Sorry, y’all; I know the title’s going to fuck up the horizontal, but as people keep saying, THIS IS THE PIT.
Got my paycheck yesterday. It was for a full week; the last two weeks, I didn’t work a full 40, due to doctors’ appointments and interviews for better jobs, which I did not get. So I got my full check, but it’s still not enough. I’m not making what I usually earn, but it’s still not enough.
Now, I would swear in court that Mr. Rilch told me, over the weekend, that we didn’t have any major bills this week, so I could use my check for my personal debts. Sweet, I thought, and deposited the amount that my DSL service withdraws (three weeks late, but they’re forgiving). I also spent $30 on stuff I needed, and this afternoon, I marched into Sears and paid my monthly installment (the last day I could have done so before a penalty). I had other plans, like my Visa account, Goodyear, a candle from the new shop that’s opened up across from my work, and maybe one of the many books I’ve been jonesing for.
Mr. Rilch comes home and says, “I’m going to need you to set aside about $210 for the phone bill.”
Me: (shaking slightly) “You mean from next week’s check.”
Mr. Rilch: “No, from this week’s.”
Me: “I don’t have $210!”
Mr. Rilch: “Well, $150.”
Me: “I don’t have $150!”
Mr. Rilch: “What do you have?”
Me: [runs to purse and fans out bills like an altar offering] “90!”
Mr. Rilch: “What did you spend the rest on?”
Me: [explains] “You told me I could have this check for myself!”
Mr. Rilch: “No, that was last week’s.”
Me: “Last week I gave almost everything to the electric!”
We settled on $50. Then he went to fetch Friend, who was going to help him try to start his truck. See, the truck wouldn’t start this morning; it won’t turn over. I saw it in the garage and wondered what was up, then he came home and told me.
Now, he said at first that he was going to let it sit there until he got his paycheck. I went down with them and put new coolant in my radiator (can’t have two breakdowns!), then came up to take a shower.
I’m in my space, rinsing out my hair (Hugh Jackman is also in my space), when the door opens*. Mr. Rilch says, “I’m going to need $70 for this thing.”
Me: “You mean for the phone?”
Mr. Rilch: “No, we’re going to have to forget the phone. $70 for my truck.”
I’m glad I was rinsing and not lathering my hair, so a foolish cap of suds doesn’t undercut my glare. “Do you need it right this minute?”
Mr. Rilch: “No, I was going to get it from your purse.”
Me: “Well, that’s what I meant.”
Door closes. I stomp my foot once, and decide not to do that again in this polyurethane tub. I wouldn’t be embarrassed, but it would be painful to land wet and naked in the downstairs neighbors’ apartment. And it would get us more deeply in debt. Hugh has apparently gone back to Wahroonga, so I finish conditioning my hair, seething.
God fucking damnit. That leaves me $20 and some odd change. That may not get me through the weekend satisfactorily. Even if it does, there’ll be no candle, no book, not even the fucking steel wool that I forgot to get yesterday and still need. Mr. Rilch wanted me to make biscotti this weekend; unless I already have the ingredients (I thought I could get them on Saturday), that’s out the window.
I get paid on Tuesdays, and next week’s check may be late because of the holiday. I often am in this situation after work on Friday, but now I almost feel like I’m skipping a check.
Sure, take it from my purse. Take my purse itself; take every goddamned thing I own. And don’t, by any means, let me have shower time to myself.
*We don’t lock the door when we shower, in case of a mishap like stepping on the soap. Or me having a seizure.
