How Did I Get Here?

I never would have expected this.

Never in a million years.

Here’s the dish:
Despite all of my juvenile protestations—and frankly, a number of adult protestations as well—I have moved back to my hometown in what I call the “Greater Chicagoland Area”, which really means the “Far, Far North Suburbs”. If you take 94 North towards Wisconsin, past all of the posh suburbs littered with private drives and trustifarian kids and grocery stores that hire minimum-wage laborers to remove your items from your cart and place them on the conveyor belt for you; past the social-climbing suburbs with their shiny Hummers and obscene mansion-sized houses on sad little split-level ranch-sized lots; way up to the suburbs that have no real industry and therefore no real hope—that’s where my people come from. That’s my hometown. The town that I couldn’t wait to see the back of. The town that couldn’t hold me when I was twelve years old, let now that I’m t . . . well, let’s just say now that I’m older. And somehow, I’ve found myself back here.

I now live in my Hometown. (P.S. With my *parents*.) I work in an Office. For a Company. Which is mainly a Factory that provides a Service. I commute an hour each way, each day. I’d say that I punch the clock, but I actually punch in my Social Security numbers, followed by the pound sign (#), and then stick my hand into a CIA-style hand scanner. (Seriously. But more about that at a later date.) I have no Official Job Title, but I’m basically a secretary. I do receptionist duties—multi-line phones and all that. I do accounts receivable. I maintain customer files. I get paid by the hour. Very little. You know, your classic pink-collar girl.

Here’s how I was blindsided:
Last fall, I defended my doctoral dissertation. At the very end of August—just in time to make it impossible to find a faculty job for the ’06-’07 school year. At the time, I was also homeless. My lease had run out in the middle of August, and having no job lined up in A Town Near You and, honestly, no sight of the future beyond The Defense, I opted not to renew. I packed up all my stuff and stashed it in my parents’ basement and lived basically as a squatter. My friend Esmerelda had skipped the state several months earlier, and her condo still hadn’t sold, so although the realtor wouldn’t allow me in the building from the hours of 8am to 10pm, I was free to crash there post-10. As long as I was out by 8. So I did. Me, a suitcase, an air mattress, and a Hot Pot. (P.S. There was running water.) So during the days I hung out any place where it was socially acceptable to stay for a long time and not buy anything—meaning lots of time in libraries, Barnes & Nobles, and antique stores. Coffee shops were pretty useless because they expected you to buy something eventually, and this girl was flat. Otherwise, I’d find a place to park and hang out in my car.

So that was that. Squatting for about a month, and then once I defended and deposited my dissertation—becoming Doctor Lulu O’Brien, thank you very much, or Lulu O’Brien, Ph.D., if you prefer—I spent some time driving around, visiting friends and family because hey, I was done, and I had a little time before and Artist-in-Residence gig I had lined up Out East. And when the time came, I hopped in the Biggest Pickup Truck Ever and drove Out East with my friend and partner-in-artistic-crime, Trudie. (That’s just like “Trudy”, only with a “ie” instead of a “y”.) We crashed out with my friend Clark (who is actually a superhero, too, but more about that later). We hung out and made some art and ate pierogies, since they love a pierogie out there.

That was a month, and a few days flying solo on the road, but then suddenly . . . nothing. I had nothing to do. But perhaps more significantly, I had no place to live. I had some cash from the residency, but not enough to rent an apartment, and since I have two cats—Rudy and Baby Girl—I couldn’t exactly live in my car. (And believe me—I tried to figure out a way to make the car work, but a tiny little space with a litter box built for two? Not pleasant.) So my parents suggested I live with them. Insisted, really. And seeing as I had no other options, I accepted.

I spent a couple of months hiding out in my 8 x 10 room, mainly sleeping and watching BBC America. And every re-run of every Law & Order series ever invented. Then I started spiffing up my CV between L&O marathons, and I started applying for faculty jobs for this fall. But then my meager funds ran out, so it was time to get the Placeholder Job. You know the Placeholder Jobs—the ones you get to get you by until Something You Really Want To Do comes along. Some people wait tables. Some deliver pizzas. Move furniture. Sling lattes at Starbucks or fold sweaters at the Gap. Me, I Temp. Usually. But what with monster.com making it so easy and all, I found myself sending out my temp resume to regular office positions.

Which is how I ended up at The Company.

But here’s the question:
What’s a girl to do when she finds herself financially stuck in a quiet, unassuming life, pretending to be a quiet, unassuming secretary, when in reality, she has a superhero inside?