Struggling to Survive Pt. 01

That would have been the end of it for us, but fate intervened. One Friday night after work, her car wouldn't start. We just happened to be walking out together, so I was the lucky one who was available to help her.

"Mother Fucker!" She yelled out as she kicked her car. Her outburst startled me. Around the office, she was always so pleasant and sweet that hearing her swear was really a surprise. I walked over to see what was wrong.

"My piece of shit car. It won't start. I have to pick Dean up from daycare and my stupid car won't fucking start!"

She took out her cellphone to make a call, probably to the babysitter, but I grabbed her hand. "Kara, relax. I'll take you to get your son. Then I will drive the both of you home. Tomorrow, I'll come back to get you and we will get your car towed to a mechanic. Sound good?"

Kara, who was on the verge of angry tears, simply nodded and agreement. She followed me to my car and sat in the passenger seat when I opened the door for her. I walked around to the driver side and got in.

The drive to the daycare was almost devoid of conversation. Except for her telling me when to turn, we didn't talk much. She seemed to be lost in a world all to herself and I didn't want to intrude. It wasn't until we'd picked Dean up and got to her apartment that she opened up.

"Thank you Tom. I really appreciate it. I don't know what I would have done tonight if it wasn't for you."

I gave her a reassuring smile. "No problem m' lady. Always willing to help a damsel in distress." I said in my best English royalty accent. This got a smile from her.

"Tom, please don't do that accent anymore. You sound constipated."

This made the both of us bust out in laughter. I got a mock hurt look on my face.

"Umm, I will have you know that I played Hamlet for my high school drama club. I got a standing ovation!"

She looked at me with a look of skepticism. "Really Tom? Really?"

"Okay fine! I played football and I wasn't in the drama club. But I could have been!"

Kara threw her hands up in mock surrender. "Okay Tom. You're right. It was a wonderful accent."

The sarcasm in her voice did not go unnoticed. By now we both could not help laughing. I had to smile to myself that I was able to lighten her mood.

We talked for about fifteen more minutes, and then I took my leave. I said goodbye to Dean too, and he shyly ignored me and hid behind his mom.

The next day I came back around to pick her up and see about her car. She thanked me as well as apologized for the inconvenience. What she didn't know was that I would have driven through a snowstorm to help her out. But I took the gratitude as well as the kiss on the cheek.

Yeah, you heard me right. The kiss on the cheek.

Sure it's not much compared to what I wanted, but it was a step further than I had been. Very slowly, her wall that was built up was weakening. The kiss on the cheek was proof of that.

In the words of Steve Urkel, "I'm breaking you down baby! I'm breaking you DOWN!"

We got her car towed and into the mechanic's shop. We had no choice but bring Dean with us. That was fine except for the fact that it was going to take about an hour for the mechanic to let us know what was wrong with the car. I couldn't imagine Dean sitting there in the boring waiting room watching Judge Judy, so I suggested that we go and get something to eat. We ended up at Golden Corral.

After a little while, Dean seemed to relax around me. He still didn't speak much to me, but he didn't cling to his mother in my presence either. Breaking down walls takes baby steps. I was willing to march around Jericho for three days before giving my victorious shout.

When we got the phone call about the car, it wasn't good news. The repair was going to be close to $600. The mechanic gave us the estimate with as much sympathy as a bill collector has when they call your house.

Kara was devastated. She didn't have $600 to repair her car. Yet she needed it to get to work. Of course, this is the part where you expect me to be generous and offer to pay. But I had a better idea. I told her that I would pick her up for work and drop her off at night until she could save the money to get her car fixed. After a little bit of debate, she conceded.

My plan was simple. Instead of simply letting her borrow the money for the repair, I chose the option that would give me an extended period of alone time with her. I felt this would increased my chances at charming my way past the friend zone.

My plan worked spectacularly. We went out on an actual date a month later.

SIX YEARS LATER:

I stared at my resume for the millionth time before it hit "submit" on my computer. So many resumes. So many applications. So few interviews. Even less job offers. The only jobs that even wanted to give me a chance were so far beneath my skill level that I might as well be a bag boy Walmart.

