Joseph Locatelli

Once again the little Nissan pulled through, and I arrived in Missoula, Montana in a cold post-thanksgiving rain storm. I found myself depressed rather than optimistic. The faces of friends frequented my mainframe. I was homesick for a place that was never supposed to be home. I had decided to leave abruptly and questions about that fact would not subside. That’s how it goes I guess.

Also of great distress was the task at hand, employment. Zoo-town is a notorious employers market. I was not looking forward to this challenge. I had been very fortunate in Wyoming; I had not had to seriously look for work for over five years. I had forgotten how humbling and at times demeaning the job search can be. I was a beggar, nearly friendless. I was unsure of my skills and their value in this environment that felt completely alien.

I made the mistake of honesty. Employers don’t want to hear it. They want someone who lies, telling people how great they are, exaggerating the positive and conveniently omitting the negative. I feel like I don’t want to work for anyone that just wants my to go through the motions, telling them what I think they may want to hear. It makes it easier to fire the person when the truth surfaces. I reject that game; it would be a long cold winter. I would become very familiar with the streets of this town as I chased down the dream of self-sufficiency.

I’m certain I make it sound worse than it was. It is a good thing to be reminded from time to time just how small one person is. I had a place to sleep and I never went hungry. I just had to swallow my pride for a while. As I would daily leave our crusty trailer house to search for work I passed Wheat Montana, a deli bakery that brings the fruits of Montana farmers efforts to some of its people. I grew up in a bakery; I thought this may matter here, and I made it a habit to stop by and beg for work as I struck out on my search for gainful employment.

Winter in Montana is the worst time to look for a job. I delivered countless undesired and unsolicited resumes to uninterested managers and supervisors. I didn’t even get an interview. However, my persistence eventually yielded returns. The owner operator, Kathy, eventually took pity on me and offered me an interview and a position. A weight was lifted.

It had been a month long struggle coming to and end. It wasn’t the highest pay or my ideal position, but it was a start. My bank account had become all too familiar with the subtraction sign and the addition symbol had become a distant memory. I began work at Wheat Montana in the last week of December 2009. I was beginning to feel slightly more positive; depression and negativity are a difficult coat to shed.