Azure Jane Lunatic (Azz) 🌺 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
azurelunatic) wrote2010-09-29 11:23 pm
azurelunatic) wrote2010-09-29 11:23 pm
Entry tags:
(old stuff) Sept 9th: pickpocketed, job interview
Thursday the 9th: job interview. I dressed up in interview clothes, interview shoes, limited the things I carried with me to my pocket stuff, my phone, my tiny-purse, water bottle, Nice Folder, and cane, and set out. I was to meet JD for lunch between our interviews.
I was emerging from the Montgomery BART station, having just checked in to Foursquare. I walked down the tunnel to the escalator, having passed up the elevator, looking at the aquarium advertisement lining the tunnel in blue and fish, looking to see if there were any same-sex couples among the silhouettes, vaguely aware of a scruffy little man walking generally behind me.
I got onto the escalator. He got onto the escalator behind me. I stood with my back to the right side, so he could pass on the left if he wanted to. I was looking up, looking forward to the rest of my day.
There was a random guy hanging out near the top of the escalator, draped over the little wall that keeps people from falling down into it. He commenced hollering. As the escalator bore me up to the top, I could hear that he was yelling "That guy just took your phone! That guy just took your phone!"
I stuck my hand in my pocket. Granola bar. No phone. FUCK.
That guy called back that he had done no such thing, that "She dropped it on the stairs! It's down there!" Even though I'd been nowhere near the stairs, I thought that somehow he might be acting in good faith. My knees yelled at me as I descended the stairs.
"It's right there! See?" the guy said. Right there it was not. I looked after his disappearing figure, furious that I'd believed him, furious that I was not physically able to run after him and beat him with my cane like a piñata until my phone fell out. (Though that would have been something different to explain to the phone company: yes, my phone was snatched -- I have the phone, but it's damaged; I'll need a replacement. How? Oh, I was walloping the guy, the phone fell, and the screen's cracked now.)
I went back up the escalator to see if the guy who had witnessed my pocket being picked was still there (no), or if the guy was visible emerging out of the building (no). I looked at the stairs, realized that there was no way in the name of fuckery that I was going to be able to get down them again, realized that I wouldn't be able to call JD to tell him I was going to be late to lunch, realized that I wouldn't be able to get a map if I got lost, or call anyone for help; I didn't even know JD's number to call from a pay phone. I stomped across the street to the elevator back down into the station and promptly freaked out at the lady in the booth.
I chilled behind the booth waiting for the BART police to show up, and gave my report. I was aware of being late for lunch with JD, and also aware that, omg, I didn't even have his number so I could call him from a payphone. Chilling. I was starting to lose the adrenaline rush and not quite feel so much like beating people, and starting to see the humor in it. I apologized to the lady for flipping out. (Even though I didn't actually yell at her or anything, it does not improve someone's day to have someone who is clearly on the edge of losing it entirely reporting something to you in tones just short of hysteria.) It didn't hurt that everything in the phone was backed up in the cloud, so I wouldn't have any data loss, and the phone was insured.
BART police arrived, and I gave my report. They got customer service for the phone on the line for me, so I could get it shut off so the guy wouldn't do anything horrible with my account.
Then I came back up out of the station, and immediately ran into a spiffed-up JD. We had pizza and we compared notes -- me on the pickpocketing, him on his interview. He escorted me in the general direction of the building, then we went our separate ways.
I was a touch early, and the interview before me was running a touch late. I was definitely seeing the general surreal side of it all by then. The interview went ... well enough, I suppose. I was amazed by the general goodwill between the customer service agent who spoke with me and their customers. Having learned that it is possible to have a good relationship between the whole team and the customers, I never want to work in a hostile customer service position again. The only place I'd experienced that kind of general goodwill has been DW, and, you know, unicorns farting rainbows and all that, but there hasn't been enough time to get a proper buildup of hostilities. Maybe it will change in the future, but I hope it doesn't.
I stopped in at the station further down, on my way back, in case the police had some further questions to ask me. They didn't really, but the other nice young man was very nice and seemed to feel that I might need some police counseling for the trauma of having been pickpocketed, and was very sweet and reassuring. We wound up BSing about tech for a bit.
They had the new Clipper card (SF's new unified transit fare RFID card) sale machines there, so I got myself one of them and put a bit of money on it.
It was early yet, so by the time I got to 16 and Mission I had a little time to burn. My feet were killing me -- I'd worn the pretty slip-ons with the cross-straps, and while they are cute as anything, they also pinch my toes, and aren't good for any kind of serious walking. I figured that I'd chill in a taqueria or something, but then Esta Noche caught my eye. That was the gay bar that had been vandalized some months back, and I'd been meaning to go there at some point. Plus, there was a sign out saying that there was a special on strawberry daiquiris, with fresh strawberries. Glee! So in I went. It was nice and dark and quiet, with rainbow lights over the bar, and in case we'd missed that, the great big painting of the well-endowed naked guy on the opposite wall wasn't entirely subtle either.
I hung out there for about two hours, sipping the drink and scribbling away. I had a lot to say. Hooray for paper and pen. I wrote journal-type-stuff, and also a few hundred words of Circle of Fire stuff. The bartender served us all popcorn after a while.
