Crazy Job Blast from the Past

I think I have a problem with accepting jobs I know will be crazy/weird/awful/scary/funny ten years from now to talk about...while going through some old stories I had written, I found this little gem. During college I worked as a personal assistant for a manic-depressive middle-aged woman named Robin. Actually, I don't know if she was mentally ill. For all I know she could have just been wealthy, coddled, old, and single for too long. Either way...she was insane. Please enjoy below.



"Grey Gardens on Robin Hood Trail"


I am mentally drained, but I feel I should write down every detail of my day before I forget it all. It was, without a doubt, the most bizarre day of my life. Yes, I’ve had a boring life…but that should not downplay the significance of today. Brandon (my ex-boyfriend) gave me his password for a site called “hire a longhorn” job bank. It’s basically a posting of full and part-time jobs for students. I was drawn to one ad that said this:


Personal Helper / Handyperson
Single woman needs help around the house. The house is located near the Hula Hut, just off of Enfield. Help is needed with odd jobs in one or all of these areas: packing boxes, light housekeeping, running errands around town, pick up and delivery of items, and yardwork. You decide how much work you can take on. Qualifications:
Must have own reliable transportation, be reliable, mature, responsible, self-sufficient, and resourceful. Be willing to take on any task and work independently with minimal supervision.

I liked it because a.) It was off Enfield and close to me. And b.) it paid ten dollars an hour. C.) I could make my own hours.

What could go wrong? A lot, apparently…I called Robin at 11:30am Saturday morning. I thought perhaps I’d go in for an interview sometime this week and would need to make an elegant resume on Microsoft Word. Robin….the name sounds like someone small, chipper, with a sing-song voice. A perky little personality with a lot pizzazz. The Robin I spoke to was more….Whatever Happened to Baby Jane with a dash of Mommie Dearest. Robin answers my call using speakerphone. I will later learn it is the only way she talks on the phone—loud, shrill, and frightening.

She says, “Do you have a car?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Is there gas in it? Or do you need to fill up?”
“Umm…there’s some gas in it.”
“Not that this means anything, but the football field at UT is named after my uncle. He gave a lot of money to this school. And my Daddy was on the Education Council.”
“Wow, that’s…really neat.”
“Okay, great. I just need to you to go to the Time Warner offices and pick up my converter box. Call me when you’re done with that. Okay? Thanks, dahlin’.”
So—I guess I’m hired? For the time being, at least. I Google directions to the office and set out. Full of trepidation, I think of every worst-case scenario that could possibly apply under these specific circumstances. The most mild involves me losing a lot of time and a lot of money. I mean, gas IS getting higher every day. It ain’t cheap to run errands all over town. But we'll see....