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On The Job Hunt
Pounding the pavenments of Astoria, Queens Day One
Or
Welcome to America!
Or
No Money, No Honey!
It was a Sunday the 1st of June when four very tired Irish girls, me, Denise, Caitríona and Nettie, gathered in Dublin airport to start the summer of a lifetime. I won't bore everyone with the details of the flight as nothing interesting really happened (although one air-hostess did call me 'Sir'...) and we arrived in New York without much panic.
Everything that has happened since we stepped off the plane have been absolutely amazing. Caitríona's uncle, Dave, collected us from the airport, a man of unfailing energy and helpfulness. He welcomed us to America, then took all our luggage, piled it onto one of those trolley yokes (remember, this is 4 girls worth of trans-Atlantic luggage - A LOT) powered out of JFK airport like a carthorse, uphill most of the way, and loaded all our stuff into his gigantic van. (You could've held an Arcade Fire concert in there.)
On our way from the airport Dave got an urgent phone call from his wife, Angela, who wanted him
Apartment photos
Our lovely apartment! to come to his construction site right away. We immediately took a detour to get to the site as quickly as possible.
When we arrived we met Angela for the first time who was waiting for us. But waiting with her, and the whole reason we were there, was a tiny Ukrainian woman, about the size and colour of a roasted peanut. She had false teeth that seemed like they wanted to escape her mouth and two eyes that wanted to see in different directions, so they did. She was carrying a big plastic, orange, pumpkin-shaped Halloween bucket with a dollar and a piece of string in it.
The old woman was lost and had aimlessly wandered onto the construction site. Angela had spent a few unsuccessful minutes trying to find out where this woman lived, but luckily she had her address and her house keys attached round her neck. This woman had rambled quite a bit away from home, so Angela was hoping that Dave would drive her back safely. As Dave began lifting the little woman into the van, it became clear that she was utterly and completely insane.
Although she was
Apartment photos
Nettie in the apartment entirely unresponsive to our friendly questions such as “What’s your name?” and “Do you have any family?” she kept up her own spirited flow of conversation, despite English not being her first language. (Or even third as it turned out…)
One of her first observations was, “Ah, beautiful girls! Beautiful girls…for sale?” Dave laughed, and replied “No, not for sale!” At this she seemed to sigh, and then at the top of her tiny little lungs she cried, “No money, no honey!!” I could’ve sworn it echoed around the back of that van. But despite her antiquity and obvious lunacy, this is one clued-in lady I thought.
Then somebody, probably in an effort to steer the conversation away from prostitution, asked her if she had any children. She sidestepped this question altogether but then began regaling us of this woman she knew who used to beat her children when they were young. “Then her boy grow up and he say ‘Now my turn to beat you!’”
Although this story thoroughly amused her, I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. After a few valiant attempts from Dave and an effort to speak German on her part, we finally found where she lived. Dave lifted her out of the van ("Wheee!" she screamed) and then took us back to their house where he let us ring home and then fed us these enormous hero sandwiches. I swear everything about this country really is bigger and better. From the airports, and the cars, and the highways, to the sandwiches.
He also gave us some job hunting advice that was a little harder to swallow. Apparently if we wanted to make any money in this town we have to be prepared to 'hustle.' I had a feeling it was nothing to do with dancing. "You gotta hustle girls, you gotta hustle," was a line we heard a lot of that day.
After Dave's home truths, he drove us back to our place. Our jaws dropped when we saw what was to be our accommodation for the next 3 months. When we heard the words "basement apartment" in New York, we all presumed dark, dingy possibly smelly little hole with maybe, just maybe 2 beds and if we're lucky a clean bathroom!
Not this place, no siree. Three beds, wide screen TV, leather sofa, beautifully co-ordinated green curtains and furniture, fully fitted out kitchen with everything we'd ever need in there. Our landlady, Fidelma from Offaly, even gave us a stack of towels, bed-linen, soap, shower gel and plasters. AND she stocked up the kitchen with fruit, milk, yoghurt, tea, coffee, sugar and a full case each of bottled water and Pepsi. How amazing is that?! Then Fidelma gave us our keys and told us that if we ever wanted anything at all just give her a shout upstairs, she's more than willing to help us out. Then she left us to our own devices.
After we'd calmed down a bit and stopped shrieking, Caitríona's aunt Angela called over to us on her way home from work. She brought over chocolate, a strawberry and rhubarb pie and fresh corn (of all things.) Every time I see that woman she's giving us something. On Wednesday it was a foot-spa. Last night it was frozen chicken breasts. I think I'm going to drop the 'a' and start calling her Angel from now
on.
At the end of our first day in the Land of Opportunity, we laid our heads down filled with excitment about the rest of our summers and ready to begin a full day of hustling...
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