I wandered off to Tif's around 6:20, and told her all about my day. We were chilling there, and only heard vague things about the San Bruno gas explosion. I got home pretty late, reassured the internet that I was alive, sent off a thank-you email to my interviewer, and filed a claim on my poor little phone.
I heard back from the company on Friday, and I didn't get the position. Alas.
I was emerging from the Montgomery BART station, having just checked in to Foursquare. I walked down the tunnel to the escalator, having passed up the elevator, looking at the aquarium advertisement lining the tunnel in blue and fish, looking to see if there were any same-sex couples among the silhouettes, vaguely aware of a scruffy little man walking generally behind me.
I got onto the escalator. He got onto the escalator behind me. I stood with my back to the right side, so he could pass on the left if he wanted to. I was looking up, looking forward to the rest of my day.
There was a random guy hanging out near the top of the escalator, draped over the little wall that keeps people from falling down into it. He commenced hollering. As the escalator bore me up to the top, I could hear that he was yelling "That guy just took your phone! That guy just took your phone!"
I stuck my hand in my pocket. Granola bar. No phone. FUCK.
That guy called back that he had done no such thing, that "She dropped it on the stairs! It's down there!" Even though I'd been nowhere near the stairs, I thought that somehow he might be acting in good faith. My knees yelled at me as I descended the stairs.
"It's right there! See?" the guy said. Right there it was not. I looked after his disappearing figure, furious that I'd believed him, furious that I was not physically able to run after him and beat him with my cane like a piñata until my phone fell out. (Though that would have been something different to explain to the phone company: yes, my phone was snatched -- I have the phone, but it's damaged; I'll need a replacement. How? Oh, I was walloping the guy, the phone fell, and the screen's cracked now.)
I went back up the escalator to see if the guy who had witnessed my pocket being picked was still there (no), or if the guy was visible emerging out of the building (no). I looked at the stairs, realized that there was no way in the name of fuckery that I was going to be able to get down them again, realized that I wouldn't be able to call JD to tell him I was going to be late to lunch, realized that I wouldn't be able to get a map if I got lost, or call anyone for help; I didn't even know JD's number to call from a pay phone. I stomped across the street to the elevator back down into the station and promptly freaked out at the lady in the booth.
I chilled behind the booth waiting for the BART police to show up, and gave my report. I was aware of being late for lunch with JD, and also aware that, omg, I didn't even have his number so I could call him from a payphone. Chilling. I was starting to lose the adrenaline rush and not quite feel so much like beating people, and starting to see the humor in it. I apologized to the lady for flipping out. (Even though I didn't actually yell at her or anything, it does not improve someone's day to have someone who is clearly on the edge of losing it entirely reporting something to you in tones just short of hysteria.) It didn't hurt that everything in the phone was backed up in the cloud, so I wouldn't have any data loss, and the phone was insured.
BART police arrived, and I gave my report. They got customer service for the phone on the line for me, so I could get it shut off so the guy wouldn't do anything horrible with my account.
Then I came back up out of the station, and immediately ran into a spiffed-up JD. We had pizza and we compared notes -- me on the pickpocketing, him on his interview. He escorted me in the general direction of the building, then we went our separate ways.
I was a touch early, and the interview before me was running a touch late. I was definitely seeing the general surreal side of it all by then. The interview went ... well enough, I suppose. I was amazed by the general goodwill between the customer service agent who spoke with me and their customers. Having learned that it is possible to have a good relationship between the whole team and the customers, I never want to work in a hostile customer service position again. The only place I'd experienced that kind of general goodwill has been DW, and, you know, unicorns farting rainbows and all that, but there hasn't been enough time to get a proper buildup of hostilities. Maybe it will change in the future, but I hope it doesn't.
I stopped in at the station further down, on my way back, in case the police had some further questions to ask me. They didn't really, but the other nice young man was very nice and seemed to feel that I might need some police counseling for the trauma of having been pickpocketed, and was very sweet and reassuring. We wound up BSing about tech for a bit.
They had the new Clipper card (SF's new unified transit fare RFID card) sale machines there, so I got myself one of them and put a bit of money on it.
It was early yet, so by the time I got to 16 and Mission I had a little time to burn. My feet were killing me -- I'd worn the pretty slip-ons with the cross-straps, and while they are cute as anything, they also pinch my toes, and aren't good for any kind of serious walking. I figured that I'd chill in a taqueria or something, but then Esta Noche caught my eye. That was the gay bar that had been vandalized some months back, and I'd been meaning to go there at some point. Plus, there was a sign out saying that there was a special on strawberry daiquiris, with fresh strawberries. Glee! So in I went. It was nice and dark and quiet, with rainbow lights over the bar, and in case we'd missed that, the great big painting of the well-endowed naked guy on the opposite wall wasn't entirely subtle either.
I hung out there for about two hours, sipping the drink and scribbling away. I had a lot to say. Hooray for paper and pen. I wrote journal-type-stuff, and also a few hundred words of Circle of Fire stuff. The bartender served us all popcorn after a while.
I wandered off to Tif's around 6:20, and told her all about my day. We were chilling there, and only heard vague things about the San Bruno gas explosion. I got home pretty late, reassured the internet that I was alive, sent off a thank-you email to my interviewer, and filed a claim on my poor little phone.
I heard back from the company on Friday, and I didn't get the position. Alas.
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