Sometimes We Get What We Need

I finally got to the Redding bus depot. After ten hours in a droning Greyhound, I was beaten and wanted nothing more than to stand up, stretch my body, get on solid ground, and try to relieve my mind about an upcoming do-or-die job interview. The meeting with three interviewers would include questions about my general knowledge of the position I’d applied for as well as my demeanor. A degree in Forestry from Oregon State was a huge plus but the job required the facility to deal affably with the general public as well as all the people I’d be working with and working for - things that can’t be taught in a classroom.

I needed sleep, but I had to stay awake in the depot’s empty passenger waiting area. It was critical to ensure I’d be on board my 5:15 A.M. connection to Sacramento. Besides that, sleeping in a bus depot is like wearing a sign that says Come steal my luggage. With my interview just hours away I couldn’t risk any bad timing, bad men, bad luck, or bad dreams.  

I got coffee from a vending machine and took a seat on one of the long wooden benches. Setting my backpack next to me as an elbow rest, I opened my study manual for some last-minute cramming to help prepare for the interview.  I was about to read from a dog-eared page when a willowy woman about my mom’s age appeared from nowhere. She looked around the large, empty waiting area, then focusing on the only occupied bench she took a seat near me.

She wore a plain, loose-fitting dress and shawl. Jangly bracelets dangled from her thin wrists. Her hair was parted in the middle, pulled back in a bun, and held in place by black netting. She smiled in a friendly way and said, “My name is Pesha. You must be exhausted after such a long bus ride, and quite worried and anxious about your job interview in Sacramento.”

I couldn’t hide my startled expression. She said, “Oh, please. Don’t be alarmed. I knew about your journey by reading the claim tag on your backpack. Departure-Corvallis: Destination- Redding/Sacramento.”

 “How could you have known about the job interview? I haven’t told anyone.”

“I observed your reading material and put it together with the Sacramento destination.  No college-age person reads the California State Fish and Wildlife Manual just to pass the time.

“The interview will not go well, by the way. The dream job will not be offered to you.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Your slumped shoulders and irresolute frown tells me you lack confidence, self-belief, and ambition. You’re inclined to avoid risk. You always imagine the worst. You worry about losing control or making wrong decisions. It’s written in your expression and demeanor. You need the caffeine because you’re afraid to sleep - worried about missing your connection or something even worse. Studying the manual is an endless exercise, not for a lack of comprehension, but a lack of self-assurance. Constant uneasiness about disapproval and failure has robbed you of the power to control your destiny many times in the past, and it will continue to plague you in the future. People become wary when they sense anxiety rather than confidence.”

 I was stunned! “How could you be so rude to someone you don’t even know?”

“I’m a fortuneteller. The truth can hurt.”

“Oh, so you think that gives you the right to just walk up and be insulting and nasty to total strangers?”

“Yes. But I have good news, for you. I can alter your destiny.”

Aha. She had plans for me. I was a target. That’s when I figured Pesha for just some fast-talking, petty, swindler,

She leaned toward me knitting her bushy eyebrows and gesturing with her index finger pointing toward her right temple.  “If you permit me to merge my mind with your mind, allowing me to make a few minor adjustments, I’ll give you what you need to help you to make a good impression tomorrow, and in the future in all your dealings with people.”

I didn’t trust her for a minute. It was so obvious that she was out to take my money, although she had not yet mentioned the price. I challenged her, “Okay, so this is where you tell me how much it costs - right?”

The flat fee for changing one's destiny was ten dollars. “Quite reasonable,” she said.

Maybe I should have been, but I wasn’t fuming, at Pesha. She had me chuckling inside about her sheer audacity. I figured what the hell; her time was worth something just for keeping me awake. I took two fives out of my wallet and handed them over. She closed her eyes and rolled the bills between her palms, making them into a small ball. I heard her bracelets rattling as I closed my eyes. When she told me I could open them I said, “So which lotto am I about to win?”

“I promised I would change your destiny – not your luck. You’ll see,”

Then Pesha smiled, gathered up her handbag, and said good night with wiggly fingers. I watched her edge her way to the aisle, and disappear through a side door to the street. 

My coffee had gone cold, and I was alone again in the chilly, cavernous waiting area - and out ten bucks.

But, I still had more than three hours before my connection to Sacramento; plenty of time for some solid shut-eye. If I missed the 5:15, I could always catch the 6:20, no problem. I threw my boots up on the long wooden bench and put my head on the soft part of my backpack. I had this wonderful awareness and belief in myself, knowing I was absolutely guaranteed to ace my job interview. I wasn’t worried about that or any other damned thing as I floated off into a welcoming dream that had me as a California State Park Ranger.  

The End