The wait is over!

I'm proud to announce my long national nightmare is over! I'm no a longer a leech living off the bank accounts of GF and my family. I'm gainfully employed!

I've been offered a job as a copywriter for a local eCommerce company here in Seattle. I don't want to give away too much information in such a public space, so I'll just pretend I'm reading off the company policy document again and refer to them as The Company.

I haven't actually started work yet. The Company and I have been going through the paperwork and such, but I start next week. Once I do start, it will mean the end of one of the most trying challenges in my life.

Since graduation day on May 5, 2012 I searched high and low for work. My search took me from "Seattle," to San Francisco, back to "Seattle," then to other parts of "Seattle" (The ironic part is my job is actually in Seattle proper), and everywhere in-between. I scoured the West Coast, from Ferndale to Bakersfield, looking for work.

At first my search was solely focused on what I studied - journalism. I was looking for some small town newspaper that needed a plucky young reporter or editor. As time wore on, it became clear I wasn't getting a job in that field. No one wanted to take a chance on someone so inexperienced, thereby denying my ability to gain any experience, in a field struggling in these modern times.

Truthfully, doubt had already crept into my mind during my senior season at WSU about my commitment to news media as a career, but I figured it was too late by then to turn back. The ensuing job search didn't help matters.

I tip my hat to my college colleagues who are succeeding as journalists at big city and small town newspapers alike. I'm not cut out for it. The next Woodward or Bernstein I am not.

My job search turned to other avenues. I was determined to still use my skills as a writer/editor in some capacity. I started looking for work as a copywriter, content editor, copy editor, or proofreader at various company's marketing/advertising departments. Everybody needs somebody to write or look over their written content.

Still I was met with defeat. Even attempts to find other jobs proved fruitless. I very nearly earned jobs as a dishwasher/busser with The Cheesecake Factory and as an after-school tutor with the Boys & Girls Club. I rejected the former when it became clear I wasn't going to get along my bosses and the latter, after selecting me as a finalist following three interviews, hired someone else.

On it went. Unable to even get a job as a burger flipper, dishwasher, or grocery clerk (One grocery store manager told me bluntly, "We probably aren't going to hire you. Any other questions?") my self-esteem plummeted considerably. I felt overwhelmed; sometimes depressed.

GF started worrying we wouldn't be able to live together anymore - the financial strain was too much for her at times. That prospect, more than anything else, is what kept me going; kept me from giving up.

If it wasn't for the love and support (And incessant nagging) of GF, my family, and some of my friends, I don't know how I would have gotten through it all.

But that's all over now!

It took two applications, two writing exercises, and two interviews, but The Company finally hired me as their new copywriter.

You know when you buy something online there's a few sentences and/or some bullet points describing the features of whatever product you're buying - that's what I'll be doing. I'm the guy describing what your money is getting you. The Company even allows for some wit and whimsy in their product descriptions, which is right up my alley.

I'm looking forward to being employed again, although I realize there are some things I won't be able to enjoy as much anymore. I'll have to stop watching Netflix and funny Internet videos all the time, probably cut back on my blogging, and I'll be seeing less of GF and my family (My new job comes with a lot of late nights). But it'll be worth it to be a productive member of society.

Although I will miss not being able to sing this as my theme song anymore.

In conclusion, I'd like to thank all of you who supported me through this tough time. It's been a rough couple of years, but you've stuck by me. And in case you haven't figured it out by now, I greatly appreciate people who stick by me through life's rough patches.

Thanks to all the readers of this blog! Even if I have to cut back on blogging, I promise not to abandon it completely. It's still a fun little hobby. I have too many stories yet to tell, and I'm sure I'll have some new ones in the days ahead.

Thank you!

Several more of Dylan's deep thoughts

• Do people in Seattle really ever have to save something for a rainy day? You only have to wait a couple of days that means.
• Thanks to calendars and clocks, everyone's days are numbered.
• You should absolutely put all your eggs into one basket. It is wasteful and time-consuming to use extra baskets for something as small as eggs. 
• Why are Flintstones vitamins the most delicious vitamins ever invented? I loved those as a kid!
• Do kids still own ant farms? Is that still a thing? Where can you even buy ant farms anymore?
• Do you think anyone has tried a termite farm as an alternative to an ant farm?
• It's not a graphic novel. It's called a comic book. Get over it.
• If I had a Twitter account, all I would ever post are the lame puns I come up. It would be a daily version of this blog basically. This is my Twitter account.
• Despite having the motto, "Eat Fresh," Subway sandwiches don't taste very fresh. 
• I've never wanted to eat a sandwich I've found just sitting in a real subway.
• Work production around the world must be almost nonexistent during the World Cup. This is America - we can't even call the sport by its proper name - but every office is filled with people watching the games.
• Did Spain forget how to play soccer since the last World Cup? 
• Of all the mythical fantasy realms imagined over the years, Westeros and the other lands of Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire are the worst. No one would ever want to live in that world.
• What if the White Walkers are just tired of human shenanigans? All the political scheming, backstabbing, wars, environmental damage, etc. Maybe they just want to cleanse the world of the real evil. #TeamWhiteWalkers.
• I read that the thing all of America's mass shootings have in common are the shooters are mentally unstable. You know what else they have in common? Guns! Weird, right? Maybe there should be rules or something preventing dangerous people from owning guns. Maybe that's why this doesn't happen in other well-off countries. Or people can just keep dying, I guess.