This became my life when I lost my job a year back. The monotony of unemployment can't be described. Scanning the various job sites to find one that is suitable, then rewording my resume to match what they are searching for is the start. Next comes the mundane task of filling out application after application until I could do it in my sleep. All of them look almost identical. They all ask for the same information.

Once all of this is done all I could do was sit in wait for the phone to ring. That phone interview, which would get me invited to the office for a formal interview, became my sole reason for breathing. Every time it rang I my heart skipped a beat.

On that note, I hate telemarketers. Answering the phone with expectations only to have one of those assholes try to give me a "free gift" drove me insane. I don't mean ha ha crazy. I mean, Joker insane. I wanted to set Gotham city on fire and tell Batman to kiss my ass. But I digress. I'm getting off the subject.

Occasionally, I was granted a face to face meeting to discuss my qualifications. I would get dressed up in my interview attire, arrive 15 minutes early, and did my best to charm everyone I encountered. I swear I smiled so much my cheeks felt like they were cracking.

After all of that was said and done, I would receive an email similar to this:

Thank you for applying with our company at blah, blah, blah. We regret to inform you that we have decided to fill the position with someone else. We will keep your resume on file. Feel free to apply for any other of our open jobs that you are qualified for.

We wish you the best with your future endeavors. Blah, blah, blah. Pacifying nonsense.

Sincerely yours,

The asshole who rejected you.

I sighed in frustration as I took another look at my resume. My "Summary of Experience" told me that I'd be perfect for this job. My list matched up with the requirements that they were looking for.

Perfect for this job. I had to laugh sardonically at that. Since when did that make a difference? I was also perfect for the last job I applied for. And the one before that. Sigh. This has been my life for the past year.

This past year has slowly ebbed away at my very soul. My sense of purpose diminished. At one time I helped design 30% of the buildings this goddamn state. Now my only mission was to answer the phone. Every rejection chipped a little more of my confidence away.

That's not even the worst part. No, the worst part was when I had to look at my wife Kara and my and boys, Dean and Sam. Since I lost my job, Kara and I have had to cut back on a lot of things. Some of the things weren't noticeable and barely affected us. Other things were monumental changes that really affected our morale. The first big thing to go was the cable. Now, I know that doesn't sound like a "big change" but when you have a teenager and a 5-year-old kid, trust me, it's big.

Next were the cell phones. The only cell phone that was still on was Kara's. Since she was working, I felt better knowing that she had a way to call home. I didn't need my cell phone since I had the house phone. After all, it wasn't like I had a job to go to.

Now we were desperately trying not to get the cars repossessed. Each time I had to look at my family's sad faces when they were forced to sacrifice another luxury item, it was like a kick in my nuts. Hell, a kick to the nuts would have actually been more merciful.

After much debate we finally decided that my wife would also start looking for work as a secretary again. With the both of us working, we could get caught up in no time. I have to admit though that I was silently pessimistic about her chances. I didn't voice my doubts, but I didn't get my hopes up. She'd been out of the job force for a little over 5 years. If I was having trouble finding work, I thought that it would be nearly impossible for her.

Well, that turned out to be another "kick Tom in the dick" turn of events.

Somehow Kara heard about a job that had suddenly become open. She strolled in there in person and asked for an application. She had an interview a week later. She started her job the very next day.

For me, this was a double edged sword. I was happy for my wife, and us for that matter. She'd quickly found a job and we had a paycheck coming in that could slow down the bleeding. It was a relief.

Yet, I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't jealous. A little bit more of my manhood died that day.

I was ready to scream! How many job applications does it take to get a decent interview? How long was I going to have to deal with the minutia of unemployment? What did she do that I hadn't done?

I secretly told myself that she had been hired so quickly because of her looks. I knew that it was probably not true (entirely), but the thought lingered in the back of my mind. This simmered for a while until it started to grow and take the form of mild envy with a nugget of resentment.

With each passing day I became less of a man. My role as a husband and a father was slowly slipping away. The manhood inside of me was shriveling up and cowering in the corner of my mind. How could I expect to be considered a man if I couldn't even provide for my family?

