HIRE ME! Or please let me be productive.

My first paying job was when I was 16, literally 3 days after my 16th birthday, I got a job. I worked in an ice cream shop known for a specific number of flavors. I made sundaes, doled out ice cream scoops, and learned how to count change back. Since then, I have not had a break from employment until now. Monday, I lost my job.

When I say no break from employment, I mean all through high school and college I worked full-time, sometimes two jobs to pay for a degree. I worked full-time through graduate school to pay for my lab fees, books, and research needs. Mom and dad have shallow pockets and the lesson taught was, if you want something bad enough, you will work for it.

At 34, I am not reacting any differently. Upon cleaning out my office, dropping an email account from cell phone and brief call to wallow with mom, I was on the job hunt before noon. Presently, I will return to my early teenage roots of retail. While an extreme diversion from my present day, it is still employent.

When I started college, I had the hopes that one day I would become an English professor mostly because of my love of reading. My house is filled with novels, novellas, poetry, and such. I could discuss literature all day. One afternoon after a British Literature course, the professor listened to me idolize his career while sitting in his cluttered office. There, sitting across from me in his bow tie, navy wool jacket, and pressed kahki's, he said, "You do not want this Melinda, you are meant to work with people." Even when I protested expressing how interacting with students was being with people, he shared a darker side of university that included things like tenure review, demands of research, seeking funding for a department. He said, "you will teach one hour a day and work the rest to save your job."

While some people are content with a job, I need passion. I need to be around people. I need to be around like minded people who enjoy reading, discussing the world, and generally enjoy positivity. The world has changed much since the completion of my first degree in 2001. Often now, people work jobs they cannot stand, tolerate employer abuse and compromise their integrity as a person.

I promise you that even working in a consignment store, I will take it seriously, work with care. I mean, I get to talk to women about fashion. How can that be a bad thing? Will it pay my bills? No, but I will work as hard or harder than I need to take care of myself. There is no room to be a victim or cry a river for myself. Instead, its onward and upward. I'm never going to be in Forbes magazine but if you are a woman and need assistance putting together something classy for an evening out...I can point you in the right direction.

Surviving the Indy 500-A Pictorial

A friend residing in Indianapolis invited the boyfriend and I to the Indy 500. He happens to own a business only steps away from the track. We really didn’t hesitate to say yes as it was a milestone 100th anniversary and we were offered prime viewing and parking spots. The following story can serve as a guide should you find yourself considering to join the thousands of people all cheering on very fast cars in the hot sun. Taking advice from the local who advised us to give ourselves plenty of time for travel, we woke up at 5AM to be out of town by 6AM to arrive in Indy by 8AM. Thankfully, I packed a race day survival pack the night before.

Again, we thought our timeline was planned PERFECTLY as we encountered no traffic all the way up I-65. We had even given ourselves enough time to stop for quality coffee and one final trip to a clean bathroom. We were further prepared to enter the heart of Indy through the side streets unknown to many out of towners but given to us by the local. We had this down! By making good time, we were on schedule to be at our friends shop by 8:30AM where plates of eggs, bacon, biscuits and gravy were being served.

Items packed for a day at the races

WRONG! All plans were abandoned when we found ourselves less than 3-miles from the track at a dead standstill of cars all headed towards the Speedway. Indianapolis is not a fully integrated gridded city thus allowing for only 1-2 routes to enter the Speedway area. For the next 45-minutes, we sat in our car not moving more than six to ten inches at a time. Our coffee was emptied, our patience waning from minute to minute as we both hate to be tardy anywhere. Our host and us were exchanging constant text messages about our location and literally we were just under 3-miles away. It was past 9:30AM now and we failed to move more than a foot since we had last moved. Our only consistent scenery was a gentleman passed out on a bus stop bench who failed to wake to the thousands of parked cars surrounding him. The traffic was growing restless with horns blowing and we quickly realized we would not reach our pristine parking space in time to see the start of the race at the rates we were moving. GRRR! Thus, we had a backup plan as we packed our bikes among our survival goodies. The boyfriend and I made a last minute decision to abandon the car in a CVS parking lot and bike it in to make it to our locale in time. I was loaded down with the days necessities of sunscreen, waters, munchies, while the boyfriend refused to leave his cooler full of Blue Moon. It made for an odd displacement of items on our bike. Sadly, we left our "friend" on the bench to sleep off the morning.

Man sleeping at bus stop

We weaved through traffic like New York City couriers, often bending basic driving laws (what red light? yield?). To avoid the mass of walkers, we rode head on into oncoming traffic carefully between the double yellow line dodging large trucks with mirrors jutting out and moving over for one determined ambulance. We reached our destination in minutes (literally 15-minutes) but our wits were frazzled as we found ourselves swarmed by tons of people of all sorts. Families, frat boys, party girls, elderly couples, and ultimate race fans who had obviously started partying at dawn covered the streets, sidewalks, and few grassy spaces.

Streets lined with people

Our local guide cut through the crowds like a hot knife through butter. He knew exactly where to enter the track, how to get to our seats and when to get there. We learned the lay of the land quickly noting restroom locations and making mental notes of appropriate food choices for later. The ninety degree heat in the afternoon turned our seats into slotted frying pans slow roasting our legs. The smell of sunscreen was occasionally overtaken by the smell of pulled pork sandwiches and beer. We agreed it would be best to consume neither in the heat and drank waters. Race fans are pressed tightly into the rows of bleachers and even with ear plugs, I could hear the cheers of a young race fan to my right who downed several beers over the course of the afternoon. There was constant visual stimulation whether from the talented Indy Car drivers or the spectators who dressed themselves in bikini wear to keep cool throughout the day.

Over or under dressing is not a concern at Indy 500

The race itself was purely amazing. I understand why someone handed me ear plugs. You need them. The cars create a constant vibrating roaring hum that only slows during a caution flag. Fans cheer each lap jumping from their seats fanning the cars in the appropriate direction towards the finish. It’s hard to not be excited but I was reserving my strength for end when we had to make our way back to our friends shop. Elbow to elbow people lined the streets cheering, singing, dancing and creating quite the party atmosphere.

Just a few thousand of our closest friends

Our Indy 500 was a 16-hour day complete with a 2-hour drive home. Thankfully we got a ride back to our car to avoid a short but dangerous bike ride back. The boyfriend slept as his nerves had bent to the end from all the people, fried foods, and the over stimulation of various fashion choices ranging from casual to "oh-my-goodness-why-are-you-wearing-that-in-public." If we were going to make it to an Indy 500....this was the one to go to. We have agreed that in the future should we attend another Indy 500, we will make some fashion adjustments.