Chapter I: Am I Crazy?

March 29, 2010

I hate my life.

The temp agency called with yet another assignment, working at the front desk of a radiology lab. Ooh, sounds like fun; I can hardly fucking wait. But, hey, at least it pays the bills.

I hear my cell phone ringing. It's the temp agency again.

"Hello, this is Cara."

"Hey, Cara. It's Justin. How're you doing?"

"Uh, fine, good . . . thank you." I grimace and cross my eyes. "What's up?"

"I called and checked with the client, and they said the time off you wanted was not a problem."

I cross my eyes again. "Wonderful! Thanks for checking for me Justin. I really appreciate it."

"Not a problem; we try to look out for our people," he says, in a depressingly cheery voice. "Have a great morning."

"Thanks; you too."

I sigh with relief when I close my cell phone. I'm relieved but a little disappointed. I lied to the agency and told them I was going to a writer's seminar in Phoenix, AZ and needed time off from the 21st to the 23rd. I figured that since I hadn't started my assignment yet the client would never go for it. Wrong! I guess good receptionists are hard to find in Tucson. Actually, I would venture to guess that finding temps who can talk in grammatically correct sentences are hard to find period in Tucson, AZ.

I've been here for 11 years and I still don't like living in Tucson. I mean what kind of city has signs posted in the courthouse that say, "Guns are not allowed in Federal Buildings." Or that the majority of its citizens think that the Claim Jumper and Olive Garden are considered fine dining.
Okay, before anyone accuses me of being a classist, let me state that even the homeless people in San Francisco (where I used to live) knew the differences between chopped liver and foie gras. I'm not saying all of Tucson is like that, just the majority of people I meet working and going to school.

Why don't I move then? I'm not sure why . . . maybe laziness, maybe the lack of funds, or maybe, and I consider this seriously, maybe I don't hate Tucson enough to want to move out of here. Except during the coming high temperatures when the climate goes from 88 degrees F. one day to, literally, triple digit temperatures overnight. I mean, who can possibly function in that kind of weather? Well, there are quite a few hardy souls who can because I see them bicycling, walking, running in that type of weather. The first two, I could understand if they don't have a car, but the latter??? And without a water bottle? Apparently these people don't understand the dangers of heat stroke or heat exhaustion. But really drives me crazy and I mean really oh-my-fucking-God-I-want-to-hit-you-in-the-face crazy, are people who ask me, "isn't this weather glorious?"

Glorious? As in majestic, splendid, pleasurable, heavenly, and marvelous? What planet are these people, smoking really bad crack, from??! Okay, maybe I am bitchy here but when you see a sweaty, sun-burnt person with an extremely peeved expression on their face, asking them if 103 degree weather is glorious is just asking for trouble!

But it's late March in Arizona and right now the weather truly is glorious and June seems like a distant date in the future.

Late March. Oh my God!

I run to the kitchen and look at my hanging calender. Today is March 29th; I have 26 days until my tasting party. I look at my Anne Taintor calendar and into the eyes of the smiling 1950s housewife with a caption that reads, "if by 'happy' you mean trapped with no means of escape . . . ? . . . then yes, I'm happy." Truer words have never been written.

26 days and I haven't even written up a menu yet. Oh God, I can't do this . . . yes, you can . . . no, it's stupid; I can't . . . yes, you can . . . fuck you, I can't . . . why am I talking to myself? Why did I agree to do this? Why am I doing this?

You're doing this party because you want to start baking professionally. This party is to focus what products you want to bake. You are a kickass baker. You make desserts that people talk about for months and even years aftewards. You have a highly developed mental palette and can put together flavors without physically tasting it beforehand. You have a knack for knowing what tastes good.

But have I the knack for running a successful business? I put my head against the calendar and cry, howl actually. I know I can do this but, God, I feel so overwhelmed.

I go back to the study, sit down to my computer, reach for a box of tissues, and wipe my eyes. I look at the background on my monitor which is a landscape of a clear lake and small mountains in New Zealand. There is a small white house, a tool shed, and two boat houses on the shore. I stare for a few minutes, lost in the beauty of the scenery. This is why you are doing your business, I tell myself. You know there is a shortage of good bakers. You want to open your own bakery in New Zealand.

Well, alright. So now I remember why it is I'm willing to throw away a reasonbly stable work environment, in the corporate world to join the uncertainty of the entrepeneurial world. Cooking and New Zealand. If I have one, I must have the other.