Characters

I took a little vacation and visited my father in San Francisco last week. It was good to get away for a little while and relax in my favorite city with some of my favorite people. I escaped the doldrums of unemployment and "Seattle" life (Although it appears the former is coming to an end quite soon!). Instead of engaging in my usual pastime (Constant worrying) I got to enjoy the good life by the Bay.

By "good life" I mean "an angry black man insulting you and challenging you and your father to a fight while lamenting how shitty the country has become since WWII."

The incident started off innocently enough. My father and I were on our way to our second Giants game of the week. We hopped on a bus headed downtown and took seats in the back, which was deserted except for one old man in the very back corner. As soon as we sat down, this man said something unintelligible to us. Neither of us understood him, so we both just politely nodded and said "Hello," and went about our bus ride.

Out of the blue, the guy starts saying to himself, "Look at these two white motherfuckers. Just look at 'em! These two white motherfuckers..." This goes on for the rest of our 30 minute bus ride.

He occasionally has some other words for us. "Try me! Just try me! See what happens!" "You won't say nothing because you already know what you'll get. You know!" "I served this country in WWII. I protected it, I saved it; and look at it now! Look what you white motherfuckers have done to it." "I know what y'all think of me." "What has this country come to?"

I just want to take a timeout here to point out the man was roughly 65-70 years old I'd estimate. Unless he was in the service while he was still wearing diapers, he didn't fight during WWII.

Other passengers board the bus and quickly become uncomfortable with the monologue coming from the back. A couple people try sitting in the back with us, but leave shortly thereafter. Our new friend comments on this: "Scared off another one!"

My dad and I quietly sit through the entire tirade. Not once did we leave our seats, but neither did we speak to or make eye contact with our antagonist until we reached out stopped (At which point I was tempted to thank him for his service to our country, but thought better of it).

We recognized the situation immediately once he got going. Years of riding San Francisco buses have made us very familiar with the "characters" - as my dad calls them - you'll bump into. Dad calls them characters because it's nicer than calling them crazy. They might be mentally ill, or drunk, or just angry at the world and looking to start something. This particular guy I think fell somewhere between the last two options; he was periodically sipping out of bottle in his hands.

Bigoted Fake WWII Veteran is just one of many characters I've had the "pleasure" to meet. So today I'd like to share some of my most memorable encounters.

The most memorable has to be the incident between the Holy Man and the Overprotective Mother.

I was riding the 22 Fillmore a few years ago to meet my dad at his office. The 22 is a notoriously crowded bus line. It is a long route that runs from one end of San Francisco to another - north to south and back. Thus, it is a heavily used bus because of all the ground it covers.

This day was no different - people were packed in tighter than sardines. You couldn't help but become very familiar with your fellow passengers.

A mother and her teenage daughter boarded the bus and tried making their way through the crowd. Along the way the daughter apparently bumped into a middle-aged gentleman who took offense. He started yelling at the girl demanding she show a little respect for her elders and berating the mother for not controlling her daughter better. "The Bible says to respect your elders!" He went on and on about that.

The mother quickly shot back, however, with even greater venom than the Holy Man. Overprotective Mother didn't like this stranger speaking to her daughter in such a loud voice. She started going off about how it wasn't her daughter's fault, about how crowded the bus is, and about how disrespectful Holy Man was acting.

Things got very heated between the two. Finally, the Holy Man just threw his hands up in the air and said, "I'm just going to let God handle it! God will sort you out later!" He repeated that phrase a few times while Overprotective Mother continued trying to have an argument he wasn't interested in anymore.

My stop arrived and I got off the bus without ever knowing if God did descend and resolve that conflict between them. I haven't ridden the 22 Fillmore since.

Not all characters are raving madmen or madwomen, however. Many street-wise philosophers also ride public transportation.

I was riding BART from Berkeley to San Francisco a couple years ago and got to listen to a raggedy dressed man sitting behind me went on and on about how people don't really connect anymore.

"We're all like ants. We just run around and bump into each other without really knowing where we're going. We're all just ants. No purpose, no direction, no meaningful contact. Just running around like crazy and getting in each others way."

