Reconciliation of the Dermatology Bill

Reconciliation of the Dermatology Bill

                After a strange three days just before the 4^th of July at a place called Mercier Group that provided management of all Nordstrom stores’ displays and decorations ordering—a story in and of itself, wherein my supervising manager took me aside several times to complain about my attitude in that strange work environment—and after one day at Imagination Games, which made all of the DVD-editions of popular game shows and treated me very coldly, disparaging my skills while providing a supposed $12 an hour which I never saw, I finally ended up at M.L. Stern, an investment securities firm in Beverly Hills that treated me very kindly.

                I worked there from July 14 until I decided to leave L.A., and my last day was August 22.  I was in charge of receiving payables in the mail, creating a Microsoft Excel sheet for a payment, which included a 3 character code for the office branch and type of disbursement, and passing it along to higher managers.  It was one of the easiest jobs I ever had, and I often felt embarrassed by my lack of work.  I felt quite expendable in that position.  But everyone always told me I was doing a great job.  It was so easy, and it took so little time.  I spent the majority of every day trying to look busy on various internet sites.  The limitations of what I was available to do often gave me a constrained feeling.  I never got very comfortable with all of my co-workers, except for John, who trained me.  At the end of my time there, several co-workers that I did not talk to all that often gave me a card with $120 cash in it.  It was one of the nicest gestures anyone has ever done for me. 

                So my time at M.L. Stern was a mixed blessing.  On the one hand, it was a pretty good situation, but on the other hand, I was making $425 a week, which meant $1700 a month, and had about $1050 or so in monthly expenses alone at least.  And at the time the gas prices were so high that it cost me close to $50 to fill up my 11 gallon tank.  I had to eat.  That left about $600 of personal spending money per month.  That included food, and eventually I realized it would not be easy to fit weed into there.  Or rather, the absence of weed would provide a bit more breathing room.  As such, my life ceased to carry excitement. 

                The LSAT situation was described near the beginning of this book.  Now, I’m studying for the LSAT again, in present, real, writing time.

                I was going to see Ashleigh every two weeks.  That cost me a $10 co-pay and plus whatever products I wanted, usually between $10 and $20 every other visit or so.  The chemical peel treatments cost somewhere between $60 and $70 every two weeks, but my parents had been paying the bill.  After I turned 25, I didn’t realize it, but the insurance stopped paying its part, the peels doubled in price, and before I knew it I had an $822 dollar dermatology bill, and my new insurance that my parents had gotten for me could not be applied to the uninsured period.  There was nothing to do but pay it, and my parents helped me with this, though not without certain situations changing.  I didn’t know it but I would never have another appointment.  As such, my skin, some five or six months after this incident, is in its worst condition in about two years.  I am doing what I can to amend the situation but I feel that the care of a dermatologist is the only thing that will work very well for me.  And no one will ever be as good as Ashleigh.

                Perhaps I could add more charming, romantic things she said to me during our sessions, but it would not be prudent.  There were many random things she said that I do not remember.  A special section should be included of random sayings or thoughts she expressed that are now impossible for me to situate into conversational context.  I printed out section two of my second novel and brought it with me when I went to give them the $822 check.  I was lucky enough to see Ashleigh.  I handed her the pages that I had printed out at work that morning.  She said she would have to re-read the first part so she would remember what happened.  But she never talked to me again.  I never found out how she felt about the second part.  I never went back to the dermatologist and now I want to go to one nearby here in Winnetka.  But this is a touchy issue for me and one I should not get into.  Let there be one more chapter about my time in Silverlake, and one grand finale for this book about wasting one’s youth.