My resume is poppin’ right now. I won’t address my ongoing internship at this time, as I’m trying not to think about the abysmal amount of money in my bank account. Which I blame on my current salary and not me lack of spending self control. To give an example of my personal poverty level, last week after we signed our lease, my bank account had somewhere between 5 and 50 dollars (spoiler – it was $5.33).
>> High Level – I’ve learned a lot (such as phrases like “high level”), I love my department, and I am trying to be patient for a perm position.
My (second job? hobby?) right now is dog walking. I’ve been sitting for a little dog named Vito for 5 days now, and am writing this post from a stranger’s bed in Roger’s Park. I’ve been using an app called Rover to find gigs, and was lucky to stumble upon this one! One week with Vito, 3 walks a day, and I get some cuddles in.
CONS of this line of work:
- Somehow I forgot about the main event of dog walking. Which is the poop removal. I gag every time, which confirms my fears that I can never have children.
- This dog is a freak. He burrows into my hair, grabs my hand when I don’t pay attention to him, and bites me every time I attach the leash. He’s 20 times more needy than me. At least I can say I don’t bite.
- It’s actually such a time commitment. I have to wake up early enough to walk this monster, come straight home after work, and get up after 8 PM (the time of night when I generally glue myself to my bed) to walk him around the park in my pjs.
So Vito is going well. Although I just realized the $30 a day I’m getting is actually $24 because this app forces me to pay taxes. UGh.
Then, I got a message yesterday from a guy in Evanston asking if I could take his dog out 4 times this weekend. It was a semi sketchy thing, as I can’t imagine booking a dog sitter I’ve never met, a day before I go out of town. On top of that, I feel SO bad for this dog. Vito is getting so much love and affection from me and this pup is getting 4 visits over 3 days. I’d be more willing to hang out with this new dog (Penny) if she didn’t scratch the shit out of me when I walked in the door.
Which leads me to the actual booking – I made this man call me (to confirm he was a real, normal person) and we booked the job. As I approached the apartment, my handy paranoia kicked in. What if this guy was like, in the apartment. What if this was some sort of trap. What if I was definitely going to die, all because I don’t have the monetary freedom to turn down $70. So naturally, I called my mother, who while 6 hours away still provides some sort of comfort over the phone. At least she’d know why I died if my intuition was correct (for the record – my intuition is NEVER correct – I trust the wrong people and distrust the right ones, there must be a flip switched in my brain or something). By the time I got to the door I was literally terrified – there is no way anyone is as paranoid as me.
Long story short I hate Penny but at least she didn’t murder me. So could’ve been worse. She still pulled my arm out its socket multiple times, I enjoyed those moments so much.
Another fun tidbit to include with this post: at a Drake alumni networking event yesterday, our former student body present nearly died laughing when I told him my pre – tax salary. I wasn’t even mad, it actually is hilarious that I am surviving in this city on pennies. But I also kind of wanted to hit him. There’s still time for that I think.