Not Really Any Sort of Hijinks

So, this doesn't really count as an escapade or a hijinks, but, the crazy Roslyn- has gone totally batshit.
I still appear to be on her email list because I've just received in my junkmail a message from her. When I saw her name in my junkbox I had the irrational fear that she somehow found my blog and had read all of my defamation of her name. But no, the woman has just gone totally batshit. It's a little sad. She has apparently emailed her entire contacts list.
The text of her email (spelling and grammar mistakes included):

"i saw you this morning tonight steven (her son. The only reason I know this was she had felt the need at the time to brag that her son was Steven Alan- the one she was going to visit in France for Pesach). called me and told me that he picked up max from paul's house appartely they all were together and even though i called paul a few days ago and said i would like to see the babie's no one thought of inviting me. i feel very bad i told steven how bad i feel and his attitude is so what, why do they all hate me ?when i asked steven why paul acys like that he said paul told him along time ago that i remind him of his
--

--
Roslyn."

Poor, poor batshit crazy Roslyn. I almost feel bad for her.

Burned Forever Into My Brain

(This one is seriously depressing, but short)

"Hey Ima, how's it going?"
"Oh, everything's fine. How was your day? How's your toe?"
"It's fine. I'm really tired though from coming into the city with dad this morning."

In the background, June, my grandmother's aide calls out to my mother.

"June, can it wait a few minutes, I'm on the phone with Margo."

I can't really hear her response, but my mother tells me,
"Margo, June says something is wrong with grandma. Can you hang on a second?"

And she carries the phone with her into my grandmother's bedroom, still with the set to her ear.
"Grandma's not breathing. I don't feel a pulse. Margo, I think grandma just died."
"What are you going to do, you have to call 911 don't you?"
"Honey, I'm gonna go now. I have to call an ambulence and your father. We'll talk to you soon."
"Okay, talk to you later."

Always Get it in Writing

To start at the beginning, about February/March 2008 I began my hunt for a job in NYC while still living down in Silver Spring, MD. I was looking within the jewelry business; assistant buyer, production assistant, etc. I had a few interviews, none ending in any success. Finally, I apply for a job that was retail in a jewelry boutique, but it seemed like it would be perfect: It was a 15 minute walk from the apartment I was moving into, and the job posting really seemed to indicate that the owner was looking for someone to train in all aspects of the business.

            In the end of March I get a call from the owner saying that she loved my resume, my background was exactly what she was looking for, and I was as good as hired. She just wanted to meet me. So, in April I go up to meet her. She came across as this really sweet old woman. Possibly a little eccentric, but friendly.

A sample of how things went:

“So, I know it says the shop is open 7 days a week, but I can’t work on Saturdays because I observe the Sabbath.”

(I always feel so weird saying the word “Sabbath” when I’m not sure if the person I’m speaking to is Jewish or not. Does not roll off the tongue well).

“Oh, that’s no problem at all. You know I’m Jewish too. I don’t observe, but I go to this great synagogue, you should check out their Friday night services when you move up. I really respect you for being observant. Also, you know I work with all the religious people in the diamond district, so I completely understand.”

“You know I still live in Maryland, and I’m taking an intro to jewelry/metal smithing. It doesn’t end until May 7^th, so would it be alright if I came after that?”

“Oh, that’s fine. I’m spending Passover with my son in France anyway, so I wouldn’t want you to start until I came back so I can oversee your training.”

I also mentioned the fact that my family would be going to Israel for two weeks in June and her response again,

“Israel! How wonderful! That’s great, I hear it’s a beautiful country.” And, so on.

During our conversation she essentially 'hired' me at $15 an hour, working 6 days a week from 11-7. The dress code was normally black pants, black top, but “you’re young, just make sure what you wear is a solid color and not a pattern.” She offered the possibility for health benefits, and even possibly paying some tuition to learn about diamonds in the city's gemological institute. When she asked what ideas I had for my future and I told her about my wish to make jewelry, she told me if she liked what I made, she might even sell some of it in the store.

She had me write my name down for May 8^th on a calendar so she wouldn't forget my starting date. She gave me the store’s business card which had the store number, and store email on it. On the back she writes her cell # and her email address.

“If you have any questions at all, email me or call me any time. Don’t hesitate.”

And this is when the shit starts to hit the fan. So subtle, but I should have seen it coming.

