The General, Dispatch

Today, I am an employed college graduate. Well, a temporarily employed college graduate. I have a part-time, 6-ish week offer from a law firm in San Francisco, as a receptionist at the front desk. It pays well and is a pretty cushy job. How did I, of all people, get this cushy position, you might be asking yourself right now. Why would I want a job indoors, no matter the benefits? And most importantly, how did I land a job that lets me sit at a desk, check my email, fool around on the book of faces, study for the GRE and the French language and, oh yeah, update my blog, all while answering phones and connecting clients? It's the law firm my Dad works for and part owns. It's called nepotism.

I've learned something in my brief experiences in the work world. It's all about your experience. Qualifications sometimes matter, and they matter far more for internships. But if you want a job, you better damn well make sure you have plenty of experience. I have been offered more jobs in my short work force experience, but this summer (especially since I am definitely not a full time candidate - thank you, Africa!), I have been turned down more often than an anorexic girl turns down food. I have applied for positions I am more than qualified for, but the main feedback I receive when I'm told I haven't gotten the job (if they even bother to tell me) is that I don't have enough experience. I have all the qualifications, but I've never been a course leader, or I don't have enough time in the backcountry (well, not enough recordable time in the backcountry - note, most of these applications are for wilderness excursion instructor positions) or they'd just rather go with people they've worked with before. Well, Organizations That Will Remain Nameless On This Very Public Blog, if you're not willing to give a girl experience, she'll never get experience. I interview well (most organizations that I interview with tell me that, or tell me I'm a front runner - only to be smacked out of play by people who have worked for them before), my resume is pretty damn strong for a college graduate and I'm qualified for every position (except for one) that I've applied for. So I blame the damn economy (and my youth) for not getting temporary employment offers from any company other than the one my dad part owns.
Now this job requires me to commute into The City. For those of you in the know, you know what that City is. The City. For those of you NOT in the know, bummer. Just know, it's The best City in the United States.

To commute into The City from The Town (Tha town), I have to find a way across The Bay. To do so, I participate in this thing called "Casual Carpool". It's casual, meaning that I don't know the person driving me, and it allows all of us to cross the bridge far less expensively than for each of us to take our own cars (it's 3 to be a carpool here). Not to mention, way better for the environment. But anyway, it saves me cash. Lots of cash. However, it means I interact with some pretty crazy people. I once got in the car with a woman who had both her wrists in those wrist-guard things, you know, that people use when they've sprained their wrist. I survived (I know, it surprised me too). Today, I got into a very nice volvo, driven by a respectable looking man. Probably late 40s, button down type guy. Just seemed respectable. Halfway to the bridge, I smelled it.

The car reeked of marijuana. You know, reefer, mary jane, weed, pot, or my favorite (mostly because my mom uses this nickname): grass. This dude (because he rescinded his right to be referred to as a "man" upon smelling his car like weed)'s car smelled like The Reefer. What did I do, you might ask. What did I, a self respecting college graduate do? Well, I did what any respectable 21 (almost 22) year old college graduate would do. I texted my big brother. And made pot jokes. They stayed in my head.

Thus, in the disrespectably smelling car, I made my way into The City. The thing I love about being in this City is that it's smaller-ish, more compact than it's southern California counterpart. The buildings are tall, but they're not obnoxious. As far as US cities go, it's almost European. In fact, it reminds me a little of Madrid. First of all, I'm in California - about 50% speak Spanish on the streets. Secondly, the buildings are all old. They're cultured, beautiful buildings that scream of the past. The law firm for which I answer phones, in fact, is in one of the first "skyscrapers" of The City. It's 30 stories.

The City has charm that the other place I lived in part time for the last few years lacked. That, and it's home to the World Champions.

Adulthood is almost commenced. I have a real life job (part time, no health care, but excellent pay), I have a real life degree. Now I just need to move out of my parents house. Yeah, good luck with that.

Speaking of my awesome parents, my Dad is going in for routine surgery today. Nothing major, but still. It's hard on his daughter. Keep my old man in your thoughts (and prayers if you do that) for the next few hours if you can. I know he'll be alright.