* * *
Just before Christmas isn’t the best time to try to find employment. Everyone has already been hired for the season, and no one wants to take on someone they would have to train during the busy festive season. Not surprisingly, my résumé isn’t remarkable, and my private investigator skills aren’t even going to help me work in a bar or restaurant.
“Have you ever worked in a bar before?” a manager at one of the establishments asks me.
“Well, no, but—”
“I’m sorry,” he says, cutting me off. “We need someone with experience.”
“I’m a fast learner.”
I mean, how hard could it be, right? It’s not like I’m a doctor looking for a new job. I can learn to serve drinks and food and wear a smile while doing it. I’m a hard and efficient worker; I just need someone to give me a chance. I didn’t finish college because the timing wasn’t right for me.
“Come back after the holidays” is all I get in response.
I decide to call up all the private investigator firms in my city, but none of them are hiring either. In the world of easily accessible technology, people are probably handling their own investigating, cutting out the middleman and leaving me jobless. I really hope Nadia will be okay and not have to shut down the firm. The thought saddens me, and I hope there’s a way she can stay open and get more clients in the upcoming weeks. Otherwise she might be here along with me, trying to get any job she can.
My phone rings, “All I Want for Christmas Is You” playing loudly. “Hello?”
“Hey, princess,” my dad says, and I can hear the smile in his tone. “I haven’t heard from you in a week. Is everything okay?”
I haven’t spoken to him since I got fired, because I don’t want to admit that I’m currently failing at life. Asking for help has never been my strong point—I prefer to suffer in silence and try to solve all problems on my own. I know I’m going to have to tell him, though; I’m just going to buy myself a little time.
“Everything is fine, Dad,” I assure him. “How are you?”
My dad lives about an hour away from my apartment, and we catch up for family dinner every week or so. Besides that, we usually text or chat every day or every other day. I love spending time with him, and I look forward to seeing him. Yes, I’m a daddy’s girl.
“I’m good, just busy with work. You know how it is,” he says.
Actually, right now I don’t.
My dad has always worked hard, and that’s where I got my own work ethic from. As soon as I was old enough to get a job, I did. I was never spoiled, and had to work for everything I had. For my first car, he told me he’d match whatever I saved, which taught me how to work for my money, but also allowed him contribute.
Dad now owns a construction business, along with my uncle Neville, who also owns and runs a farm. Dad mainly does the admin side of things, but he started off as a laborer, so he isn’t afraid of hard work.
“I’ve been thinking about you today, so I thought I’d give you a call.”
“When are you free this week?” I ask. Might as well face him, because avoiding him isn’t going to help the situation. I can’t lie to him, though, so I guess I’m just going to have to tell him what happened in person. Or maybe I should try to secure a new job first.
“Always free for you,” he says, voice gentle. “I was actually calling to invite you over on the weekend. I’m having a barbecue, and everyone will be there. Your uncle wants to see you too, so I hope you can make it.”
“Okay, message me the details and I’ll be there,” I reply. “I’m looking forward to it.”
We say our byes and I love yous and hang up. Sighing, I glance down at my handful of résumés and lift my chin. Surely there’s something for me out there. I’m too old to have no job security, and it annoys me that it has come to this. I should have gone back and finished my degree—then I’d have something to fall back on—but there’s no point with the what-ifs now. I just need to find something, anything, and if I don’t like it, I can always just stay in that job until I find something better.
“Who knows? In a few weeks I might have to come apply here,” I mutter to myself as we pass Toxic, a well-known strip club.
If I didn’t think my father would kill me, I might even consider it.
I spend the rest of the day handing out my résumé, smiling and trying to act as charming as can be.
Just hoping the next door to open for me will be a good one.
Don’t miss Custom Built by Chantal Fernando,
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Copyright © 2020 by Chantal Fernando
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