I emailed her questioning her to confirm what we had discussed during my “interview.” That I would be paid $15/hour, that I could get health benefits. Again, making sure it’s ok that I can’t work on Saturdays. And then I asked what I thought was a fairly reasonable question- if they closed on national holidays. Her reply:

“NEVER email me, only call me.”

So I called, and called, and left messages, and never got a response. I figured I would just have to get my questions answered at the first day on the job.

May 8^th drew ever closer. I did a rush job of moving everything in as short a time as possible- I think it was two trips up to NYC within 10 days. Wednesday May 7^th was my last jewelry class. I finally left Maryland with my car packed with the very last of my belongings. I arrived at my parents’ home in NY at 1:30 am (this was so I could leave my car at their place). It was after 2 by the time I fell asleep only to get a 5 am wake-up so I could be driven into the city by my father.

I got everything to the apartment hallway, unlocked the locks, tried to open the door, and was rudely stopped by the door-chain. So I waited in the hallway sitting on my stuff, from 7-7:45 until Ilana (the roomie) woke up so she could let me in. One hour of blessed naptime and then it was time to get ready to go to the store.

I showed up, and the manager, Ursula, looked at me confusedly:

“What are you doing here?”

“What do you mean what am I doing here? It’s my first day. I’m starting my job today.”

“Well, Roslyn (the owner) never mentioned anything to me about you coming in.”

“But, that’s impossible! I wrote my name down on this giant calendar she had in the store with this as my starting date.”

“Well, she never said anything to me. Anyway, c’mon in, let’s put you to work.”

She put me to work arranging watches in the storefront- highly stimulating work. Because Roslyn liked to be kept informed on everything that's going on in the store, she called in. Ursula told her that I was at the store, working. Ursula hands me the phone:

“I am very upset! What are you doing there without having spoken to me? You shouldn’t be there without having spoken to me!”

“But I tried calling you. I left you a bunch of messages.”

“No! That’s not possible. I always have my phone with me, and I always answer it. There is no way you could have called and I would not pick up. You didn’t try hard enough!”

“I’m really sorry, I really tried.”

“And I’m also very very upset about the email that you sent me. Those were very personal and private questions you asked. And everyone in the store saw the email! I’m very upset. I thought I could trust you but now I’m not so sure.”

I was supposed to assume that the email she gave me, different from the store’s email, was not her personal email, but an account that anyone in the store could check. And even though I thought what I had sent in the email was not so horribly private I proceeded to profusely apologize to her. I don’t think I’ve groveled that much. I finally gave the phone back to Ursula. She hangs up with Roslyn.

“Roslyn wants you to leave the store until she comes in, in about an hour.”

 On very little sleep, I started freaking out that I've lost my job before it's begun. I called both my mom and dad, cried on the phone a little, wondering what the hell am I supposed to do. I waited my time out in the nearest Starbucks. An hour later:

“Margo? Listen, I just want you to understand that I didn’t want you to come in when I’m not here for the full day,” she gently tells me. “I don’t want anyone else to train you. I also had no idea you were coming.”

Senile old hag.

“Why don’t you go home, give me a call Tuesday and then come in Wednesday. Also, the shirt you’re wearing, it’s too complicated. I told you, the dress code should be solid colors.”

I made sure she could actually receive a call from my phone, which she could. “It’s not possible that I called her,” my ass. And that shirt I was wearing that broke the dress code- a solid brown v-neck with a beige trim around the collar. Too complicated?

Fast forward to Tuesday- I made my call.

“Will you come in Wednesday?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Great, why don’t you come in around 1 pm when things are a little busier and we can start your training.”

“If you don’t mind, could you answer my questions now?”

“What kind of questions?” said with an attitude.

“Well, you had mentioned that I might get health benefits- is that something that’s still being offered? Also, I just wanted to make sure that you would be paying me $15 and hour like you told me back in April. And, are you guys closed on national holidays?”

“What kind of question is that about national holidays? Of course we’re open! Health benefits? You should not be asking for these privileges! You haven’t even started working in my store. First you have to start, and I have to train you, and we have to see if you’ll even work out in the store. IF you work out in the store, IF you make me money, maybe after six months we can talk health benefits.”

And, by the by, in NYC at least, generally health benefits come after three months of work. My jaw was going slack at this point.

