Late Saturday morning, I saunter into a small yarn shop to get some supplies for some Christmas scarves for friends. The proprietor is teaching a woman knitting, so I wander around, picking my colours and weights.

Arms full, I head to the till to wait for a break in the lesson to pay, but the student points at me and speaks to the shopkeeper.

Student: “You should go help the devil. She’s just paying.”

I looked at her in shock at her calling me the devil. I had been nothing but quiet and self-sufficient, and I had been waiting patiently — no toe-tapping or watch-checking at all. But I am not a patient person at the best of times, so I worried that I’d been giving off a vibe.

Then, I remembered that it was Hallowe’en and I was wearing little beaded devil horns. I snorted and thanked the student for taking a break, relieved that my memory was faster than my usually quick mouth.

I work as a building supervisor with seven buildings I take care of. I also have a side job as a contractor to paint any apartment that needs it. I only do this part-time because of other duties from my buildings.

If I don’t have time for painting, my employer hires outside workers. I have been a painter for about eight years and do a very good job. I want everything perfect.

I have other building supers who are taking care of my buildings for two weeks that I’m taking off. My son started talking really early, and by two, he could speak quite clearly. He doesn’t make much sense, but you can understand every word he says.

I get a call from one of my tenants.

Tenant: *Angrily* “You must come to my place and paint my living room. My grandkids colored all over the walls with Sharpies! I have company coming and I will be totally embarrassed if they see my walls in this condition.”

Me: *Kindly* “I am on my two-week vacation and can’t help you.”

She starts screaming into the phone.

Tenant: “It’s your job! You have to come to paint for me or I won’t pay my rent next month.”

Me: “Please call the building owners and explain that to them. They have three other painters on call.”

That goes over like a loud fart in church!

Me: “Ma’am, my painting job and landlord status are two separate jobs, and I am on a two-week vacation from both.”

The tenant hangs up and calls the building owner. Then, the building owner calls me to ask my side. I tell her and she just laughs about it.

Building Owner: “If she calls back, just have fun. But she knows better than to threaten holding the rent back, because I warned her that if she doesn’t pay, she can’t stay.”

Less than five minutes later, I get the call I am expecting from the crazy tenant.

Tenant: “I just spoke to your boss! They said that you have to be here tonight to get my painting done immediately!”

Me: *Laughing* “I already talked to [Building Owner], and I am still on vacation.”

Tenant: “I mean your boss for your painting job!”

Me: “Oops.” *Laughs*

Malicious compliance activated!

Me: “He is right here beside me. I’ll put you on speaker so we can all straighten this out together.”

I put the phone on speaker and tell my son he is wanted on the phone. He LOVES talking on the phone. He doesn’t listen to the person on the phone; he just tells them all about what’s going on with his day, what he is watching on TV, about the puppy pooping in the grass, etc.

The tenant couldn’t be rude to a toddler, so after a few minutes of him chattering away, I pick up the phone and take it off speaker. This sends my little man into a freak-out.

Me: *To the tenant* “That’s my boss. By the sounds of him right now, it doesn’t look like I can make it tonight.”

She just hung up. I didn’t get another call from her.

I’m half-watching my boyfriend play a game, half-dozing on the couch next to him. It’s around Halloween, and he’s playing a remake of a horror game from the 1990s. While I don’t mind watching others play horror games, when I have the controller, I’m a big baby, so I don’t play them often unless I think the story is worth the scares. He is much better at handling scares and usually doesn’t react.

He is dodging what I think is a super zombie in a trench coat and he thinks he’s lost him. I’m watching the screen but really not paying attention to anything.

Suddenly, my boyfriend lets out what I can only describe as a banshee screech, legs jerking upward just as the trench coat man finds him.

Me: *Becoming suddenly alert* “What?! What happened?!”

Boyfriend: *Very alarmed* “Something just touched my foot!”

I look down to see one of our two bunnies hop out from under the couch and stomp his foot in displeasure at the reaction of his hello. We’ve been trying to teach our bunny to “nose bump”; you offer your fist for a fist-bump and he bumps his nose in response. He took this to mean that bumping his nose against you is just how we say hi. It could be your hand, your face, your foot, or whatever he can reach at the time he’s hopping by. He apparently has perfect timing. We now double-check where the rabbits are before playing scary games.

I’m taking a class with a professor who LOVES his subject and is clearly delighted to have people to talk to about it. I’m not sure he even brings lecture notes; he just tells us to read something, and then in the next class, he comes in and talks about it for an hour and a half, barely pausing for breath. Since the subject is a bit esoteric and the professor is so disorganized, it’s hard to tell when something he says is important and when it’s tangential, so everybody takes reams of notes, frantically scribbling to keep up with him. As a result, people don’t speak up much. 

One day, I raise my hand, and the professor’s face lights up.

Professor: “Oh, a question! Wonderful! Yes?”

He looks so excited at this sign of engagement that I actually feel bad about what I have to say next.

Me: “Uh, well… it’s ten o’clock, and I have to go to my next class.”

Professor: “Oh. Yes, so it is. Class dismissed.”

He seemed slightly crushed, so I vowed to actually ask a real question next time.

I was laid off during the health crisis. I receive an offer for an even better-paying job, but it will take me out of the country and will take a long time to process my paperwork. As a result, I have to take another job to get me through the time period between the two positions.

The position I end up taking moves me from Michigan to Hawaii. The pay is substantially less than what I was making in Michigan but I figure that the experience working for the government is still very helpful for my career plans; plus, I get to live in a new place that few people get to experience.

While I know that living in Hawaii will come with its own unique drawbacks, the reality of the situation turns out to be worse than I anticipated. I’ve gone from having my own two-bedroom apartment to myself and putting thousands into my savings account every month to sharing a townhouse with two girls half my age who came to Hawaii to drink and party.

I am disappointed with the low pay rate offered by my subcontracting company. I manage to talk them up a little bit, but the rates they offer for mid- and senior-level positions are still unusually low for my field. I figure that not all contracts are created equal and maybe the government just isn’t paying them that much. Oh, how naively trusting I am. I talk about my pay rate with coworkers with fewer qualifications working lower roles and they ALL make more than me. It turns out that I have a really cheap staffing agency.

I still have plenty of savings, but I’m cutting costs to stay within my temporary budget because I’m trying to save my money. This also means that I am unable to return home for Thanksgiving.

All in all, I am really not liking life in Hawaii. I’m talking to my dad, griping about my life, and discussing holiday plans.

Me: “I’m going to splurge this week for Thanksgiving. Instead of my usual five-dollar frozen pizza, I’m going to splurge for a ten-dollar frozen pizza.”

Dad: “We’re going to be having yams, broccoli casserole, stuffing, prime rib… a pie…”

Me: “Well, Dad, I wish you a happy Thanksgiving and a hearty f**** you!”

My dad just laughed.