My Own Humanity Being Forced Upon Me...

...by my foot!!

This clinic job I'm going for (note to self: listen to Clinic today) is a public outreach position. Meaning I talk to the community about the services offered by the clinic. Talk to people on the street, talk to people in meetings...talking and walking all day. It's a fairly different line of work than I'm used to; it's definitely going to be a different work environment than talking to and regulating drunks all night.

 I told somebody recently that a job like this would have been perfect for the Samantha that I was right after high school, before I moved to the bay area. After my experiences at University and living in Oakland for damn near a decade, I give less of a shit about helping my fellow man than I used to. I pretty much only care about how much money I can make from a job at this point. Also, living in Oakland for all that time has soured my opinion or care for any homeless people I may interact with (they are too damn aggressive there!) Whereas before I left SD as a young and nubile babe (hah!) I was very compassionate to homeless people.

This non-profit job will have me talking to homeless people a lot, because that is the community that makes up a large percentage of downtown San Diego that would utilize the free services of the clinic. But I'm going for this job because A.) I need work and B.) SD's bar scene is more about how fake your breasts are than how well you make a cocktail.

I stop here and wonder to myself: "What the fuck are you doing? You should be making money! Not walking around all damn day 'helping' people! Have you lost your mind? Money!"

This is really how my mind jumps back and forth on itself. Bear with me...

I am going for this job because of the different work environment. I've never done it before, its a challenge, its something different blah blah blah...also it offers benefits which I've never had. Well except that one time I worked as a bartender for Scott's in downtown Oakland but I quit that job due to sexual harassment from managers, shitty pay and well, incompetent managers all over me all the time. The bartenders at Scott's make shit for tips. It's a bad setup. But they steal enough to compensate so its all good. Still, tip James (weekday night bartender) and whatever shmuck they have doing weekend nights heavily...cuz those poor suckers make shit for money and stress like crazy. Well James is a pro at getting his money after 20 years but the weekend bartender is always new and always getting screwed over (that was me!).

BACK TO THE TOPIC AT HAND. My left foot is fucked up. It's sore and tingly and feels like I'm walking on pins and needles and the skin feels really tight and it's just all bad. Nevermind how this will make working at any job on my feet interesting from now on, my mobility in this very second, is hindered. I am no longer an unstoppable force. I am very much stopped.

And I think, when I get this job (because there's really no reason why I shouldn't) and I'm talking to people...the chance of them being homeless and injured are very high. Perhaps this injury happened to me to smack some sense into me. To stop my stupid arrogant bay area style paper chase and help me see that helping people in need is an awesome thing to do. Because I know how shitty it feels to need help and not have the money to set all services up production-line style. These people will be dirty, and sick, and fucking clueless and it's up to me to at least make their search for water, shelter, or medical services, easier to find.

And really, after I share some info with them, I can walk away, unlike any bar job where I either suffer through idiocy or kick them out. Well hopefully by then my foot is healed properly and I will be able to walk away.