I heard the front door open and then close, which brought me back to the present. By the sound of the small, high heeled footsteps clanking across the hardwood floors, I knew that my wife was home. A quick glance at the clock confused me though. It was only a little after one. She normally didn't get home until after six.

I heard her go into the kitchen, so I made my way in there. When I got there I found her sitting at the kitchen table with a glass of wine in her hand. She wasn't drinking it though. She was just staring blankly ahead of her. When I heard her sniffle, I knew something was wrong.

"Kara. What are you doing home honey? Why aren't you at..."

The question froze on my mouth. She didn't even turn around to look at me. She finally took a sip of the wine in her hand and wiped her eyes.

"I don't have a job anymore Tom."

The words hung in the air. I heard them, I understood what she was saying, but I didn't comprehend them right away. Does that make sense? It was like I knew what she said, but it felt like a dream that I was simply watching.

"What do you mean you don't have a job anymore? Kara, what the hell happened? What did you do to get fired?" The questions were firing out of me at rapid pace. I barely finished one as my brain was screaming at me to ask another.

She slowly took another sip. She sat there for a few seconds, like she hadn't heard me. Then she put her glass down and finally turned to look at me.

"I didn't get fired Tom. I quit."

Once again, the words didn't find a home in my brain immediately. They meandered between my ears for a few seconds.

"You quit?" I asked, but it was more than me repeating what she told me. I left it open ended, giving her room to explain what the fuck she meant by she simply threw away our resource for paying bills.

"I had to Tom. You don't know what it was like working there."

"Okay. So, what could have happened to make you quit after only six months?" I honestly didn't mean for the question to come out as an interrogation, but it did. My tone of voice was accusatory. I guess that I failed to mask the irritation that I felt at the knowledge of her throwing her job away. Her eyes met mine and narrowed.

"For your information, Tom, I was harassed by my boss. On that note, I find it funny that your first assumption is that I got fired."

The wind was immediately knocked out of my sails.

"Oh my God Kara! Your boss was harassing you? What did he do to you? Did he touch you? Did he hurt you?" The questions were coming out like they were fired from a Gatling Gun. I rushed over to her and wrapped my arms around her.

"We can fight this Kara. What did the bastard do to you?"

I saw her hesitate. It wasn't a hesitation like she was gearing up to tell me an awful story that was difficult to relive. It was like she was gearing up to tell me something that I wasn't going to like hearing.

"Well, he said some really demeaning things to me." I noticed that her voice didn't have much conviction in it.

"Okay...what did he say?"

Hesitation.

"He said that I have a really nice body and that I didn't need to diet."

Well that's a start. I sat there waiting for her to continue. But she didn't.

"Is that all? He said that you have a nice body? And you quit because of that?"

It was then that I saw fire in her eyes. She looked straight at me and narrowed her eyes.

"What do you mean is that all? He made an inappropriate remark about my body!" She was beginning to raise her voice, like she was angry. However, my anger was almost matching hers.

"So you quit because he made one inappropriate remark? We both know that this wouldn't be the first time that anyone has made an inappropriate remark about your body!"

By now she was standing in front of me. It was almost like she was challenging me, daring me to fight with her.

"A man makes a remark about your wife's body, and the first thing you do is get angry with her? Of course you do! You're a man! I just wish you would start acting like one!"

If she thought she was the only one who was ready for a fight, she had another thing coming. She wasn't the only one who had anger to misplace.

"Well, Kara, how about next time your boss makes an inappropriate remark, you go to HUMAN RESOURCES! You file a complaint! That's what real people do. There are several steps that you take before you quit! For a smart woman, sometimes you can be fucking dumb."

As soon as the last sentence left my mouth, I wished I could reel it back in and lock it away. There are three things that you never, and I mean never, call a woman. Fat, crazy, and stupid (or dumb). Doing so does nothing but amplify a bad situation.

Her pained expression almost made me apologize. I would have had it not disappeared so quickly. Her face turned into an ugly sneer.

"How dumb am I Tom? Apparently, I was smart enough to get a job in the first place. How long have you been looking now?"

I felt that little zinger. It was like a jab to the eye. She knew it too. Her self-assured smirk let me know that she was pleased with her comeback.