It's the only time I've actually pondered something a character had to say. He makes a pretty good point. We are like ants, you know? If you really stop to think about it. Except for, you know, ants actually having a pretty solid social structure with each ant having duties to perform for the good of the colony.

But my most haunting character experience has to be the Lonely Passenger.

I was returning home from a haircut when I noticed a mournful voice crying on the bus. It was quite loud and very sad - lots of moaning and lamentations like "Oh God!" and "Why? Why?"

The only thing was, I couldn't see who was doing the crying. The bus was very crowded and I didn't notice anyone who seemed to be the source of the crying and moaning. And everyone on board had that classic zombie bus stare going. You know, the one where you just shut off and don't make eye contact with anyone because you're packed in tightly with a bunch of strangers and just want to get through this bus ride. It is also a common reaction to meeting characters.

Because I couldn't see anyone crying and everyone had the bus stare going, the only logical conclusion I could form was I was riding a haunted bus. Some poor soul spending an eternity on a bus, I guess. Sounds worse than Hell to me.

Characters are a common occurrence on San Francisco buses. If nothing else, they serve as a stark reminder that there are plenty of people with harder lives and more problems than you.

For some reason, though, I've never encountered any in Seattle. I've become a frequent bus rider in this area since last year, but not once have I had an encounter with a character. The closest I've come is a story GF told me about a racist bus passenger yelling at a Latina couple speaking Spanish on the bus, then everyone else shouting down the racist, and the bus driver telling him "Tengas un buen dia" when he got off. But I've had no such luck. (Racism is a common trait in characters. This guy and Bigoted Fake WWII Veteran are good examples.)

I'm curious as to what is it about Seattle buses (Or at least Sound Transit buses, since that is what most of my bus rides are on) that keeps characters away. Is it the higher bus fare? Does the greater Seattle area just have less characters than the Bay Area?

It might just be that Sound Transit is pretty much for commuters traveling between cities, so it doesn't attract as many characters as an inner city San Francisco or Seattle bus. However, that doesn't explain all the characters you also see on BART.

Someone should form a study on this. I'd like to see data comparing and contrasting Seattle and San Francisco characters and their tendency to use public transportation. I'd do it, but it looks like I'm finally going to lose all my unemployment free time soon. Although I will also be riding Seattle buses more frequently...

The ballad of Bad Motorscooter

By now you should be somewhat familiar with my good friend Bad Motorscooter. He's been mentioned a couple of times now, but I figured it is time he got his own personal blog post as I've done for others already.

This is the story of how I met the man...the myth...the legend...Bad Motorscooter!

Our friendship started off as all good ones do: we happened to sit near each other in English 101 (That class produced three people I still call friend). On the first day, our teacher had us form small groups and go through basic ice-breaking discussions to get to know each other. 

That's how I learned some basics about Bad Motorscooter. He was born in Idaho, but grew up in South Africa and Scotland. He'd taken some time off from college (Motorscooter is a few years older than me) and chose WSU to resume his studies in neuroscience. His fiancée also attended WSU; in fact she was in the very same class (Temporarily. She soon got an exemption having transferred from another university).

We remained seat neighbors for the rest of the semester, working on a couple of class projects together too. His quick wit and predilection for randomness kept an otherwise mundane class interesting. 

For example, our classroom had very tall windows that reached all the way up to the high ceiling. One day our teacher needed the shades pulled down to show us a slide presentation, but one of the them was pulled all the way up and out of anyone's reach. So Bad Motorscooter went and scrunched himself into the windowsill and proceeded to shimmy up to grab the shade and pull it down. He looked like Spider-Man. If Spider-Man didn't wear a costume and was a ginger.

Another story illustrating his randomness is the time Motorscooter visited the campus multicultural center and tried joining the African-American group. Motorscooter explained to me that he was looking for a support group to help adjust to living in Eastern Washington in the good ol' U.S.A. He was raised in South Africa, has ancestry from the region - he didn't see what could go wrong. 

They turned him down. It was carefully explained to him how the group is for black Africans/African-Americans, not South African whites. Bad Motorscooter is as white as you can get. He's whiter than Wonder Bread. He's whiter than me even. It was an honest mistake on his part.

It seemed like the good times would come to an end at the end of the semester as gave our final group presentation together and bid farewell to the end of English 101 and the start of Winter Break.

Fate had a different idea in mind, however.

My first class of second semester was GenEd 111 (Basically a history/political science class). As was customary for me (Because I'm a total nerd), I saw in the first few rows. As the back rows quickly filled up, there were still seats available near me when none other than Bad Motorscooter walked in just before the bell rang.

So we became seat neighbors again. Motorscooter wound up relying upon me a lot for this class because his schedule often caused him arrive to class late or forced him to skip it entirely (Tardiness would become a familiar factor with Bad Motorscooter. Just saying, bud. You can't deny it!).

