Suburban Goddess

Yesterday I got more bad news from the insurance company.  My jewelry is not covered, thereby resulting in a $10,000 loss once you tally up everything that bastard took. But the thing that gets me is this; everything else is “replacement value,” meaning I have to BUY it all again and eventually be reimbursed. Once you figure out the combined cost of my camera equipment, my laptop, my iPod, and other miscellaneous items, we’re talking another $15,000.

I’m supposed to buy $15,000 worth of stuff out of pocket, THEN the insurance company will send me a check.

Now I ask you, WHY THE HELL DO I PAY INSURANCE? Add to the fact that I’ve been unemployed for a while, and it’s highly unlikely that I’ve got $15K lying around burning a hole in my pocket.

My sister-in-law made a comment about a black cloud floating around over my head…. I think she may be right. The obstacles keep stacking up, but I refuse to let them beat me down. After all, stuff is replaceable. The relationships I have with the people who have stepped in to help me are not… and I will always remember the kindness of everyone who has done so much to keep my spirits up in yet another hard time.

But I hope the insurance people get herpes. Or at least a nasty head cold. Or plantars warts. Something.

My mother called me on Friday when I was on my way home.

“Did you come home and pick up your laptop?”

“No.”

“Kristie, someone’s been in the house…”

Given the past couple of months I’ve endured, this is the last thing I expected. Altogether, the bastard made off with about $20k worth of my stuff… Including my brand new camera and bag of lenses.

I have never felt so violated, angry, and helpless at the same time. It truly hit home when I sat down to blog about it, but when I reached for my laptop, it was gone. (By the way, blogging from an iPhone SUCKS). I’m still waiting for the call from the insurance agency.

What kind of pathetic, low-life, inhuman turds do this? I was already in dire financial straits; this is the last straw. The worst part is, my dog was there. If only he could talk….

I am grateful that he was such a coward; if my mother and Alex had been in the house, I don’t know what I would have done. As it stands, if they catch the bastard (they probably won’t), you better believe I will stand in the court and state that piece of trash down.

So far, 2009 is not being kind to me.

“You have to call me when drama happens. You’re my entertainment.”

“You’re not the first person to tell me that.”

After spending most of the morning taking a test for the US Census Bureau (which is enough to make you want to stick that perfectly sharpened No. 2 pencil right in your eyeball), I resigned to my fate, climbed in my Jeep and started to head home. On the way, I stopped and put a resumé in at the local Christian radio station (SHUT UP, DYLAN)… and while I sat in the parking lot I flipped through a local employment newspaper. There in the back, in itty-bitty writing, was an ad for a Production Artist with spot color separation experience.

“I can do that with my eyes closed,” I thought. Just for the hell of it, I called the number. Two hours later I had the job.

Seriously, why do I allow myself fall into these monster panic attacks? D likes to point out that yesterday was a holiday, so all the movers and shakers would be missing. (It’s very annoying how much he’s always right. Now he thinks I might start LISTENING to him or something.) In all honesty, I’ve been very happy to have him around… his calming presence is consistent and comforting. And as much as I hate logic, he keeps shoving it into my life.

Me, not living moment to moment on an emotional roller coaster?

Maybe this could be a GOOD thing.

“Why is the line across the top of your blog crooked?”

“What are you talking about?”

“That grey line… it’s crooked.”

“It’s PERSPECTIVE.”

“Well, it’s kind of annoying.”

So here’s the thing about leaps of faith; sometimes, they’re scary as hell. And you don’t really want to take them, because past leaps of faith have disappointed you.

But if you hadn’t taken them, you wouldn’t be in a position to take the next one.

At some point, I have to believe that one of these things will pay off. But past experiences make me weary, tired, and fearful. So I’ve been cruising along the easy path, the selfish path, the if-I-don’t-take-any-chances-I-won’t-get-smushed path….. and now I am standing at a crossroad.

Jump, stupid.

And then a proverbial brick fell out of the sky, bashing me on my stubborn head. He’s been here all along, and I, for lack of faith, could not believe he may be real. But he is. And he is amazing.

And I am jumping, finally…. I really hope he’ll be there to catch me.

Something tells me he will.

So I thought after I’d gotten the hang of things, the sales gig would get easier. It’s not that the pictures were bad; they were actually really great pics of cute little babies. The problem was the area… I was selling in Baytown, Pasadena, and Channelview. While there are a few nice neighborhoods in this area, for the most part, it is struggling. This became apparent when the appointment I set (ironically, right after I wrote my last post) lead me to a mostly abandoned apartment complex. I double-checked the address, quite sure I’d made some mistake.

Nope.

I climbed the stairs of the one building that didn’t have boarded windows. A young black mother opened the door, one child on her hip, three others running around. She was kind and soft-spoken, inviting me in. Her walls were covered in pictures of family; she obviously understood the worth of a photograph. As I showed her pictures of her baby, she smiled happily, cooing and aahhhhing at the work I’d done. But when it came time to show her the prices, I had a hard time. She stared at the price sheet, her face turning sad.

“Girl, I love these pictures, but I can’t afford this. This is as much as my rent.”

