I think I dodged a bullet today.

I’ve been sober for so long that I’ve lost track, something like nineteen years now. I can remember my last drink vividly. I was at an El Torito restaurant with my buddy Mike watching an NFL playoff game — Denver against … somebody. I was coming off a series of serious personal fuckups and crises that all revolved around me and my unhealthy love of alcohol, and I had been entertaining the notion that maybe, just maybe, I should quit drinking.

So Mike and I are watching the game and I’m drinking a Corona and Mike says “Let’s go” and gets up to leave. In a situtation like that, halfway through a beer and heading for the door, my standard practice was to guzzle the rest of the beer, kill it. Leave half a beer behind? What, are you nuts?

This time I just put it down, got up, and walked away. I knew in that moment that that was my last drink. I didn’t think about it, but it wasn’t a snap decision. It was just… time. I just didn’t want it any more.

It’s been something like 19 years since I put that beer down, and it really was my last one. I went the first month on my own, then started going to AA after I had 30 days and went nearly daily and was very active in it for a year or so. But then I started slipping away from the meetings and the people, but I never started up drinking again. I had quit and that was it.

But as time has gone by I’ve started to wonder if I really was an alcoholic or if I was just a 24-year old kid with too much time on his hands and not enough to do. I think there’s a little core deep down inside me that thinks I was making a mountain out of a molehill and that now, as an adult with maturity and self control and blah-blah-blah, I could “drink responsibly.” That I could control it.

Those of you readers who are AA or know the principles, you know how fucked up that is, but also how predictable. AA likes to say that alcoholism is sneaky, that it lies in wait, that it’s always waiting to bite you in the ass, that it makes you think exactly the kind of shit I’ve started thinking. And I’ve known that, but dismissed it. Just like AA says we’ll do.

So today I came face-to-face with it. My boss and I are on the road up here in Vancouver, training at a client site. These people we’re training are very laid back, very fun, and very casual. And as we started winding the training down, one of them made a wine run. And I started thinking.

I’ve been tempted over the years, especially with the kind of thinking I’ve been indulging, but I’ve resisted the urge. I’ve figured that even if I’m not an alcoholic, I’ve gone nearly 20 years without booze, so why start back up again now? Doesn’t the fact that I want to suggest that I “need” to and thus that I’m alcoholic? And I’ve agreed with myself on that — sort of — and said “no.”

But today… Suddenly a glass of white wine sounded really good. I was never much of a wine drinker — beer, vodka tonics, 7&7s, and tequila were my flavors — but I did enjoy a jug of white now and then with my old girlfriend Kelli. And now suddenly a glass of white sounded good. Really fucking good.

So I decided I’d leave it up to chance: I decided if they came back with red, then that was a sign and I’d just say no. But if they came back with white, that left it open to interpretation. And so I turned to WAMCO (the Wise And Mighty Coin Of destiny) and flipped a coin — heads for do it, tails for don’t. And it came up heads.

And I felt my decision had been made, sort of. I was a little excited and anticipatory that, wow, I was going to taste wine again! But I was also a little nervous that I was going to be drinking again. But come on, I was a 24-year old kid who was just out of control. I’m an adult now, I can handle it.

But while half my brain had a nervous little party, the other half was running worst-case scenarios about what would happen if it turned out I really was an alcoholic and ended up totally out of control again. And so I sat there listening to this internal cocaphony while my boss continued training and I totally zoned out of everything but the noise in my head and wasn’t even in the room anymore.

And when the wine-runner got back with both red and white and interrupted my reverie to ask which I wanted, habit or instinct or providence or something took over. And I said “No thanks, I don’t drink” without even thinking about it.

Fuck. That was close.

Obviously, I have some issues to work out. And while “Get to a meeting” is the most obvious piece of advice that some of you are muttering to the screen right now, I know myself well enough to know that I won’t. What I will do, I don’t know. But I know that I won’t be drinking. Today scared me.

I’m going back out on the road again. I just got my first travel assignment from the new job: I’ll be observing/assisting in a training for a new client in Dallas next week. I’ll fly in Tuesday afternoon, train Wednesday and Thursday, and fly back home Thursday night.

It’ll be just like old times, only I’ll be on the road for just three days rather than five. And the software I’m training on actually works. And the company I work for isn’t an empire, let alone evil. And I’m getting paid a decent salary. And my supervisors don’t have their heads firmly planted in their colons. But aside from all that, it’ll be just like old times.