"What good is that job doing us now Kara? At least I know that once I have a job, I don't THROW IT AWAY!"

"WELL, MAYBE IF MY HUSBAND WAS ABLE TO TAKE CARE OF HIS FAMILY I WOULDN'T HAVE TO BE OUT THERE IN THE FIRST PLACE!"

That one hit bullseye. You know what it's like when someone makes a direct comment that vocalizes your biggest shame. It is like a physical pain that hits you in the stomach and immediately sets tear ducts off. Before I realized it, one slipped down my cheek.

That one tear made me angrier than I'd been in a while. So I retaliated. Hard.

"You know what JAZMIN? I don't need job hunting advice from a stripper. Maybe you should just stick to lap dances."

The hurt that came across her face was none like I'd seen before. That one cut, and it cut deep. Before I knew it, we were in an all-out brawl of words that lasted about an hour. Each statement out of our mouths had one purpose: to cut the other person deeper than they cut us. We went back and forth, each sharp insult getting more personal and more brutal. Finally, when the both of us were just too tired to continue, she stormed out of the kitchen and into our bedroom. The slamming of the door was like an exclamation point signaling a very expressive end to this argument.

******************************

KARA: EARLIER THAT DAY

I sat at the table in the crowded restaurant and picked my fork across my Caesar salad. The monotonous hum drum of my pompous boss' annoying voice rang in my ears as his latest sexist joke evoked fake laughter from every ass kissing sycophant in our group. Spineless assholes.

What is it about men with authority that makes them think that everything that comes out of their mouth belongs in the Book of Proverbs? They love the sound of their own voice. They just assume that everyone else loves it too. The laughing flunkies that surround them hoping to suck from the tit of success don't do much to dispel that theory.

"Kara...KARA!"

Hearing my name snapped me out of my reverie. I looked up from my uneaten salad to see the men from my office looking at me.

"I'm sorry, did you guys say something to me?"

My boss looked at me inquisitively. Chuckles emanated from the peanut gallery as I sat there fighting embarrassment.

"No. I was just wondering where you were. You weren't here having lunch with us. You barely touched your...food. If you can call salad food."

"Sorry Mr. Worthy. I guess I'm not really hungry."

"Well, I can assure you that you look fine."

The chuckles started again from the spineless morons. I was lost as to what was so funny. It must have shown on my face, because he was kind enough to clear the cobwebs for me.

"You have an amazing body Kara. Nice hips, slim waist. Awesome legs. Trust me, you don't have to diet. I think you're sexy the way you are."

All I could do was look at him incredulously. It was like he just said whatever came into his pea brain without any fear of negative consequences or repercussions. He must have taken my silence for an invitation to continue.

"Besides, I seriously doubt that that salad has enough calories in it to make you gain any weight. You eat like an anorexic rabbit."

With that the laughter erupted into a roar. The smug asshole and his merry band of ass kissers shared a pretty hefty laugh at my expense. My face felt like it was on fire, so I can imagine the shades of red I was turning.

Embarrassment began to ebb though. It slowly turned into a simmering anger. The anger grew hotter and hotter until it was at a full boil. Suddenly the hue of my face was the least of my worries.

My husband tells me all of the time that I have to learn self-control. When my anger extends past the point of no return, I lose that "filter". You know, one that prevents us from saying and doing impulsive things. Those things feel good in the moment, but that usually lasts for about two seconds. After that moment is gone, reality and consequences kick in.

Whether it be a defensive mechanism, or just latent anger from my time as Jazmin, I get enraged when I feel disrespected by men. I tend to lash out and do those things that my filter would prevent me from doing.

Unfortunately, I was at that point. I did not put Jazmin behind me to still be forced to deal with leering assholes who only see me as a breathing sex doll. Damn the torpedoes. Full speed ahead.

"For your information, I'm not on a diet. I'm a vegetarian. Maybe you should try eating like a...what did you say? Ah yes, like an 'anorexic rabbit'. You might be able to get rid of that belly that is sitting on your lap right now! Furthermore, my body is "amazing" because I actually get up off of my ass and run more than my mouth!"