"Hey, girl..."

I'd hate to see my partner's phone bill. PPL makes at least twenty calls per day, each one starting with one of these phrases:

• "Hey, girl..."
• "Hey, bitch!"
• "Hey, baby."
• "Hey, Holly-Bolly!" (That's her greeting for our supervisor.)

On Fridays we arrive at the weekend's Petco venue at 11am and on Saturdays and Sundays, 9am. Usually, by the time I arrive punctually (and PPL arrives late), I have received three to five phone calls from her with various questions:

• "What's the address of the Petco?"
• "I just plugged the address into my GPS and it's not coming up. What should I do?"
• "Do you know if there's a Sun National Bank near the Petco? How about a TD Bank?"
• "Can you call me back once your paycheck is direct deposited into your account?"
• "I think I'm on the wrong road...there's a lot of construction around here and I think I've been on it too long. Where is the Petco again?"
• "Do you think there's a Taco Bell near by?"

On a happier note, my favorite thing about this job is Petco's consistently close proximity to Chipotle chains. I spend my weekends packing on pounds with delicious soft shell barbacoa tacos, and the rest of the week working it off at the diner by running away from dirty old men's lecherous looks.

"I hate pretty girls. How much longer do you guys have to stay?"

This weekend's Picture People gig brought me to a dying Petco on a busy commercial highway in Montgomeryville, Pennsylvania. Last week, the staff at the dying Petco in Willow Grove assured us that customers were plentiful, nicer, and looser with their money in Montgomeryville--you know that old saying, "the fur is always softer in the other Petco." This pet store was anything but prosperous, so needless to say, my days there weren't fruitful.
Friday:
No one showed much interest in pet portraits (surprise!) and we had one photography session all day. It involved 3 huge dogs--I snagged the customer, I took the pictures, I made the sale...did I mention I have a partner? 
At the end of the night, while we were packing up, the manager's 18-weeks-pregnant daughter came over with a coworker from her job next door for a smoking break (I know). Her coworker, Abe--he was dressed like Abraham Lincoln--asked for my name and said I looked familiar, so I told him that I get that all the time (which is absolutely true). He asked what our purpose was there and what the photo packages were, talked about all his many animals, said it was nice to meet us, and left to go smoke some more with the pregnant girl. The door had barely closed behind Abe when the manager, Beth, ran up to me and this is what followed:

Beth (gruff voice, abrasive tone)- "Yeah, so he's interested."
Me (fully aware of what was meant but completely opposed to admitting it)- "Oh! He wants a portrait?"
Beth- "No. He's interested in you. Ugh, God, does this happen everywhere you go? I hate pretty girls; you make me look bad. So, what's your deal? Are you seeing someone? Care to mess around on the side if you are?"
Me (knowing full well I have two more days to spend here and trying to diffuse the situation)- "Oh, how nice of him...!"
Beth- "He's super tall and works next door with my daughter!"
Me (wondering why she's telling me things I just saw with my own eyes...)- "Where do they work?"
Beth- "Oh my god, are those your real eyelashes? Ugh, when are you guys leaving? I hate pretty girls. They work at 6th Avenue Electronics. You could get a free television out of this...oh, and he drives a Mini Cooper."
Me (packing up my photography equipment at record speed)- "If I ever move out here to Montgomeryville, it's nice to know I have someone."

"Chin down, tilt your head, shoulders back, hands together, feet back...smile!"

I'm embarking on a new and exciting chapter of my life, while still pathetically clinging to the old and boring parts. Weeks ago, the gods smiled upon me in the form of a Craigslist job advertisement for a "mobile photographer;" I applied, I interviewed, I conquered. As it turned out, the job was for a fledgling unit of the photography company, the Picture People, whose sole purpose was taking animal portraits at Petcos all over the country. The company placed me (along with several new-hires from the northeast) in a nice hotel in Glen Burnie, Maryland--a suburb of Baltimore, full of bowling alleys and liquor stores with entertaining names like "Liquor Fair." For three days, a very learned and likable trainer, TJ, threw out oodles of details, procedures, and simulations. This mobile photography unit is a new venture for the Picture People so it's still rather unorganized and chaotic. The constant flow of new information made me feel lightheaded and tired, and, to top it all off, I had to spend over eight hours a day--usually cooped up in a hotel conference room--with twenty other trainees who were all chain smokers. Don't let my complaining fool you though, I had a great time. I had a king-size bed, a plasma tv, and premium movie channels all to myself (yes, my hotel room was ballin'!), there was a Qdoba just down the street, I got full pay for all these hours of torturous education, and I got along super swimmingly with TJ, my supervisor, and my teammate (though eight hours a day with these cigarette addicts was more than enough). Out of everyone I know, I never ever imagined that I would be the one to go on a full-fledged business trip.

Upon returning home I was greeted with the first Facebook friend request I've had in, what seems like, ages (I actually never saw said friend request, as my BFF/personal assistant logged on my account and accepted it while I was at a bar living up my diner-free Saturday night by playing the role of designated driver). This new Facebook friend was someone I had never heard of, but he included a little greeting stating that he knew TJ, TJ said I was cool, and TJ said we should talk. After his request was accepted, he wrote the same thing on my wall for all the Facebook world to see (gasp!). I have a few questions about this: 

• WAS THIS AN ATTEMPT AT A SET-UP?!
• Is it just me, or was this completely unprofessional on TJ's part?
• Did I seem desperately single while training in Maryland?
• Have I reached that accepted age where I'm supposed to always be paired with someone?
  
• Was my comment about being "doomed to end up a crazy cat lady" mistaken as a cry for help?

My teammate, PPL, is young, nice, and fun with a definite wild side, and on the job we balance each other well. That being said, I think she's a recovering drug addict. I'll tell you why:

• she went to art school,
• she graduated from college, yet takes classes of some sort on certain mornings,
• she attends meetings certain evenings,
• from what she's told me, these meetings appear to have attendants with questionable moral fiber,
• she has to take drug tests occasionally,
• and, last but not least, she asked me how much money I would require for my urine.

This past weekend was the first Petco gig of the quarter (like my business vocabulary?!), and it was quite an experience. The days were long and mostly boring: I stand by the door, tell people we're there taking pet portraits, people either get excited or weirded out, and we go from there. I don't have much conclusive evidence yet, but I'm fairly certain PPL scares away a majority of our customers with her strange, robotic, fragmented sales approach: "Wanna bring your pet back? For a portrait? We're here til 6?". Our set was situated right next to the cat adoption display, so basically everyone that approached it was guaranteed to be a weirder cat person than the last. With a serious, almost tearful look, a woman referred to one cat as "magical." A couple who I sold a bunch of photographs to was written up for beating their dog in the parking lot. Many people walked into the store thinking they had walked into a different store--one such man asked me for glue. I saw a mom strolling leisurely outside the store with her son who was dress head to toe as the Grim Reaper. My territory manager wanted us to get thirty photo sessions Friday through Sunday; we had a total of seven. Ah, the world of retail with it's excessively lofty goals.