told me I had beautiful feet and asked if we could exchange “pictures”.
Therefore I acted oblivious to his dreadful flirtations and seriously contemplated whipping off my knit cap to continue taking down my twists. I restrained myself and contained my laughter when the man told me my hair was beautiful and asked how long I’d been growing it out. (I couldn’t understand this question. He was Black!) After staring at him in disbelief I calmly explained to him that they were extensions. I smiled, paid him for his services and sent him on his way.
After shutting the door behind him I turned fully ready to exhale in relief and get back to Leo’s acceptance at the Globes, but that was not to be the case. Instead I screamed in horror……
There sitting on my nightstand, right next to my bed where the man had spent the majority of his 45 minutes in my dwelling was my Battery Operated Boyfriend in all of its hot pink glory. (I have no clue how I missed it. I was probably just exhausted from the previous foolery of the day and I was too focused on trying to hurry the man along so I could get back to my hair.)
Now I know why he was so damn eager. He obviously thought I was the harlot of Harlem who left sex toys strewn about her apartment for strangers to see. SMH
Until next time, a slightly humiliated, unemployed, but bed bug free
Chocolate Girl In the City xoxoxox