I generally try to avoid talking about my personal life unless I can somehow relate it to culture or theory, or unless I’m writing about things done alone, and can omit personal information about friends and acquaintances. I’ve been reading Hegel and Marx, lately, and my brain wants me to relate the following to labour, but my heart’s just not feeling it:

I got fired, last week. For the past two months, I’d been working as a personal assistant to an older guy who was struggling through certain daily activities as a consequence of two strokes. I cooked breakfast five mornings a week, made his bed, cleaned the kitchen and living room, ran errands, and sometimes helped with a bath. The pay was inappropriately low (I was being paid by a millionaire who could definitely have afforded to pay me a more reasonable wage), but it was enough, and the job gave me my afternoons for biking, reading, and writing. Bad deal, but good life.

Mr. W― is something of a self-absorbed old coot. When his afternoon maid sprained her ankle and was out of work for two weeks, he hoped that she wouldn’t rush to get well: ‘It doesn’t do me any good to have her hobbling about and getting in the way.’ On his nurse’s bi-weekly visits, Mr. W― would ask him about his partner, who was quickly succumbing to spinal meningitis: ‘Well, Mr. W―, he’s not getting any better, and he’s not going to. We just try to make it—’ ‘That’s just like me! I’m not getting any better and I’m not going to. I don’t think you can understand what it’s like to just sit here waiting for the end.’ (Mr. W― suffers from mild memory loss, high blood pressure [no doubt the product of his diet], and arthritis; the end is not coming soon.) He took personal offence when certain vendors at the Heart of the City farmers’ market wouldn’t remember his name, and refused to patronise them.

Nonetheless, Mr. W― seemed to like me, and regularly told me that he was thankful that he had me. He even told me this last Monday, my final day of work. Tuesday was a day off, as was Wednesday. But that afternoon, I got a call from Mr. V―, the aforementioned millionaire who handles Mr. W―’s finances: I had been replaced and oughtn’t show up for work Thursday morning. Mr. V― was verifying my address so that I could be mailed my last paycheck.

I don’t really know what happened: As I said, up through the end of my last day, Mr. W― was openly pleased with my work. This is my best interpretation: Two months ago, I asked if I could take the two weeks beginning with Thanksgiving off in order to visit my parents in Wisconsin. Messrs. W― and V― both assured me that this would be no problem. However, I know that they didn’t begin looking for a temporary fill-in until the week before last — two weeks before I was supposed to leave. My guess is that they were unable to find a suitable replacement who was willing to work for only two weeks, so they just replaced me outright.

As I was working in the informal sector, I have no legal, no union recourse. And eff it: I had to force myself to like Mr. W― and I certainly didn’t enjoy the job. I’m probably better off finding a new one. But this is having a serious impact: First, I’ve been denied a week of expected income, which has made my trip to see my parents quite impossible. I will be spending Thanksgiving in San Francisco. The two weeks of quiet reading in a snow-drowned house (and a certain adventure) that I had been expecting are now traded in for the hectic home front job search. Second, on a beautiful morning when I should be reading or biking in Golden Gate Park, I’m searching Craigslist and e-mailing out résumés. I had been managing to pay off my student loan and other debts. This is a serious threat to my solvency.

I’m not going to end up homeless, and I’m unlikely to starve: Though I’ve been living below the poverty line, and though the market tends to typecast once one’s played an economic role for long enough, I’m still middle class. I’ve got a safety net. I have friends, I have family, I’ve got a BA, and I’ve got a letter of acceptance from SOAS. This is merely a temporary frustration. However, if any of y’all in the Bay Area know of jobs (especially part-time jobs) in San Francisco, I’d greatly appreciate it if you’d let me know, or even forward my résumé.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, 22 November 2005 at 12:43 and is filed under Miscellanea. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.