Jersey Girl in the Big City

So Jersey Girl has finally moved to The Big City, and she has got it made: affordable apartment (a mere hacky-sack’s “hack” away from Prospect Park), nice landlady, two cats, the Beautiful Boy to rub her belly after too much sushi (is there such a thing? Tatsu Sushi’s spicy tuna rolls—at Flatbush and 7^th—make me think: never!), a fun-filled year of wedding plans—what else could she need?

Well…perhaps…for one thing—a JOB. Yes, you know, that tiny little detail that makes the money flow INTO the wallet instead of OUT of it. It’s the thing that pays the rent…and the monthly metro card…and the gym…the afore-mentioned sushi addiction…tuition…the recently opened (as well as thoroughly thought-out, entirely responsibility-building) Roth IRA account.

The search thus far has been fruitless, and Jersey Girl is about two breaths away from becoming an egg donor—either that or hosting foot fetish parties. True, it has only been three weeks since Jersey Girl officially moved in with the Beautiful Boy, but it has been three weeks of swiftly dwindling funds and an ever-increasing number of unanswered resume submissions. Do Jersey Girl’s cover letters reek too much of desperation? Is Lady Luck lost in Limbo? Maybe Jersey Girl’s most recent ventures into The Big City will be indicative of her dealings thus far with THE JOB MARKET…

Jersey Girl, three things to remember upon returning from Brooklyn job hunt: (1) 100% Polyester does NOT “breathe. (2) September should not be called September. It should be called “Haha, We Got You to Wear Pants and a Jacket and Now You are Drowning in Your Own Sweat.” (3) It doesn’t matter what three is. The point is, the “dress up for chance meeting with possible future boss” expedition was not a huge success. However, I now know the layout of DUMBO pretty well! (Who knew it would be so difficult to find one silly street between two huge bridges?)

55 Washington Street is home to many offices/places of business, the home of a Brooklyn newspaper being of particular interest to Jersey Girl, lover of all things smelling of literature (ink, lined paper, old-fashioned type-setters, etc.). If this particular newspaper lived on the 6^th floor, and Jersey Girl entered an ascending elevator from the Lobby, how in the world did she end up on the Maintenance level, seven floors below her intended destination, with overall-clad maintenance men (though similarly perplexed) ogling her sweaty, non-breathable polyester shirt and inappropriately long khaki pants? It remains, to this day, an unsolved mystery. Chalk it up to one of those un-asked-for but ultimately probably necessary lessons in humility. The Beautiful Boy himself laughed, “See? Kind of sucks not having a job?”

Yes, Beautiful Boy, it does, indeed, suck.

Will Jersey Girl be working at her beloved Brooklyn newspaper? Will Fall ever truly arrive? Find out next time in JERSEY GIRL IN THE BIG CITY.