I think I see dinner at Pappadeaux in my future. Do any of you Dallas-area Lunchroom readers (Special K, I’m looking at you) want to meet up while I’m out there?

I’m back on the job again.

How sweet those words sound: “Back on the job.” The “again” part? Not so sweet, since it implies (correctly) a period of not being on the job, but sweet enough since it implies (again, correctly) that the period of being off the job is over. Point being that I’m working again. Which is pretty sweet.

I’m blogging from work right now, in fact. The whole New Hire training thing is sort of the rocks right now, seeing as how the previous Training Manager pitched a hissy fit and quit, and the people who are available to train me aren’t very available this week. So there’s been a lot of “here’s how you log into this piece of software, go play with it for awhile and teach yourself a few things until Thursday when Bob will be here and can help you.” And I’m fine with that, since that’s how I learn best anyway. Plus which, it fits right into my plan of impressing the hell out of them so they’ll promote me into the Training Manager position, seeing as how it’s suddenly available and I’m the only trainer they have handy at the moment.

So far, I like it here. It’s a very, very small shop — only about 25 employees — and everyone seems nice so far. The atmosphere is intensely casual, if that makes any sense — people are very laid back, but very intent about what they’re doing. There’s a good energy in the air, and the CEO has already pronounced me his new best friend since I make a pot of coffee as soon as I walk in the door in the morning.

The software product this company does is really impressive. I’m not going to go into exactly what it does, instead I’ll just say that I can’t see how any potential client could possibly say no to it. Plus which, it seems to actually work, which is a lot more than you can say about my old job’s product.

Other things I like:

• The spanky Mac G4 laptop I’m blogging on right now
• Two-finger scrolling on the Mac touchpad
• The 25-minute commute
• Skylights in the office
• Cheaper health insurance than from Beth’s job
• Having a paycheck again
• There’s a piercing and tattoo shop right around the corner

Things my mom likes:

• The new job is 10 minutes away from her house, so now I can go have lunch with her like I did today.

Things I don’t like:

• This Mac has no backspace key. WTF is up with that?
• The Apple key on my Mac. WTF is there a control key that doesn’t do control key functions? WTF do I have to use that stupid Apple key? Apple-Z to undo instead of Ctrl-Z when there’s a friggin’ Control key is making my head hurt.

All things considered, I have to give this job two big thumbs up. Woo!

Proving Beth’s theory that when you “put stuff out there in the Universe” it causes it to happen, not long after posting my last entry saying I hoped the new job wouldn’t call — they called.

It was the president of the company, no less, calling to see where I stood with the resignation of the guy who brought me in. I was honest with him. I told him that while I had worked with the guy before and had known him for a long time, I was also a little bit concerned about reporting to him because I had had problems working with him in the past. I said that I viewed his resignation as either a big opportunity for me if they still wanted me or as really bad news if they didn’t. I said that I was excited about joining the company and that my resigning manager’s problems and issues were definitely not mine. I said that my attitude coming in was to do things their way and do the best job I possibly can. I said I hoped they still wanted me.

Fortunately, they still do.

Last week I wanted the phone to ring. Now, I don’t.

The guy I’ll be reporting to at the new job called the other day to let me know he won’t be there on my first day … and probably not ever. There’s been a reorganization at the company, with him reporting to a new department head who he doesn’t get along with, and he’s probably going to resign over it. So the guy who brought me in, the guy who campaigned to get me hired, the guy I’d be reporting to in a two-man department — that guy is going to be gone. And so in my paranoid brain burns the question: does that mean I’m gone too?

So I’m willing the phone not to ring this week. I want this job. I need this job. I hope like hell I still have this job. I’m dreading a phone call from someone at the company rescinding their offer.

Don’t ring.

The right phone call finally came: I got the job.

Whew.

I’ve been un- or under-employed for 10 months now. I was fine with it the first few months; I had a nice fat severance check, I had Unemployment Insurance, I had plenty of free time… The livin’ was easy. But then the Unemployment ran out. And then the fat severance check got skinny. And then there just wasn’t any money going into the household budget from me, period.

I sent out dozens of resumes and only landed one quarter-decent job, the DWP training job I’m now leaving, the one where I only work 3 days a week for far less money than I’m worth and on a 1099 basis so I’m responsible for my own payroll taxes, which just lowers my hourly rate that much more. It barely pays what Unemployment paid, and I don’t even want to think about the taxes I’m going to owe on it. It pays so badly, I feel like I’m moving backwards when I go in to work.

