Update 1:20 AM
Oh thank Jesus, Manager Frau Farbissina is letting me go home early. I found another video of Frau:
I was speaking with a Japanese girl, a student at FIT, about my money woes. We compared rents. I said that I was vexed–sorely sorely vexed.
“Don’t worry about it. You can make that here. Easy! I live in (ritzier neighborhood than Miss Margo’s) without a roommate.”
Tomorrow, I am going to get up early and play with Parrot for an hour. I will stop at the bodega and buy almonds for her and feed her till she is stuffed. Lots of HEAD SCRATCHES for Parrot!
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Update 11:30 PM
The Russian manager is so ferocious and intimidating on the phone that I am astonished anyone makes it past her. One guy called to say that he couldn’t find the buzzer to ring in (there is, in fact, no buzzer). Manager shouted “THERE IS NO BUZZER! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” In the lounge, I quailed.
I have decided that she is actually the Russian version of Frau Farbissina of Austin Powers fame:
I have to fly back home next week. I don’t have much time to make money. January is just around the corner.
If I don’t make enough to appease the Landlord by Monday, I’m going to have to ask the Surgeon. I hate that; I’ve never asked him for money before and I don’t want to. But I can’t get evicted. I just can’t.
My little parrot is lonely and neglected. My laundry is neglected. Dishes. MISS MARGO is lonely and neglected. I can’t believe I ate a dish of potstickers. I can’t buy presents for Christmas. I’ll have to give my mother a piece of my jewelry. I don’t even have a fucking Christmas tree.
I’m thirsty again, which is sick, so sick. And I have three more hours to work, at least.
I am sad for Parrot. I would bring her in to hang out with me here tomorrow, but she is such a shy and timid parrot, I do not think that she would do well. I miss Parrot badly all of a sudden. I wish she was here. I could use a hug.
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Update 2:44 PM: SUCCESS! I had a booking with someone. He was pretty cool, too–not even a Wackadoodle, really. I am way more of a Wackadoodle than he is. He told me stories about flying fighter airplanes for the military. At first, I was skeptical–I mean, really, what are the odds?–but his shop talk was so erudite, and he answered my inquiries so well, that I decided he was the real deal.
He did not want to be oppressed. “My CO tortures me enough!” he said.
I was curious about whether he’d been in the wars, but I didn’t ask because I didn’t know if it was appropriate.
YAY $$$ Now I need more! LOTS MORE come on wackadoodles–momma needs a new pair of shoes (or the rent)
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Update 1:20 AM