Joseph Locatelli

Wheat Montana was good to me. Kathy (owner) had given me a job when I most needed it; that is something I will never be able to forget. Good people with whom to work, they gave me a raise, the work was tolerable, but it still just wasn’t enough to make ends meet. The money was not coming in as fast as it was going out and my student loans were imminently nearing the end of deferment. The little deli/bakery was a sanctuary but not for much longer. After working there for three months or so I began to look for a second job or a singular full time replacement.

The search for employment is much more tolerable when the urgency of poverty doesn’t haunt your dreams and follow you to interviews like a dark cloud. I took my time and only applied for jobs that would be either a good complement to Wheat Montana as far as hours and commitment or a replacement that, if offered, I would be unable to pass up. I interviewed at a few places, oncoming summer had employers more hopeful than they had been through the winter. Most eliminate you as a possibility the minute they realize that they will have to share you with another job. I’m certain that past experiences have taught these managers and owners that employees working two or more jobs are unreliable and burn out quickly. I can agree, but how is one to pay the bills on low wages and few hours?

I had some promising leads. Two interviews with the Montana Food Bank Network. I thought I it was mine; my search would finally be over. They seemed to be very busy, expanding in the Missoula atmosphere of closing businesses and empty buildings. I’m sure any company based on poverty in this particular time and place has a certain degree of security. I was qualified. It was a warehouse position, driving forklifts, picking orders. They may not have fully realized this, but I was a perfect fit. I have worked in a lumber yard (forklifts), and a food warehouse (picking orders). They went a different way. I don’t hold it against them. It was a bad mistake on their part. I comfort myself thinking that they have probably filled that position two or three times by now. True or not it makes me feel better about the rejection.

I had another interview. This time with a company called Northstar Jet, fueling planes, catering to the needs of the wealthy. I got a call one morning as I was trying to sleep away my depression. It sounded promising. Through the good graces of a friend’s mother I had once worked at an airport. In a less technical capacity I checked in passengers and loaded them and their luggage onto aircraft, an occasional deicing. With this under my belt I was somewhat qualified and they called me for an interview. It would be my first group interview of this job search, I fended off questions from four individuals trying to find reasons not to hire me. I left the room feeling that I would never hear from them again. I did, however, it was only to tell me that they had chosen someone else.

I was beginning to feel the urgency and desperation that only a pile of unfulfilled bills can instill. I decided that two low paying jobs are better than nothing and ended up getting a second minimum wage position at a place called Freemo’s Pizza. Probably the cheapest place to eat in town, the manager took a liking to me and granted me an interview, then another, then a job. I really appreciated it. I would be able to meet my obligations and run myself ragged at the same time. They gave me my official Freemo’s uniform: polo shirt with pizza pack-man emblem, one size poorly fits-all baseball cap, and black apron. I worked my first day and quickly realized I was be manager material at this establishment.

My first day at Freemo’s proved to be my last. I was truly grateful for what they did for me. However, I got a phone call that I had not expected. It was from Northstar. The guy that they had hired instead of me had not worked out. They never told me what happened, but I expect that it had something to do with the hours. The position they now offered would involve working Thursday through Saturday graveyard shift 10pm to 8 am. I didn’t care; I accepted. The pay was far and away better than the pizza place and the work more enjoyable. I would be able to continue at Wheat Montana, and I could finally meet my short-term financial goals, maybe even have a little bit left over, sometimes. Best of all I could say good-bye to applications, resumes and interviews for the foreseeable future; I had been playing this game for the better part of four months. My first day with Northstar Jet was April 4, 2010. I was sick of the job hunt. It was now over.