I finally wised up and realized that my resume sucked, so I revised it and sent out dozens more. I finally started getting interviews from the new resume, but they all yielded interview shuffle type results: We like you, we’ll call you … and then they never did. I was pulling my hair out — and I’m bald already.

It was really depressing. Beth worked really hard to be upbeat and cool about it, but my mood and our money woes were really starting to get to her. I think this may have been harder on her than it was on me. Maybe.

But… Whew. Finally, a new job. A real job. A job that I think I’ll like. A road job again, but only 50% travel and I’ll be home on weekends, so I think it’ll be okay.

And on top of all that new-job frosting, there’s a nice big, fat, red cherry on top with sprinkles: Mo’ Money. It pays–

(Well, hmm… I was going to include the double-digit percentage increase here, but I think that might not be wise. So let’s just say…)

–“a lot” more than my last “real” job from 10 months ago did.

Whew.

I’m still waiting to hear back from my job interview last Friday.

I left feeling like I pretty much had the job locked up and was halfway led to expect a verbal offer from them that afternoon. Here we are now, three days later on Monday afternoon, and I still haven’t heard from them. Now I’m not so sure. In fact, now my paranoid mind is going the other way with it.

And I’m sitting here waiting for the phone to ring. And so of course it’s ringing off the hook: telemarketers, the dentist’s office, the eye doctor’s office, Zoe’s friend calling to say “hi” from Hawaii, wrong numbers, voicemails from Beth about how to do laundry, etc. No lie: there have been sixteen calls today. Every single person with a telephone in the western hemisphere is calling me today — except the one I’ve been waiting for.

I hate prom.

I had another 2nd job interview today. Again, it was a mock training session. That’s been the pattern lately: do a standard interview, then be asked to come back to do a mock training so they can see me in action. The third step of the pattern so far has been “and then never hear from them again.” I’m hoping for a different outcome this time.

I switched things up for this presentation. Usually they ask me to do something on Microsoft Office: one place wanted me to do a presentation on pivot tables in Excel, another had me do something in Word. This latest place left the choice up to me, so I decided to “think outside the box” and do something completely different: I trained them on how to use a pen.

I felt a little bit silly, standing there in my monkey suit, doing 15 minutes on “here’s how you hold a pen” and “now let’s try drawing a circle,” but I figure it was something none of the other candidates were going to do, so it would make me stand out. I wrapped the presentation up by having them perform an exercise in pen usage: a game of Hangman, where the phrase they were deciphering was “Let’s hire Chuck!” It got a lot of laughs, at least.

I’m keeping my fingers crossed as I wait to see if it also gets me an offer.

I must have a “Kick Me” sign tattooed on my forehead or pinned to the back of my interview suit or something.

I had a job interview on Wednesday that I thought went pretty well. The interviewer and I had similar interests and backgrounds, we had a few laughs during the interview, I successfully answered his semi-trick Excel question. All in all, I thought I did well. As I was leaving, he said they wanted to make a decision by Friday (today) and that he’d call me “tomorrow” (yesterday).

And that triggered my bullshit detector: “I’ll call you tomorrow.” I’ve heard that before from interviewers from years ago who still haven’t called. I hate “I’ll call you.” Hearing it shook my confidence.

Well. He hadn’t called by 4:30 yesterday (surprise, surprise), so I went ahead and called him on the theory that you can’t lose a job you aren’t getting anyway and it’s better to be aggressive than to sit waiting for the phone to ring like a girl who put out on Prom Night. I got him on the phone and he apologized for not calling me sooner, said he was waiting for a call back from … someone … and could he call me back in half an hour?

Parry and riposte. Damn. What else could I say? “Sure!”

Well. Half an hour came and went with no call. 5:30 pm came and went with no call. The first half of today came and went with no call. Half of this afternoon came and went with no call. So what the hell, I called him again at 4:15.

Parry and riposte again: “Hey, can I call you back in five minutes?” That was an hour ago, and now it’s the end of the workday — and work week. And what do you know? He hasn’t called.

I hate interviewers like this. This is the second one in two weeks who has pulled this on me. I hate it because it’s disrespectful. I can understand why they do it — nobody likes confrontation or to deliver bad news — but it’s rude and uncalled for.

Treat me like the professional you’re supposed to be. I’m a big boy, I can take the bad news that you don’t want me — but just fucking give it to me, don’t keep me dangling from a phone wire waiting for it to ring.

Treat me with some fucking respect, please.