I thanked her for her time, promising to hold the order for as long as I could. It was the beginning of a string of appointments in some of the toughest areas in Houston. My next appointment was in the home of a gang member (Before I was done, I met at least seven gang families.) One girl was the victim of a drive-by, showing me the bullet holes in her wall. Another was the victim of an abusive husband, too afraid to open the door until I went back to my Jeep and called her to let her know I was the person knocking on her front door. But the one that shook me to the point where I knew I could not do this was my final appointment. It was a young Latino mother, and when I went into the house, there were four Latino men sitting there. I recognized the gang tattoos; I date a cop, so I see the signs. As I showed the mother her pictures, I heard them talking in Spanish.

I cannot speak Spanish, but I can understand a lot of it. And I knew these men were talking about me, and I knew it was not in a good way. It was already dark outside, and I was parked on a dead-end road. I kept my eyes on the mom, smiling, pretending nothing was wrong, but as I wrapped up my presentation, I made sure I had keys in hand. She wanted me to come back to get payment later; I said I would, got in my Jeep, and decided right then that this was not for me.

While I feel the weight of responsibility on my shoulders, I can’t do a damn thing to help my daughter if I’m dead. So I quit.

I learned a lot in this past week, though. These struggling women, these new moms, we all have a common bond. Motherhood is a wonderful and rewarding experience. Many of them were single, desparetely trying to make a better life for their children. In essence, they were no different from me, just living in a different environment. I realize how lucky I am to have people who want to help me. Some of these women had nothing. It broke my heart.

There was no way in hell I could convince someone to spend money they didn’t have on something they didn’t need. While pictures are priceless, they are a luxury. When it comes down to making a decision about putting a roof over your head or buying an expensive picture of your baby, I could not, in good conscience, ask someone in that position to make that kind of decision.

So, I’m back on the job market. Anybody know anyone looking for a designer/technical/clerical person?

I’ve spent years bashing sales reps. Years. Now, within three short days, I have learned to keep my big mouth shut.

This is a hard life.

The sales part is easy, at least where I’m concerned. I’m selling a product I like, that pretty much sells itself. The hard part is keeping up with all the appointments, cancellations, paperwork, phone calls, locations, DRIVING (while applying makeup), and all the various little unknowns that I never considered these people having to deal with.

Ugh.

However, on the flip side, there are definately some perks as well. One, I get to see daylight. Two, Starbucks is my office. If an appointment cancels, I go shopping. I get to hang out wih new moms all day, play with kids my daughter’s age, and make them smile and laugh. By the time a call is over, I not only have made a new sale, but also a new friend. I believe in my product (photography), and everyone wants pictures of their kids, so money really isn’t an issue.

I’ve learned many, many valuable lessons in the past few days. Call ahead, give yourself a cushion, be prepared to be stood up, learn to be flexible, and organize, organize, organize your paperwork. The position is a design/sales hybrid, so in my down time, I’m playing with some really cool software and looking at disgustingly cute kids all day.

I’ve learned not to judge, either. Just because someone lives in a trailer doesn’t mean they won’t spring for the biggest package, and people in multi-million dollar homes might not buy a darn thing.  Suddenly my financially diverse background is starting to pay off; I can move across worlds without batting an eyelash. At the end of the day, a mom is a mom… and we all like talking about our kids.

I love this job.

“That Joe guy is a jerk.”

“I know.”

“Does he know you’re his competition, too? Is that why he’s such a prick?”

“I doubt it. Probably got burned by a woman, and now feels the need to lash out at one so he won’t feel like the insignificant ass that he is.”

“You should say that on your blog.”

“Nah. I play nice over there. Don’t want to stir the pot or anything.”

“Yeah, I guess they don’t want one of their writers calling one of their readers a fat, greasy douchebag.”

“Yeah. Not really good for business.”

Well, I’ve accepted a job position. I received two offers in three days, and money is too tight to turn one down at this point. One was a graphics position down in the Galleria; an office on the top floor, a fancy title, and a huge pay cut. It would have gotten me in with some of Houston’s movers and shakers, a fancy PR firm that might have ended up making me six figures in two years.

Or maybe not. It was a start-up, and seeing how I’m knee-deep in my own start-up, my heart can only handle so much fear of the unknown. But I’ll never know, because I ended up taking a job in sales.

Sales. Me. A die-hard, dyed-in-the-wool graphic designer… the fight between designers and sales has approached epic in my life. I HATE salespeople. So why would I volunteer to step across party lines and willing subject myself to this?

Call it morbid curiosity. That, and the commission rate is amazing, the leads are handed to you, and it’s for a product I can believe in. No cold-calling, but a lot of driving. I’ll end up making way more than I did at my last company, and I won’t be chained to a desk for eight hours a day. There’s flexibility in sales, and it’s the last dying meritocracy out there. At least in this position I know I will be rewarded for good work. That’s not something I can say about graphic design.

I’ll still follow my dream to become self-employed; this job actually affords me more time to do so. They don’t care if I’m calling my own clients in-between theirs… my downtime is MINE.

And I can blog any doggone time I want to. Life is good again.