Our friendship finally blossomed outside a classroom during this semester. We made a routine to hangout after class on Wednesdays at Zoe's Coffeehouse - located on the bottom floor of the building that eventually became my home away from home at WSU. It started off as a way to fill him in on what he'd miss from class and to intellectually discuss what we were learning, but quickly became an excuse to find out more about each other.

From there things just spiraled onward. Movie nights became a semi-regular occurrence. He became particularly fond of MST3K when I introduced it to him, and we watched modern cheesy movies such as The Expendables, Daybreakers, and The Green Hornet. 

We became fans of the local improv group, Nuthouse - even got pulled onstage one time during a special Halloween show. Improv comedy can be really hit or miss, but Nuthouse pulled off some amazing shows.

Motorscooter and his wife eventually started picking me up for church every Sunday at Simpson UMC.

Just as he roped me into joining "Inspire!," Motorscooter and his wife were strong influences in getting me to join the "Inspire!" Spring Break service trip during my junior year. We worked and played with kids on a reservation in Idaho. I could go on forever about that trip, so I'll save it for a future blog post someday.

(Side note: I'm ashamed to admit I haven't come up with a privacy-saving nickname for Motorscooter's wife yet. I really don't want to just keep referring to her as "His Wife." I'm open to suggestions if you are reading this. I've been considering The Mistress of Divinity, since you just graduated and sounds really badass, but it seems a little wordy. Congrats on that again, by the way! Now back to the blog...)

But most of all we just really enjoyed each others company. My best friends can make me laugh and enjoy myself just by getting together and talking. Motorscooter is a perfect example. He can take any conversational topic and take it to the absurd, which is a personality trait we definitely share.

For example, let me describe the origin of his nickname on this blog. He was giving me a ride one afternoon and playing on the radio was some 80's power ballad neither of us recognized. Every time the chorus came around, the singer would sing about this guy who was "a bad motorscooter." I assume this was the PG radio-friendly version of more obscene phrase, but that choice of wording was so silly we laughed the rest of the drive making "bad motorscooter" jokes.

"That's one bad m..."
"Shut your mouth!"
"What? I'm just talking about motorscooters."

You get the idea. It became a funny little inside joke that I now use as his codename on this blog.

The best thing about Bad Motorscooter, however, is that he was there for me when others weren't.

Junior year was by far my most stressful year of college. Classes were naturally challenging, but Fall semester also included a very unexpected job promotion that led to more stress and Spring semester included something similar to the fallout of the 9th floor.

I'll keep this short. Sophomore year I became part of another large group of friends; similar but different to what happened freshman year. I could talk with them about problems and important things for one thing. Secondly it wasn't a total sausage fest this time around. They were all great fun, really helped make sophomore year my favorite year of college.

Suffice to say there was a falling out junior year. All I know is gradually they started phasing me out of parties and activities and collectively gave me the silent treatment. To this day I don't know why. It was a very painful experience for me, and I'm unsure if I'll ever blog about it entirely.

Yes, I've noticed how this keeps happening to me.

Abandoned and ignored by people I thought were friends, it was time for Bad Motorscooter and The Mistress of Divinity (MoD for short maybe? I don't know yet) to shine.

I think we saw more of each other in those few months than any other time during our friendship. We hungout almost every weekend and his attendance at "Inspire!" and church increased after it had slacked off earlier in the school year.

I took him to his first ever basketball game, a NIT quarterfinal game in which the Cougs beat Northwestern in overtime.

It was during this time I really got to know MoD more too (Still not sure if it works). We'd certainly been friends before this, but now it felt like it was more or less on the same level as what her husband and I had. To show my appreciation, I surprised her with a gift one day - the first LEGO Harry Potter game. Between that and Super Mario Bros, a lot of my visits with them involved playing the Wii.

I spent a lot of time at their apartment, but never once did I feel like a third wheel. It never felt awkward whether other friends were also there or when it was just the three of us. Their warmth and affection helped me through junior year more than anything else. Which is why it was so sad to say good-bye at the end of that school year.

Bad Motorscooter graduated that year and MoD got accepted into Claremont, so they were moving to Southern California.

Since May 2011, I've only seen the two of them twice. Once when they visited me in San Francisco for a couple days that summer. The second time during another "Inspire!" volunteer trip, this time to Los Angeles. I have not seen them since, and sometimes that breaks my heart a little when I think about it.

Fortunately, Motorscooter and I usually call each other every month or so. Once in a long while he gets on Facebook and comments on something of mine or vice versa. That's how we keep in touch now.

I am notoriously bad at keeping in touch with friends separated by distance, but for Bad Motorscooter I make that extra effort. He was my wingman through most of college, my anchor when the world threatened to pull me down, and remains to this day one of my strongest friends.

He's one bad motorscooter!