The California Postal Exams

Spring, 2006.

I enjoy living in Las Vegas, but the pay structure at the car dealership is like no other job that I have ever held. I am compensated 100 percent on commission. So, even if I have a good month, it is hard for me to relax or go out and have a good time because I do not know how much money I will make the following month. I might need to save what I can, in case my sales drop off.

What would be great is a sales job that gives me a solid base salary, and then the opportunity to earn a healthy bonus based on commission. Those kinds of jobs are hard to find, though, especially with my lack of experience. Also, I am writing screenplays and trying to get an agent out here on the West Coast, so I want a job that will give me the free time to do that. To be a good salesman, you really need to be putting in 12 hour days.

For whatever reason, the U.S. Postal Service comes to mind. That looks like a good government job. You just walk around outside, going house to house delivering letters.

I have inquired at the Las Vegas Post Office numerous times about openings- to the point where they have told me to quit asking. So the next best place is California.

The way to gain full time employment with the Post Office is to look on line for where they are giving the postal exam. You take the test with a bunch of other people at that location, and then based on your score you are placed on a list to be interviewed. The test is not even offered unless the Post Office is looking to hire people for that location.

There are two spots in California right now- Bakersfield and Oxnard, and I have registered to take the test for both.

The Bakersfield test is first, and it is given early in the morning. So I need to make the four hour drive the night before and stay in a hotel.

The ride across the Mojave desert is beautiful. As I leave Las Vegas, I begin to go up in elevation. Soon I see Joshua Trees sprawling across the desert floor.

I stop in Barstow, California and eat at a nice, small Italian Restaurant. There would be nothing to this town if it was not the convergence of Interstate 15 and Interstate 40. Barstow is actually where I-40 West ends. I-40 West begins in Wilmington, North Carolina, where I was born.

After eating at the Italian Restaurant, I drive on Highway 58 toward Bakersfield. Now, instead of Joshua Trees, numerous oil well pumps cover the ground. I have never seen anything like it, nor have I ever seen such enormous fields of oranges and other fruits that I do not have time to stop and identify.

I arrive in Bakersfield in the late afternoon and check into a room at a Motel 6. There is an IHOP restaurant across the parking lot from the hotel. As the sun sets, I go here to eat dinner. Almost everyone else in the restaurant looks to be a truck driver.

That night in my hotel room, I get ready to take a shower. I've brought my own bar of Dove soap. As I walk across the carpet to the bathroom and shower, I accidentally drop the bar on the floor. When I pick it up, I notice that tiny green leaves are sticking to the soap, and I have to assume it is marijuana.

After taking my shower, I spread out on one of the two beds in the room. I do not stay there for long, though, as I see a large crack in the ceiling above me. Water is dripping from it right onto the bed. Fortunately, the other bed does not have this problem, and I get a pretty good night's sleep.

The test itself seems to be pretty easy, based on other tests I have taken in high school and college, and I honestly do not have many specific memories of it.

***

A few weeks later is the Oxnard test.

I repeat the drive across the desert, only I stay on I-15 in Barstow across the Sierra Nevada Mountains.

Coming down the west side of the mountains, I encounter one of the most beautiful things that I have ever seen in nature. Still high in elevation, below me are miles and miles of orange groves. The green plants stretch as far as I can see. In the distance is Los Angeles, a relatively small space on the horizon, shrouded in smog.

I drive through Los Angeles, specifically Burbank, and I have to smile as I pass by exits for various movie studios. This is the place where I want to be.

Oxnard itself is a beautiful little coastal town, though I can tell it must be very expensive to live here. But I manage to find another cheap hotel for the night.

After taking the test the following morning, I decide to drive the two or three miles to the ocean, as I have never seen the Pacific before.

When I find the beach, I take off my shoes and walk in the water. Out in the ocean, a couple of mountainous pieces of land jut from the water. They are big enough for multiple houses, if one actually wanted to build there.

I pull out my cell phone and place a call to my brother back in North Carolina.

"Hey Adam, guess where I am?"

"Where?" he asks.

"I am standing in the Pacific Ocean."

Adam thinks that is pretty cool.

I continue talking. "My fourth grade teacher told me that in California, you can stand in the Pacific Ocean and behind you see snow on the mountains. You know what? She was right. I am standing in the ocean, and behind me are the Sierra Nevada Mountains. I can see snow on the tops of some of them."

My Favorite Doughnut

Late 1970s/ Early 1980s. Wilmington, North Carolina.



One of my earliest memories is riding in the back seat of my parents' car, a tan late 70s model Ford Fairmont.

My seat was always behind mom, or the right side passenger. My younger brother, Adam, sat behind dad. We were small enough that both my brother and I liked to rock back and forth, bouncing against the rear seat. These were the days before back seats had shoulder strap seat belts. Truthfully, I do not even remember wearing a seat belt in the back seat until I was a few years older, though Mom and Dad may have buckled us up.

Adam and I could hit the back of the seat as hard as we wanted with no harm done to either us or the leather interior- we were both that small.

