Chapter 6

(Eugene’s Story)

EUGENE WAS SICK Saturday and Sunday after he’d rescued Lynn. He checked into the Y so he would have a toilet and shower nearby.

You’re purging the dead cancer cells from your body.

“I’m purging the drunk from my body,” Eugene said. “I’ll never drink again.”

Not a bad idea, but you aren’t drunk. It’s the cancer.

“I should go see Doc and check into hospice. I’m going to die.”

They won’t be happy when you live.

The witty repartee from Galahad did not relieve Eugene’s misery. There were moments when he wished he would die. On Monday morning, though, his stomach and bowels seemed to be stable again. He spent the morning laundering his clothes and then cleaned his car inside and out. He even bought a pine-scented deodorizer at the car wash and hung it from the mirror.

By noon, he felt human enough to face other people and immediately went to the polling company near his lawyer’s office to see if he could get steady work.

He was surprised with how easy it was for him to apply for a job and get it without any real credentials. After reading aloud from a script and showing he could check the appropriate responses, he was shown to a cubicle with a phone and a stack of survey questionnaires. Next to it was a list of phone numbers. By two o’clock, he was dialing the phone and started asking questions of the random person who picked up. A supervisor stood next to him for fifteen minutes to be sure he had the system down and was signing each questionnaire so the company would know who to pay. He was to be paid by the call. Only those who answered and responded to the questions were to be counted.

He wasn’t sure how long he was supposed to work, but after four hours, a supervisor came by to tell him he had to take a break.

“Uh ... What are my hours here?” he asked.

“You’re a piece worker, so technically you don’t have hours. You still aren’t supposed to work more than eight hours in a day or more than four hours without taking a break. Let’s bundle up your first batch of surveys and see how they stack up,” the supervisor said.

It didn’t take long to tally the sheets. Eugene had fifty clean surveys from his first four hours on the phone. At twenty-five cents per successful survey, he would be paid twelve-and-a-half dollars.

“Learn to be efficient but not rushed. The surveys are intentionally short so people don’t get upset about having dinner interrupted or needing to leave for work. Our best operators manage about twenty surveys an hour. You’ll be told if there are surveys that are worth more. Typically, they take longer and deal with things like politics.”

“Great. Thank you.”

“You can return to work after a fifteen-minute break. You’re doing well.”

Eugene put in another four hours of work, but the success rate of completed calls fell after eight o’clock. He did not earn as much for the second half of the day as for the first. Still, he figured earning twenty dollars a day on the phone was better than making ten dollars for a day of hard labor.

He decided to start a little earlier in the day and knock off at eight in the evening. He was employed.

Finding a place to live was going to take longer. He needed a bank account and wouldn’t even have money to deposit until the end of the week. He checked the rental ads in the newspaper and decided the best he could do would probably be a room in someone’s boarding house. He kept looking.

By the end of the week, he felt much better. He stayed at the Y Friday night so he could be sure to be clean and fresh for his date Saturday. He once again did laundry and made sure everything packed in his car was neat and as compact as he could make it. There was nothing in the front seat. He put his copy of Vonnegut’s Breakfast of Champions in the back seat, intending to get back to it after his date.

“Am I supposed to meet her at the restaurant or pick her up?” he mused as it approached time for the date.

Don’t be a stalker! You said at the restaurant.

“Oh, yes. Um ... La Paloma at six.”

Six-thirty.

He didn’t have a way to call her and confirm, so he drove to the restaurant and parked. Before he got to the door, he saw her through a window, sitting at a table.

He rushed inside, his heart pumping against his chest. He wasn’t late. He spent a moment calming himself before making his way to her table. At least meeting at La Paloma should make them both feel safer than the bar where they first met.

“I wasn’t sure you’d show up, so I only ordered water,” Lynn said when he sat opposite her. “It’s not like I can usually afford to eat in a place like this.”

“Me either. It was just the first place I could think of, and I wanted to treat you to something nice.”

“We can go someplace else ... cheaper,” she said.

“No. I got a job and got paid yesterday. I can afford to splurge once. Then I’ll be eating thin soup the rest of the week,” Eugene laughed self-deprecatingly.

Pay at the job was averaging slightly above minimum wage. He’d been paid $81 for four days of work, less taxes. Fridays were paid the following week. Even if the dinner cost as much as $15, he’d still have enough to make it through the next week.