Budapest Is Back, Baby!

It is amazing the education one can receive just while riding the bus. Prior to yesterday, I had no idea that the capital of Hungry was the leading tourist center of Europe. Not that I really gave a fig. Apparently theater, music and the arts all thrive there. But you wouldn’t want to live there; the cost of living exceeds that of Manhattan’s. If you got to move, you’re best bet is to go to the outskirts.

Thank you loud-Brooklynese-ladies who sat talking about the plights of the average Hungarian. Oh, and Venice is out of the question too.

So anyway, after these two got off at the supermarket to buy their single bag of cat food and “5 pouches of meat bits that the kitten enjoys,” I continued on to my main goal, which was not a geography bee I assure you. I was off to gain employment. I had to. Not that I’m destitute mind you, it’s just have to get certain people off my back that constantly badgers me about being career impaired.

Now job-hunting is not the most chic thing, I admit, especially in today’s economy. But I was always a rebel.

However, people don’t much like rebels; at least not the people doling out applications. Lucky me picked a day when all the snots were at work (I tell you, somewhere there is a shortage of sticks).

So all day I was given the run around, you know: go here, here and here, pass go, collect an application and “next please.”

And forget about it if you can’t find the human resources on your own. I had the unfortunate audacity to ask for directions. Oh, they’ll give them to you all right… Some are friendly in a customer is always right type manner; others are kind enough to direct you to the scenic route; others still act like wolves protecting their territory.

The woman at Macy’s best summed up the day though. She sized me up through the typical granny glasses chained to her vest and said, “Go to China.”


On the way home I learned that a machete scar on the wrist could easily be mistaken for Carpal Tunnel surgery.

So to home, home, home I go, I go to rest me weary pads and hear those familiar words: “So, get anything yet?”

I think I’m going to track down those two ladies from the bus. I’m curious as to how much I need to move to Siberia.

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Written by

Ryan Livingston

Ryan Livingston