I also remember Dad driving us to a Krispy Creme Doughnut shop some evenings after Sunday night church services. A cream filled doughnut is my first memory of tasting something sweet. Cream filled doughnuts from Krispy Creme remain my favorite, though I try not to order them often, so that I can keep the taste special for me. When I bite into one or even just smell it, I can see in my mind the fluorescent lit green and white shop set against the dark sky of a Wilmington night, and I remember riding in that Ford car, rocking and bouncing against the back seat.

My First Night in Vegas

May 2003.

The excitement is just too much. I can not sleep. There is no point in lying awake in bed at my apartment in Wilmington, North Carolina.

So I get up, shower, put my suitcase in my pickup truck and drive out to the airport around four in the morning.

Hardly anyone is there, and during the hours before boarding the plane, I do manage to drift in and out of sleep in the uncomfortable airport chairs.

I have been out west once before. When I was in college, I was part of a group that the school sent to Reno, Nevada. So the desert is not entirely new to me, but like everything else in Vegas, it will be fascinating. I have been looking forward to this vacation for weeks.

After landing at McCarran International Airport, I drive my rental car to the hotel/casino, the Jackie Gaughan Plaza. As I take the elevator up from the parking garage to the casino floor, an old man rides with me.

"Is this your first time to Vegas?" he asks.

"Yes, it is," I answer.

"You're going to love it," he says.

I smile and agree.

It is early afternoon in Las Vegas, and my hotel room window looks out onto Fremont Street. Later, I will learn why the street is covered almost its entire length by a strange steel structure. But for now, I call my parents to let them know I have arrived safely. Then I collapse on my bed and sleep for a few hours.

Again, the excitement is what wakes me up. I get ready quickly and put on what I think is a nice outfit- khaki pants and a brand new white Nike shirt with a small swoosh mark over the left chest.

Downstairs in the casino, I smile at all the slot machines, neon colors and people walking around. For my first night in Vegas, though, I want to get outside and see the sights.

A security guard stands next to a wall. I go up to him.

"Excuse me, sir?"

"Yes, sir?" he answers.

"I am new to Las Vegas, and I just wanted to ask what you might recommend seeing first?"

"This is your first night here?" he asks.

"Yes, it is."

"Have you been to The Strip, yet?"

"The Strip?" I ask.

"You know what The Strip is, right?"

"No, actually I don't."

"It's where all the big casinos are, and all the big shows."

"Ah, ok. Is it right outside here?"

"No, no. You're in Old Town right now. This is Old Town Las Vegas."

"Can I walk to it, then?"

The guard smiles patiently at me.

"You're going to be walking a long way if you try to do that. There is a bus stop outside the casino. I recommend riding the bus to the strip.

"How much is it to take the bus?" I ask.

"Like two dollars," he says.

"Okay, thank you."

The guard gives me a curious look as I walk away, a look that I do not understand.

I find the bus stop, just as one is arriving. I notice a cute girl along with three of her friends walking ahead of me, and all of us run to catch the bus before it pulls away.

The girl is laughing as she boards the steps. She has a beautiful smile and laugh. She goes to the back of the bus to sit with her friends. I choose a seat more in the middle, next to a guy who looks to be about my age.

As the bus rides down the streets of Las Vegas, my head is on a swivel trying to take in as much as I can and orient myself as to where I am going.

The guy sitting beside me asks if I am new to Las Vegas, and we have a conversation about the things to do and see. We do not talk for very long, though, before he gives me what I would call a worried look.

"This is my stop," he says as the bus slows down. I move out of the way, and he promptly hops off the bus.

As the bus continues, I know that I am on the strip, now. Massive buildings that have to be the casinos are lit with millions of neon lights. It is mind blowing. I smile and look toward the back of the bus, at the cute girl to see what her reaction might be to all of this.

She immediately notices me, and a look of fear comes over her face.

This puzzles and hurts me a little. Do I scare her? Why would I be frightening to her?

I take this as my cue to get off the bus. This is where I want to be, anyway, in the middle of all this action.

Las Vegas is great at any time of the day or night, but as I hop off the bus, I now understand that the city transforms into a different thing at night, when the neon lights turn on. It truly feels like the closest thing to paradise that humans can build on earth, and it generates a sort of "high" for me.

As I walk down the street with the throngs of people, I also begin to appreciate how long The Strip is. There is no way that I will want to explore the entire length, not in one night.

I realize that I am hungry. Places to eat are everywhere. I duck into a Quiznos to get a quick sandwich. There is just too much I want to see right now to spend a lot of time eating.

As I go through the line, a Hispanic guy working behind the counter with a black baseball cap looks at me. I try to order, but he points at my shirt.

"You know your shirt is on inside out, right?"

I look down, and to my horror, I see the seams crisscrossing all over and some strings hanging loose. I reach back and feel behind my neck. Sure enough, the collar tag is sticking straight out.

Now, I understand all the strange looks from the security guard, the guy beside me on the bus, and the cute girl in the back.

"Holy smoke!" I exclaim.

The Quiznos guy begins laughing.

"You guys got a bathroom?" I ask.

He points around the corner. I go inside and fix the problem.

When I come out, I thank the Quiznos employee for telling me.

"I've talked to all these people tonight, and no one said a thing," I say. "They must have thought I was crazy."

The Quiznos guy shakes his head, smiles and looks down as he starts to prepare my sandwich.