“Oh, and salary?? Really, you should be paying me! My training you is going to take out of my profit! And, it’s really a huge sacrifice that you can’t work on Saturdays. Will you still be coming Wednesday?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there.” Truthfully, my mind had exploded. The woman I had just spoken with did not remotely resemble the person I met when she first interviewed me. I agreed to still go in the next day more out of shock than anything else. When I reported to my father everything this psycho had told me, he told me to make sure that I would be paid during training (although I highly doubted it, what with her “you should be paying me!”).

Not getting any sleep that night, I decided to call the store before going in so I could speak with the other girl working there, Mora. I had met her when I was first interviewed and on my botched first day at work. She had seemed pretty sympathetic to that day’s fiasco so I figured I could ask her a few questions.

“Good afternoon, Roslyn’s.”

“Hey, is this Mora?”

“Yeah, this is she.”

“Hi Mora, it’s Margo. I just wanted to ask you a couple questions about working with Roslyn.”

“I can’t really say that much,” she mumbled.

“She’s in the store, isn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“Ok, I’ll just ask you yes or no questions. First- the way Roslyn has behaved towards me, is she always like this? Is it just me or something?”

“Weeeeeeeeeellll yeah, but only in the beginning, sort of...." she drew out.

However long "the beginning" is supposed to mean, I didn't want to know.

“What’s it like in the store?”

Which I do realize is not a yes or no question.

In a complaining tone of voice she said “it’s hectic.”

“Good hectic busy, or bad?”

“Bad.”

“Did you have a training period, too?”

“Yeah, I learned a lot, sort of,” she said hesitantly, her voice trailing off.

“Were you paid during your training?”

“Listen, I don’t think I should answer any more questions.”

“No problem. Thank you SO MUCH for answering what you did. I really appreciate it.”

It was then I made my decision. Roslyn was just too fucking loony-toons. It wasn’t even worth it to begin to "train" there, especially with her complete and total 180 from when I first met her.

So, I went in at the agreed upon time. Roslyn gave me this up and down look because I was very much not in the dress code, wearing a bright green and print top. And I could tell she was about to scold me. I held my hand out to stop her.

 “I just wanted to say this in person, but I'm sorry for having wasted your time, I don't think this is going to work out, and I wish you luck in finding someone else to help with the store.”

“Thank you for letting me know,” she said calmly and then turned away from me in dismissal.

So I walked out the store. It was very clear to me then that she could have cared less whether I stayed or left. Back in April I had turned down another other job offer. The boss wanted to know why, and if he could amend the circumstances so that I would take the job (which he couldn't unfortunately). Roslyn didn't say anything except for the thank you, and that was that.

In my renewed search for employment I saw her ad go up once again on craigslist. It disappeared, so I assumed she had found someone. A month later, it was back up. Because I lived so close to the store I would pass by and periodically see the “Help Wanted” sign appear and disappear with almost mechanical regularity. It still to this day makes me feel vindicated- I’m not the only one who wouldn’t submit myself to the crazy.

The Incident of the Toenail

(Graphic descriptions, so don’t read it if you’re one to get queasy at the mention of blood).

I got a temp receptionist job in midtown, NYC, for the week before Labor Day weekend. Everything was fine, bored out of my mind, but making money. That Thursday evening at the end of the day- 5 pm, I went to the bathroom before leaving the office. As I left the restroom, I pulled the very heavy metal door open onto my left foot, which was unfortunate as I was wearing an open toe shoe. It happened so fucking fast. I walked out of the bathroom into the hall, stopped because it hurt way more than it should have.

I looked down and thought “now that really just does not look right.”

Then the pain hit. I crouched down and saw that the nail looked ripped off but still somewhat attached at the bottom right corner of the nail-bed. I quickly tapped it back down, and grabbed my foot because the throbbing really began to kick in. This really sweet woman who worked for my employer’s client walked out of the office and saw me on the floor.

“Oh my god, is everything ok?” which it wasn’t. I saw the blood start to well up underneath the nail and turn a lovely shade of purplish-blue. She saw it too.

I started to bleed. On my shoe.

“Honey, why don’t you take your shoe off? You don’t want to bleed all over it.”

 So I slipped the shoe off. Then I just stood there dripping blood onto the carpet out in the hallway right outside the bathroom.

“Um, why don’t we go into the bathroom, so you can bleed on the tile…”

You never think that you could bleed sooooo much just from your toe, but you can.

“Maybe you should go to the emergency room,” and I swear to you the vaguely hysterical thought that ran through my head, and I think I actually muttered it aloud was:

“This isn’t so bad, it can heal on its own just fine, I don’t need the emergency room, really I don’t.”

