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(Dealing with) Disappointment
Feb. 23rd, 2007 06:04 pmI think I pretty much expected it. That's what he told me, too.
"You must have expected this," Professor Dodgson said. "After your first term at Stanford, your record is... shall we say, erratic at best. In Stanford, in New York, in Savannah, and here you did not even bother to show up the first week you were admitted."
So. No more college. For now, anyway. Actually I have no idea whether or not I expected it. Not because of the absences - and you just can use so many excuses for not being there before they give you that "don't insult my intelligence and yours" look - but because the way I got into each and every college was by cheating, if you look at the facts. I didn't know I was the first time, but I did the maths once I got my memories back. Finishing high school - well, high school altogether - qualifying for college, all that is courtesy of an evil sorceror who got paid lots of money by Wolfram and Hart for putting that knowledge in my mind. And the other times it was bribes. Yes, I worked, because I happen to like the stuff, but a lot of other people with my degrees still didn't get accepted if they pull regular disappearing acts, because they don't have connections. That's not a complaint. Either about the Vail-derived degree and knowledge or the bribes. Like I said, I enjoy college (mostly), and I really wanted to continue, so I was definitely grateful I got the chance. But. I guess it leaves you with the feeling that a) you didn't really earn it, mixed with b) you're living in this world where even if you miss a plane, there is a next one to catch every single time, so after a while, you stop worrying about missing planes.
Well, I made some noise a while ago about wanting to start facing consequences, so I guess this is a way to do it. It also means looking for a job, something long term, I mean, not the stuff I did so far to make some cash on the sides. Something where you need more the muscle. Plus job search means not having to think about how I felt about the no more college thing, so I started immediately. Of course, most jobs have regular working hours, and they kind of expect you to show up on a regular basis. Which would mean that I'd end up right where I started (getting kicked out) pretty soon, because I can't give up The Other Job, and it doesn't have regular hours.
So I found myself checking whether Clay Face had made a return appearance after being chased off in December, because I did feel like another fight, but he hadn't, and muggers can be dealt with pretty quickly, which meant brooding instead of fighting. I sat on someone's roof and tried to think of freelance jobs and not suicidal cops with family photos, and that's when the glaringly obvious hit me. Of course.
I had tried to do the detective thing on my own with Justine in Los Angeles for a while, but we hadn't been exactly besieged with clients. So what I did this time was trying to find P.I.s who already had an office and some work and convince them they needed me as their freelance assistant. "Just got kicked out of college" wasn't the best resume, but oddly enough, "was in jail last year" worked a couple of times, only then the "assistant" thing turned out to be not exactly what I had meant. Plus a lot of them really didn't need more staff. So I finally ended up with some guy named Harvey Bullock who got fired from the GCPD or something. Well, "resigned from the force" is how he put it. He has just started, but I guess as an ex-cop, he knows the score. After a lot of yelling about vigilantes (okay, note to self: The Other Job definitely needs to stay secret) and how he doesn't need anyone, it turned out he couldn't even find a secretary because they wouldn't put up with the non-stop smoking (and I guess the fact he puts his donuts on all the chairs).
"Can you type?" he asked.
"Yeah, but I thought -"
"Son," he said, "maybe, just maybe, if you really aren't as dumb as you look like, I'll let you do some grunt work later on. But right now, I need a secretary. You're hired."
Which means I have a new job. If Harry's next nickname for me is "Boy Friday", it'll be my own fault.
There were still some books from the college library I had to bring back. You know that libraries each have their own scent? You'd think they all smell the same, but they don't. The one I brought my books back to had a new toner in their copy machine, and you could smell that from the sheets everyone was carrying away from the copy room. Also, they have a first edition of Belzoni's Narration, and that doesn't smell like anything else.
Anyway. I'm not thinking about that. That's behind me, and I pretty much expected it anyway.
That's what he told me.
"You must have expected this," Professor Dodgson said. "After your first term at Stanford, your record is... shall we say, erratic at best. In Stanford, in New York, in Savannah, and here you did not even bother to show up the first week you were admitted."
So. No more college. For now, anyway. Actually I have no idea whether or not I expected it. Not because of the absences - and you just can use so many excuses for not being there before they give you that "don't insult my intelligence and yours" look - but because the way I got into each and every college was by cheating, if you look at the facts. I didn't know I was the first time, but I did the maths once I got my memories back. Finishing high school - well, high school altogether - qualifying for college, all that is courtesy of an evil sorceror who got paid lots of money by Wolfram and Hart for putting that knowledge in my mind. And the other times it was bribes. Yes, I worked, because I happen to like the stuff, but a lot of other people with my degrees still didn't get accepted if they pull regular disappearing acts, because they don't have connections. That's not a complaint. Either about the Vail-derived degree and knowledge or the bribes. Like I said, I enjoy college (mostly), and I really wanted to continue, so I was definitely grateful I got the chance. But. I guess it leaves you with the feeling that a) you didn't really earn it, mixed with b) you're living in this world where even if you miss a plane, there is a next one to catch every single time, so after a while, you stop worrying about missing planes.
Well, I made some noise a while ago about wanting to start facing consequences, so I guess this is a way to do it. It also means looking for a job, something long term, I mean, not the stuff I did so far to make some cash on the sides. Something where you need more the muscle. Plus job search means not having to think about how I felt about the no more college thing, so I started immediately. Of course, most jobs have regular working hours, and they kind of expect you to show up on a regular basis. Which would mean that I'd end up right where I started (getting kicked out) pretty soon, because I can't give up The Other Job, and it doesn't have regular hours.
So I found myself checking whether Clay Face had made a return appearance after being chased off in December, because I did feel like another fight, but he hadn't, and muggers can be dealt with pretty quickly, which meant brooding instead of fighting. I sat on someone's roof and tried to think of freelance jobs and not suicidal cops with family photos, and that's when the glaringly obvious hit me. Of course.
I had tried to do the detective thing on my own with Justine in Los Angeles for a while, but we hadn't been exactly besieged with clients. So what I did this time was trying to find P.I.s who already had an office and some work and convince them they needed me as their freelance assistant. "Just got kicked out of college" wasn't the best resume, but oddly enough, "was in jail last year" worked a couple of times, only then the "assistant" thing turned out to be not exactly what I had meant. Plus a lot of them really didn't need more staff. So I finally ended up with some guy named Harvey Bullock who got fired from the GCPD or something. Well, "resigned from the force" is how he put it. He has just started, but I guess as an ex-cop, he knows the score. After a lot of yelling about vigilantes (okay, note to self: The Other Job definitely needs to stay secret) and how he doesn't need anyone, it turned out he couldn't even find a secretary because they wouldn't put up with the non-stop smoking (and I guess the fact he puts his donuts on all the chairs).
"Can you type?" he asked.
"Yeah, but I thought -"
"Son," he said, "maybe, just maybe, if you really aren't as dumb as you look like, I'll let you do some grunt work later on. But right now, I need a secretary. You're hired."
Which means I have a new job. If Harry's next nickname for me is "Boy Friday", it'll be my own fault.
There were still some books from the college library I had to bring back. You know that libraries each have their own scent? You'd think they all smell the same, but they don't. The one I brought my books back to had a new toner in their copy machine, and you could smell that from the sheets everyone was carrying away from the copy room. Also, they have a first edition of Belzoni's Narration, and that doesn't smell like anything else.
Anyway. I'm not thinking about that. That's behind me, and I pretty much expected it anyway.
That's what he told me.
