Day After Day

I was offered a job yesterday. One would think that being offered a job after two months of unemployment would make me happy. One would think. But instead, I was more depressed than before.

Picture a low-end used car dealership. Now take that image and grunge it up a little more. Focus your attention on the perma-grime around the light switch, the chipped plastic table and clunky metal chairs, the jagged rip of the veneer on the inside of the bathroom door in the shape of Africa, or a profile of Martha Washington. So hard to tell which.

Used car dealerships all have a certain smell, something like WD-40 mixed with bubble gum. When I left the interview I couldn’t get that smell off me all day. It was in my clothes, my hair, the folds of my brain. It's never really bothered me before, but yesterday I felt a little sick every time I caught a whiff of it.

Before my dad moved up to the bigger league of the new car business he owned a used car dealership. He actually had a couple of different car lots, but the one I remember most was called Bear Motor Company. I remember it as a low-end, grungy place too, but not depressing. It was where my dad poured his energy and made his money. He always seemed happy at the car lot.

I worked for him one summer, checking fluids, detailing cars, running errands and other odd jobs. Many of my tasks required me to get inside the vehicles, some of which smelled like vomit, others like sweat, air “fresheners” or fast food. I began every morning by starting each vehicle. I’d open the door, wait for the heat to escape and then take the biggest breath I could muster, hop in, turn the key with a silent prayer and try to start it without breathing. The stench was too powerful to even mouth breath so if the engine wouldn't fire quickly enough I'd have to get out, gasp and jump back in for another try.

One of my other jobs at the lot was to clean out the cars Dad bought or took in on trade. I found a $20 bill once. I also found a used tampon, half a burrito, a dirty diaper and a comb that looked like a switchblade. Hardly a winning hand. Ok, so maybe it was a little depressing.

I turned down yesterday's job offer which means I won’t be keeping the books at the sad little used car dealership, but I also won’t be working at all. Any idea what it’s like to be out of a job for two months? It’s like when you have a cold, stay home from work and wear your pajamas for the entire day. That evening your hair’s still messed up and you don’t know exactly what to do with yourself. You feel like eating dinner is kind of weird – after all, you didn’t do anything all day. It’s like the dull thud of the melancholy of a Sunday evening. It’s like you’ve lost a good friend. It’s like going to the funeral of someone you don’t know. Day after day.