I will finally continue the story I started about 2 weeks ago. It is the true account of my move from college to "The Real World". I say, true account, because another writer who also spent some unpleasant times in Minnesota recently became famous for writing a book he claimed as "autobiographical", and then later admitting he had fabricated certain parts of (I suspect his visit to the dentist and unmedicated root canal surgery was one of these fabrications).
Anyways, I digress. On with the REAL story ...
3. Looking for work – or not
A couple weeks later, I had made my plan. I would go up to the City, which is what I called Minneapolis. I would just go and try my luck. Trying to find work the conventional way just wasn't my cup of tea. I know, I should have used the college career placement office. But they were so meticulous. Wanted to quibble about misplaced commas, when all I wanted was my own car. Wanted me to sign up for on-campus interviews, for the spring, when what I wanted was a job, any job, now. I mean, how hard can it be? I'd never held any job before that I could get in one day. Go in, fill out an application, talk to the boss, and the next day, they call me, “your hired”, or, “we don't need you this year. We're full”. And the college wanted me to revise my resume? Like I had all the time in the world. Please ...
In the meantime, I read my college books in the comfort of the library on “The Hill”, pondering these questions. It seemed silly to be making any serious plans, especially plans that would obviously involve a great deal of discomfort and attention to detail. (I associated these two things together) After all, my first priority was getting through my Russian History class in January and arranging my exit from college. I didn't want to be surprised later on that I still needed an extra class credit or something. That would mean 4 or 5 more months of this place. I had grown to know every square foot of campus. Though more recent visits have confirmed that “The Hill” (what people affectionately call the campus there in Northfield) is indeed a beautiful spot, I learned then that no matter how nice a “paradise” one lives on, if one does not alter the landscape from time to time, one will grow tired of it. I was ready for someplace new, dirty and exciting.
4. Moving Day
At the end of January, it was time to move. I had a friend up in the city who said I could stay for a little while. I had saved up a couple hundred bucks. I packed my belongings in the Pinto, hoping that the brakes would not completely fail during my move and ruin me and the belongings. I remember the night I was packing. We were having yet another snowfall. All my fellow students and coeds were having a gay old time, chasing eachother around, pelting eachother with snowballs, going up to their warm, cozy dorm rooms and doing what college kids like to do best. I had no such pleasures to look forward to. I started the car. Thankfully, the ignition was still in working condition. I let it warm up, spewing poisonous exhaust into the frigid air. Going around the vehicle, brushing snow off the lights, the front window, the back hatch, I was rather proud of myself. I felt like one of those settlers who headed west in horse-drawn carriages loaded to the beams with all their possessions. The car purred peacefully. Nice Pinto. Goodbye, Thorsen Hall.... goodbye, St. Olaf College.
That night, I arrived in Minneapolis. It was about 0 degrees. I pulled into the parking lot of my friend's place. My buddy, let's call him Jake, rented an upper level room in an apartment he shared with 2 other people. The lease holder was a Japanese graduate student, in her late 30s or early 40s. I knew other Japanese, and liked them. But this Japanese didn't like me. “Jake, your friend cannot stay here. He does not pay” She was trying not to have an open argument in front of me. For some reason, her sense of civility which prevented her from trying to embarrass me in front of my friend was not enough to convince her not to throw a poor student out of the house, into a killing frost. My friend then agreed to keep me for at least a couple nights. I really wasn't feeling good about this. I had always felt like it was not right to stay where you're not wanted. Or to cause an argument by your presence. Well, I had my work cut out for me. Find an affordable apartment for less than $250 a month in the middle of the coldest winter in memory in Minneapolis.
5. Looking for a Shelter
Now I was desperate. If I didn't find something soon, I would either (a) have to go to a homeless shelter to survive, or (b) go back to Wisconsin, hanging my head in failure. I drove around the area near the place I had crashed (where Jake was living), scanning for “For Rent” signs. I knew that the car – the Pinto - was my weakness. Assuming I could get some sort of job, I couldn't trust the car to start and get me to work every morning. So I had to have a cheap apartment near public transit. That pretty much limited me to the University Area. It is the area just to the East of the Mississippi River, which separates the campus at the University of Minnesota / Minneapolis into 2 parts. Where I ended up living, in case you are looking at the map, is around where it says "SE 5th Ave.", just north of the red star.
One good thing if you're looking for cheap housing is, the U of M is surrounded by student apartment buildings (in what is called "Dinkytown"). The bad thing is, these apartment buildings are some of the cheapest, worst-maintained housing you'll ever see. I didn't care about that at the the time, though. I needed a place, and I needed it fast.
