Borderline

unemployment & peanuts

"What type of work did you have in mind?" the employee asked Marinette. She took the silent opportunity to slide into the chair and nervously clear her throat. After doing so, she coated her chapped lips with wet saliva.

"Anything." Marinette said, playing with the dainty, single charmed necklace clasped around her slender neck. Pale, lanky fingers fiddled and tangled with the chain, exercising her nerves. Her shameful destressor was snagging her throat, sure to leave more markage against her neck.

"Usually, I have a little more to go off of here but, let me see what I can do," the woman grumbled, continuing her search. Marinette could tell that she was not a happy camper with the answer she was given, and had the inkling that this woman could not care any less.

The carpet at the the small unemployment office cubicle was dingy, and very well worn. Marinette wondered just how many people that scuffed across this carpet wound up with successful, life fulfilling employment. The staff member's long acrylic nails obnoxiously clacked on her black keyboard. It got to the point where the noise was too loud, all trains with cargo of thought was obliterated.

Marinette's last job left much to be desired. Verbal abuses commented by her boss, too much environmental drama from coworkers, and a severe lack of motivation drove her to quit. She longed to start anew and forget. That realization was the main benefactor in establishing an appointment with an unemployment agency. 

There just had to be something of value out there, Marinette knew it.

All Marinette wished for was a chance for salvation, a new slate to abstractly paint all over. She was done with pretending to like her old job. Done away with was the old Marinette; the new one was here to stay. Or, at least until she found another, more suitable job. 

No one would be able recognize her, or at least she desperately hoped and prayed.

The desk lady cleared her throat, catching Marinette's attention. Then, she languidly lowered her dark glasses to the middle of her pointed nose. "All I have at the moment is a job at the mental hospital, Sweetie." she plastically announced.

A wash of stiff inducing panic raced over Marinette, as her leg unconsciously twitched. "Oh! Well... I don't really know about that." she hesitantly said, her dark brows raised, harbored in surprise. All of her movements ceased, almost as if Marinette was frozen in time.

"I know you have little to no experience, but the patient they have in mind has two Class B personality disorders, and cannot really do too much permanent physical damage. He would not be of eminent danger to you, or the people surrounding. Tell you what, just go home, sleep on it, and come back tomorrow or give me a ring, Honey." the clerk responded. The lady aptly slipped Marinette her card. "Next!" she screeched.

Marinette hurriedly ran out of the office, her feet painfully slamming against the parking lot. She wondered just how clumsy she appeared to be in the eyes of bystanders. The warming sunshine did very little to assuage her fears and worries. There was no way on earth she was going to work with in a mental institution. Didn't you have to be licensed anyhow? She was not planning on going back to school, and was perfectly content in keeping her current degree. 

Marinette saw no positive in potentially working there. She had just recovered from a recent loss and had no energy to go back to such a depressing state of mind. She wasn't even sure if she truly ever left that mental capacity, or if she still remained.

Fumbling to find her keychain, Marinette finally slumped into her car. The radio played some popular pop song that she felt like she might know, but doesn't care to notice the lyrics, only the mood the melody places her into. The tune almost lulling her bewildered temperament and moving her to the point of sleepiness.

Resting her tired chin onto her palm, that had cramped from the subconscious grasping of the steering wheel, Marinette pulled up to the last stop sign before her apartment. She pulled her car into the single dwelling garage, changed the gear into park, and yanked the key out of the ignition. Taking a huge, riveting breath, catching the soothing scent of rosemary mint, she stepped out of the driver's seat of her car. The grey cement was stained with sporadic splotches of engine oil, and contrasted Marinette's white canvas shoes.

It took a few solid, slow blinks of her eyes before crossing the garage and entering her house.

Seeing as how Marinette moved in maybe a week ago, her place was still a disaster zone. She had never been one to care for messiness; Marinette was known for her consistent tidiness. For some reason or other, she found herself relishing the crazy, coexisting happily with unorganization, and all of its friends. It was what kept her sanity at times like this. This was, truly, a new stage in Marinette's life.

Glancing around the room, Marinette realized she could do with some tidying up. Reorganizing her thoughts, heart, and mind, she already mentally checked off of the stages of grief, next was her environmental factors. She was already on the way to fixing her work situation, and needed to revamp her current living arrangements.

Hanging picture frames, breaking down boxes, and moving furniture really did the trick. Now, all that was left was to perform a simple clean to remove dust that remain atop her decorations from storage.

Grabbing a jar of half empty chunky peanut butter and a plastic spoon, she sat down on her island in the kitchen. Her exposed legs swung from the edge of the counter, flinging around wildly. Nonsensical beeping racket emits from her pesky answering machine, which finally halts when Marinette deletes the message without checking who left it. Most likely, the culprit is an old colleague. She fiddled with her necklace, abrasively rubbing it against the skin of her throat.

Idly, Marinette relocated, sliding her back against the nearest wall. In complete disclosure, and upon further stewing, working at a mental institution did not sound all too bad, just like it required hefty work. Would pulling up her sleeves and releasing a little more elbow grease be such a terrible thing? While potentially dangerous, helping others was self fulfilling and justifying. 

Marinette could use a little bit of sunshine at the moment.

Taking a deep breath, she decided to reach up onto the neighboring counter to grab her cellphone, and dial the unemployment agency to formally accept the job. Amid the unpacked towers of cardboard boxes, she scratches the back of her head and spots a bent corner of paper sticking out of her unopened cabinet. Marinette rests her temple down on the frigid tile, tucking her knees in under herself, forever staring at that blank, yellow page.

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April 19, 2017