Job Hunting

It had been hours since I had wiped the tears away from my sore eyes. I pulled the curtains shut and sat against the hard back of my chair. The clock ticked softly when I put the buds of my earphones and put my phone on shuffle. It was then that I heard Isaac Stone’s voice screeching through the heavy guitar riff, singing about heartbreak.

What do I know about heartbreak? No one ever loved me… in the romantic way. And that’s fine. I just wish I could tell my friends the truth.

The afternoon sun was scorching as I walked in my slippers all the way to the living room. Turning on the Smart TV, I reclined against the fluffy, soft pink cushions that Kareena insisted should be replaced with plain silk ones.

I switched to the latest video channel, uGossip. Although at 20 years old, I was already out of their target audience.

A girl in a pink sparkly top and baggy jeans said, “I’m Amy from uGossip, and I’m happy to announce that ICE Entertainment is seeking new staff! If you’re 18 or over, you can send us an email here with your photo and resume.”

Eh? Really? I’ll type that in real quick. Not that they’ll hire me.

I saved the email address in my drafts and went back to my room.

Writing? Well, I’ve always wanted to write fanfiction. Not just any fanfic, of course. A one-shot featuring each of the members of The Rockstar Brigade could be fun.

I turned on the PC and began typing several words of said fanfiction, but kept erasing them until nothing was left.

I give up!

I went to ICE Entertainment’s website, where the banner was a group photo of all the members of The Rockstar Brigade. Isaac, the blonde guy with blue highlights, had his hand shaped into a sign of the horns. His tongue was sticking out a little, and his blue eyes glared at me. Neo, the keyboardist (who used to be a semi-famous pianist), pulled his sunglasses to reveal his grey eyes, which contrasted against his dark skin and green hair.

UGH, they’re all so hot.

Just as I was observing Alan’s seafoam green hair and how dry and frizzy it had become, Kareena called me on the phone. I answered.

“Hello, Kareena?” I said.

“Arisa, open the door! I’m home.”

“Okie dokie.”

I lept out of my chair, turned the TV off, and unlocked the door. She tucked her hair behind her with one hand and carried a loaf of bread and a can in the other arm.

“Ari! What happened? You look exhausted,” said Kareena.

“I am,” I said, turning away and leaving.

“Arisa. Tell me. Your eyes are red! I swear, if you’ve been doing drugs…” she said.

“What? No! What makes you think that? I was just crying!” I exclaimed.

“Gotcha!” said Kareena.

My eyebrows furrowed as I stared into her eyes. I exhaled loudly.

“You tricked me!”

She giggled and said, “Of course. Now tell me. Were you crying over some boy?”

I pressed my lips together and stared at the floor.

Yes and no. All the boys ask Jennifer and Ria out. I’m just a discarded, mouldy lemon. It should’ve been fine, but Jennifer and Ria always remark that it’s good that I’m not interested in dating, and that I should wait for the right person. They don’t even know that Brian and I used to date in secret.

The main issue is that I feel like they must look down on me. They pity me. Why else would they befriend someone like me?

“Oh. Sure,” I said.

“Arisa, don’t bother. Focus on yourself.”

I should focus on my pathetic self in order to make improvements. Got it.

“Got it.”

“Good. Now help me wash the dishes.”

“Sure, Kareena. But first, can I finish submitting my part-time job application?” I asked.

“Yes! That’s amazing. You’re growing up so fast,” she said.

Indeed. That’s why I’m applying for a spot in Delulu Land, where I can mentally date my favourite celebrity and toil away for him in real life, too.

“Okay, I’ll be right back,” I said.

I turned on another light, put on my glasses, and cracked my knuckles.

My desk was a light beige, with a pink organizer, a pastel blue calculator, coloured pencils, glitter gel pens, and various textbooks. There were also those guitar sheets from when I used to sing and play country music. It must have been a phase, because I sold my old pink guitar just to pay for a ticket to the charity masquerade. Apparently, all my friends were there, but we couldn’t even recognize each other. Then again, I wasn’t wearing my glasses, so I wouldn’t be able to tell anyway.

Where was I? Oh, yes. Alan has a strange hair colour. He’s probably the only one who can pull it off, aside from maybe a cabbage. Ah, I should be less mean. He looks good in it, and it’s a lovely colour… for a phone case.

Alan had his hands fixed into a peace sign. It must have been the only pose he knew. It’s a good thing he usually had his guitar in his hands.

Moving on, we had orange boy, as in Jackson Lu, whose hair always ranged from dark orange to light orange. All that bleach made his hair break and split, according to the short-from videos. He was, however, a master at the drums and was always on beat.

Finally, Akash, the only member in white, with straight and silky long hair, always looked like an angel. It’s too bad that the gossip channels seem to think he’s always rebounding from one girlfriend to the next. Maybe I actually had a chance with him!

Where was I? Ah, job hunting. My newest hobby.

I looked through their career portal. They had some job openings, such as cook, graphic designer, video editor… nothing that seemed to match the skills I had. The only skill I had was making short-form cringe videos in the middle of the night, in the name of fashion styling.

One of the titles began calling my name.

“Social Media Content Creator” was the job title.

What are the odds that I’ll get selected for this? Well, my recent budget shopping videos did get around 50,000 views. Hmm, I’ll just apply.

After filling out the application, they asked me for a portfolio. Yikes. That meant I’d have to edit a few of my vertical and landscape-formatted videos into one, all while keeping the file size small enough to upload.

The last hour passed while trying to figure out how to craft my video. I decided to do a voiceover while explaining how passionate I was about social media and content creation, all while keeping it fresh and authentic.

After two more hours, I was finally done. I checked my video for literally the 5th time, attached it, and submitted.

I might as well apply to different content creator roles. There’s no guarantee that ICE will hire me.

Soon, I kept my spectacles aside and tried to take a nap.

Woohoo, I’m going to get a job. Who cares whether my friends figure out I’m actually mean? Who cares about never getting another boyfriend? I’m going to earn money while studying! There are all those clothes and accessories I could buy. But I already have more than enough. I could donate to charity. Yes, that would be heartwarming.

It was then that I remembered that I hadn’t finished studying for the PSY210 exam.

“Stress and coping mechanisms… hmm…” I read aloud.

“Arisa! Help me clean up,” said Kareena.

“Yes, sorry! Coming.”

I put my earphones in and listened to the audiobook of the text while sweeping the floor.

Within fifteen minutes, the white tiled floor was sparkling.

“Good job, Arisa! It’s clean enough that I can see my reflection,” said Kareena.

“Thank you, I have magic when it comes to chores and work,” I said.

“Oh, Arisa. Never change,” she said.

“No biggie.”

“Oh, speaking of change, Dad’s going to visit us for a change,” said Kareena.

“What? I haven’t seen him in three years.”

I thought Kareena hated him? She’s practically beaming.

“I bumped into him at the grocery store the other day. He really wanted to see you. Sure, he has another family now, but that isn’t anyone’s fault,” said Kareena.

“It is, however, his fault for not taking care of us when we were children,” I said.

“I agree, but Aunt Lila took care of us, remember? Besides, where do you think all our money comes from?”

“Yeah, you’re right. I hope Aunt Lila is alright. We haven’t seen her in so long.”

“Yes, remember when we used to talk to her on the phone every day?” asked Kareena.

“Yeah. You know what? After Dad meets us, let’s go to Aunt Lila’s place with a fruit basket.”

“Great idea! Umm, Arisa, I’ve been meaning to tell you something. I hope Dad won’t say anything about all of those boy band posters in your room.”

“There’s only four of them. Ah, I don’t think he’ll mind.”