Brenda wanted a normal school year. Instead her mom died.
Salma needed space from her sister and terrible ex. Or else she'd lose her mind.
Delilah didn't think she'd have any more problems after moving far from her hometown. That was until she becam...
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❝When someone shows you who they are believe them; the first time.❞
-Maya Angelou
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💔 BRENDA 💔
"I, unlike many students who attend Richmond, do not see a point in working for the man and feeding into the age old belief that you must have a nine to five hellish job in order to stay afloat. Life is far more precious than that."
"So, basically what you're saying is that you're...unemployed." I pieced together, gazing up from the partially filled out online form in my hands. Going against the 'man' wasn't the only thing he opposed. From what the application told me, he also had a vengeance against completing sentences. Many questions were left partly answered.
It was the first day of the weekend and so far, every applicant for the open rooms were either too wacky for me to take seriously or far too underpaid to even pay their fair share. Yesterday, a woman with four cats plead to have one of the rooms upstairs. I was flattered with her excitement about the house, gawking at the renovations and polished hardwood floors, but all I could think about was her cats, clawing up and down the stairs. It was an instant no from me. Scott had a harder time rejecting her, saying the cats would be a better attention than I feared. He eventually sided with me though, concluding that the smell of the litterbox alone should've swayed him earlier on.
"What do with your time then?" Scott asked, peaking at my copy to see what notes I made. "If you don't work, what do you do?"
I made critical notes for every applicant, jotting down attributes and characteristics of each person we interviewed. Scott doodled on his, adding comical rendition of the person before him. He was halfway done with his sketch now, giving the interviewee toothpick thin strands of hair and goofy four teeth-pointing in all different directions-that pocked out of his lopsided grin.
"I'm a skater," the interviewee cooed, looping around his scratched up board from off the floor and on to his lap. "My buddy, Chris, films me and we switch the camera around. I'm not sponsored, but we're hoping once we gain a stronger following on YouTube-"
"Thank you for your time," I cut in. "We're out of time for this interview. Thanks for stopping by."
"But I just got in-"
"We have a long list of people who want to be interviewed today, and I can't neglect the schedule I made. We are out of time," I repeated, standing to my feet and motioning to the front door. "I'll walk you out."
When I ventured back into the living room, Scott crumpled his paper into a ball, tossing it toward the trash can. "You were too hard on him. We hardly gave him a chance to explain himself. He could have a form of income."
