Standing In The Crowd

Bakersfield seemed to grow on me. I had honestly expected to hate it because I had never lived anywhere outside the bay area in my life, but I was fascinated that as far as everyone in Bakersfield was concerned, I didn’t have a past. It was amazing.

Best of all, I could walk around town and not have to worry about running into Mike. I felt freer than I ever had before. I looked down at a sleeping Torrie (with Shelby dutifully beside her, guarding her) and smiled.

“I can’t believe you’re really my daughter,” I told her, stroking her cheek gently before hearing a knock at the door. I jumped and walked over to the door quickly, sure it was Edna. After peeking through the hole in the door my suspicions were confirmed and I opened the door for her.

“Good morning, Charlie,” she said, giving me a hug.

“Morning Edna, thanks again for offering to babysit Torrie. I really just need some time to find a job, then I can pay a babysitter or daycare or something,” I promised, but Edna just waved her hand as I let her in.

“I love babies, there’s no way I could turn down a chance to take care of an angel for the day,” she beamed walking over to Torrie’s crib (not that I really had any other options for babysitters at that point).

“Well, thanks all the same. She should be asleep for another couple hours, and then she’ll be hungry. There’re some bottles in the fridge for her,” I told her, but wondered if she’d even heard me as she was so enthralled with Torrie.

I went back to my room and grabbed my jacket, copies of my pathetically brief resume, and a shoulder bag with pens and paper in it. I was officially ready to begin my job hunt.

“See you later deary, and good luck!” Edna told me as she sat down on the couch and turned on the television.

I smiled back then started walking towards the shopping center I’d spotted in the cab when we’d moved in just a few days ago. It was only about a ten minute walk from the house, which was a welcome surprise. However, the shopping center itself was far from impressive. There was no major store, just a bunch of mom-n-pop shops with names in Spanish.

“What the hell? I’ve got nothing to lose,” I shrugged, deciding to start with “Casa Orozco,” a respectable looking restaurant.

After I’d gone through every single store in the shopping center (well except for the strip club) I’d only been able to give away one resume to the clothing store (which I saw being tossed in the garbage as soon as I was out the door) because I didn’t know any Spanish. I decided to move on down the street.

After fifteen minutes of walking I found a bar called “The Bumper” which was decked out in auto décor complete with license plates from all fifty states creating a map of the United States on one wall while another wall was plastered with bumper stickers (and there was still room for adding more to the collection).

They were open for lunch so I marched in and was greeted by a man who looked to be in his mid 20s in khaki pants and a “Clash” t-shirt. I thought I’d finally found a place to work at.

“Just one today?” he asked me, grabbing a menu.

“Well, actually I was hoping to speak to somebody about a job possibility,” I told him, smiling.

“I see. Well, I’m actually the manager, Chris, and as you can see our lunch crowd’s pretty much gone so let’s go to my office in the back and you can tell me a little about yourself,” he suggested, motioning to one of the waitresses to come and take over being hostess.

I nodded, stunned. I hadn’t hoped it would go this well so quickly.

Chris led me through the tiny kitchen, past the restroom, and into a quaint little office. It had a quiet comfort about it. There was a solid wood desk occupying much of the room and monster truck themed posters lined the walls. Chris pulled out a chair that’d been clearly snatched from the main dining room out front and motioned for me to sit down as he sat in the much more padded chair behind the desk.

“So, tell me about yourself,” he said, leaning back into his chair while remaining focused on me.

“Well, my name is Charlotte McClaire, but please just call me Charlie. I moved to the area earlier this week and am renting a house down the street. I have worked in diner for the past six months as a waitress and can give you my references if you want them,” I explained, handing Chris a resume.

He looked over it carefully, seeming to really consider it before looking back at me.

“Now, honestly, how old are you?” he asked and I turned bright red. I had purposefully left that information off my resume.

“I am sixteen, sir,” I told him truthfully.

“And what made you decide to move all the way from Northern California to Bakersfield?” he asked, not responding to my age.

“I have a daughter and we needed a fresh start. There was just too much drama up there,” I summarized.

“How old is she?”

“Little over four months old,” I beamed. I couldn’t help it, she was my little girl.

“What kind of drama are we talking exactly? Could it affect your work down here?” he asked.

“To be brief, my parents disowned me when I got pregnant, I broke up with my boyfriend at the time without telling him I got pregnant and had trouble avoiding him after, and my living situation up there wasn’t stable. But no, I do not see how it would affect me working down here,” I said in one breath. It was weird to admit everything that had happened over the last year.

“I see. Well, unfortunately the fact remains you’re only sixteen, but I can offer you a position as a dishwasher until you’re eighteen. Then we can talk about a new position,” he told me.

“Sound perfectly fine to me,” I beamed, “Thank you so much.”

“No problem. We really do need a dishwasher, but here’s some paperwork I need filled out then come on back and we’ll get you all situated,” he promised handing me a packet.

I stood up and walked out of the office, still in awe. I had found a job, by some miracle I had found a job!