"Do you have any applications?" I ask, trying with all my might to leave the weariness and cynicism out of my voice. This is the fifth place I've visited today and my nerves are wearing thin. I am getting tired of the cheeky, ever-joyous sales girls bounding off to retrieve the paperwork, hoping I'd "be joining the team real soon." I'm not trying out for a sport; I'm looking for a job!

Perhaps my mood would be a bit less sour if the reasons behind this desperate search for employment were different. I'd talked of getting a job for quite a long time before actively pursuing such a god-awful thing. I'd even gotten a few friends interested, filing out applications together, joking about our prospects. As it happened, they all got jobs; I didn't. Well, that was okay; more time for my schoolwork; more time to concentrate on scholarships; more time to devote to my writing. There's just one thing: I don't do any of that! I want money, dang it, and I'm not going to get any sitting on my butt idealizing my future.

"I'm sorry-"

Yeah, you sure are.

"-but I don't have any right here."

Could you say this in any more of a chipper tone? I bet if you were saying I had two months to live, you'd find joy in that, too.

"I can go get the manager if you like. Just a sec and I'll be right back, ma'am."

Ma'am? Do I look forty to you? Maybe I can slink out before anyone notices. Drat, too late! The bleached bimbo is pointing me out. Here comes the manager.

"So, you'd like a job with our store?"

Well, duh.

"I think I've got an application in my safe. Be right back!"

Why didn't you just bring it up with you to begin with?

"Here you are! You can take it home with you. Hope you'll be joining our team real soon!"

My face twists into an amused grin and I depart, contemplating the benefits of running off to Europe to become a gypsy.