 She ran and got the first aid kit, pulled out the largest band-aid they had. Finally  some clarity and common sense set in:

“I don’t think that’s going to do it.”

 I took out gauze and the gauze tape, asked for a scissor which she promptly went to fetch. I wrapped my toe up, easy as you please. Maybe a total of 5-10 minutes had gone by at this point. She went to my employer’s office on the floor below to find out what should be done with me. While she was gone I cleaned my blood off the floor. A very interesting experience, I must say. I think I popped about 5 ibuprofen tablets so I wouldn’t be in total pain after the shock wore off (again, some belated common sense kicking in).

After a few minutes she comes back with this girl who works in the HR division of the company and knows to ask me certain questions considering it a work related injury.

“Shouldn’t we call your temp agency? This could be considered a work related injury.”

At which point a little bubble of hysterical laughter escaped.

“A work injury? Are you kidding me? I did this to myself, opened the door on my own damn foot. How dumb is that?!!”

“Have you called your parents yet?”

“My parents?”

“Yeah, if something like this happened to me I’d call them the first thing.” It’s been a half hour so far, and I had yet to think to call my own parents. I forgot that my parents were on vacation and called my dad’s cell thinking he could take me to the hospital since his office was literally across the avenue from where I was temping.

A handful of minutes later it hits me that they’re somewhere in Massachusetts. I called my mom’s cell. I swear to you I was totally under control up until that moment. Certainly shocked and slow-witted, but not crying, not super-hysterical, nothing. I called my mom’s cell and the minute I heard her voice I cracked the fuck up. I could barely get the words out I was laughing and crying so hysterically. I actually hyperventilated a little. It was ridiculous. She finally got me to calm down enough to explain what the hell happened.

“You have to go to the emergency room, to either Roosevelt or Lenox Hill. Do you have cash for a taxi? No? Go to an ATM, get cash, take a taxi to either of those hospitals, perhaps find out which one is the closest. Call Ari (my brother), and if you can’t get a hold of Ari, call Adina (my sister-in-law).”

 I called him. I cannot imagine being on the receiving end of the message I left him. I was crying and trying to control myself, but utterly failing as I bawled that it’s an emergency and I needed him to come get me.

I called Adina since I couldn’t reach him, and then she didn’t answer either. I admit I began to panic a little. I called my mom back.

“You’re going to have to ask someone in the office to help you get cash, hail a cab for you, and get yourself to the ER.” I really didn’t want that to happen. So I tried Ari and Adina again and still got nothing.

I sat around feeling like a chicken without a head when I had an epiphany. I have a fucking roommate! Who works in midtown! Call her you ass!

I reached her just before she went down into the subway to head back to our apartment on the Upper West Side. She told me later on that I’m such a crazy person, when I called her, this was how the conversation sounded on her end:

“(Laugh) Hi? How are you?”

“I’m fine, what’s up?”

“Where are you? You haven’t gone back to the apartment yet have you?”

“No, I was about to head onto the subway.”

“Yeh, (laugh) I kind of ripped the nail off my toe and need to go to the emergency room, can you come with me?” talking like it’s the most normal thing in the world, as if I were asking her to join me for a cup of coffee.

By the time she made it over to my office building it was 6:20. I had to walk on the streets of NYC barefoot- I do not recommend it. Turns the bottoms of your feet black.  We got to Lenox Hill around 6:40. I guess I should be happy that my case was semi-priority; I was seen before a lot of other people who were there before me.

In the end, the doctor cut the nail out. I had gashed myself quite nicely under the nail which was a reason for the insane bleeding. So she gave me a few stitches (of course the shots to numb the toe up always hurt like a bitch). Then she reinserted the old nail under the flap of skin of the nail-bed. Doing it that way meant the new nail could just push the old one out as it grew in. I was told to follow up with an orthopedist because, the metal door being so fucking heavy, I even fractured the bone in my toe. Ilana (the roomie) was great and stayed with me the entire time. When all was said and done, even after going to CVS to fill prescriptions for vicodin and an antibiotic, we got back to the apartment at 10:30.

After some debating I went into work for the last day of the temp job.

Behind the desk was a tv screen on mute. Whiling away the time I watched to see what was going on with the world. It was August 29^th and John McCain was announcing his running mate- Sarah Palin.

My first thought: “Who the fuck is Sarah Palin?”