My first job out of college was as an assistant for a real estate auction house. I got the job through an ad in the paper, motivated by the outrage of not being allowed to smoke cigarettes in my parent’s house.
After one interview where I was profoundly charming, I was hired on September 12th, 2001. I thought it was kind of uplifting to be taking on a new challenge instead of hiding under the covers and fearing the future of the world. In retrospect, I probably should have thought more about hiding under the covers.
After intense negotiations, I managed to get a starting salary of $27,000 plus health insurance. After taxes, I was taking home around $350 a week which was more than enough to move into my first apartment. Bank One was generous enough to extend a line of credit to me, and soon I was living like a king. Like a deposed king in exile- but still. Things were pretty sweet.
The real estate auction house- had three other employees*:
Ken Schell, the COO and CIO was a nice looking tall guy from the south suburbs. He meant well and enjoyed teaching me about computers and the business. He lived in the basement of his ex-wife’s house and was enamored of his children.
Don Steim was the CEO and head salesman. He wore a suit everyday except for Wednesdays, when he sported a sweater or mock turtle neck to look casual for his Gamblers Anonymous meetings. Don smoked weed out his office window, made fun of his pregnant wife, frequently took Xanax in the middle of the day and passed out, and aspired to reach new heights of scumbaggery every day.
Frank Manelli was a sweet young father who was hired as the junior sales associate. He loved me because we both drove Jeeps and rolled our eyes at Don’s antics.
One day I sat at my desk reading Crimelibrary.com and Don walked up to me. He was wearing his favorite G.A. yellow sweater and a tight pair of slacks. He leaned over and said “Hey there, listen, I got a sure thing going and Gina won’t let me have any cash so do you think you could spot me some dough for a sure thing?”
I said, “Huh?”
“A sure thing,” he said “this is a sure thing. I can pay you back by the end of the week with 10% interest, come on please come on.”
“Sorry Don, what are you talking about?” I wasn’t playing dumb, I really didn’t get it.
“I’m talking about you lending me three hundred bucks until Friday. God damnit what are you stupid or something?” He misted me with spittle as he talked.
“Nooo er I mean, no I’m not stupid but also I don’t have $300 Don.” I said, discreetly wiping my face.
“Don’t you know some one who can lend it to you to lend to me? I’m talking about a sure thing here. Or maybe you can overdraw your account for a couple of days?” He came around to the other side of the desk and stood with his crotch thrust towards me.
I didn’t think it was a good sign that the president of my company was begging to borrow money from me, especially considering he was a gambling addict, especially considering I only made $350 a week, especially considering that he had a crazed look in his eyes. We stared at each other for a few moments.
I stood up. “Well maybe I’ll go to the ATM and see if I can withdrawal the money?”
“Yes” Don pumped his fist in the air. “Do it, nice!” We high-fived. My soul winced at the disingenuous nature of the high-five.
I went outside and walked around the block for ten minutes. I kicked at the empty bottles on the sidewalk and cursed Don. “God damn stupid gambling addict asshole” I muttered. Now I’d have to quit and find another job, and in order to do that I’d have to redo my resume, which everyone knows is the worst job in the world.
When I got back to the office he rushed over to me. I shook my head sadly. Don screamed “MOTHERF*CKER” and slammed the door of his office. I pulled up my resume and tried to start typing. After three minutes, I went back to Crimelibrary.com.
*names have been changed to protect the guilty
