The next Matchmaker book (book #4, now titled PLAYING THE FIELD) is coming July 28! I'm working hard to torture Gladie and make you a really fun book. Here's a little sneak peek of Gladie's troubles. Poor Gladie. Why is life so hard for her? Oh, I know! It's because I make her life so hard. I'm an evil author. :) Enjoy!
She looked at the resume a couple of seconds and then looked back up at me. “Your resume is twenty-three pages long.”
“That’s good, right?”
She riffled through the pages. “There’s over a hundred jobs here in less than two-year period.”
I bit a nail. “That many? Are you sure?”
“I know how to count, Miss Burger.”
“You could say that I have a lot skills and talents.” Or that I got fired a lot.
She squinted and pointed her pen at me. “Aren’t you the woman that Walley’s is suing?”
“No. PETA is suing Walley’s because of me. I can see how you got that confused.”
“The snake, right?”
“Who ever heard of an assistance snake?” I laughed, but she wasn’t laughing with me. She was still squinting and shaking the pen at my face.
“And the head, right? You did something with a severed head?”
“I thought it was a lobster,” I squeaked.
“Holy crap! You’re the woman who drove through Ruth Fletcher’s tea shop!”
“It wasn’t me! I wasn’t driving!”
“I know exactly who you are, now. You’re Zelda’s granddaughter. You find the dead people.”
“Well…” I started. “If you want to get technical.”
She handed my resume back to me. “Sorry. I can’t find you a job. My liability insurance won’t cover you. You’re a disaster.”
She stood and put her hand out. I stood and shook it. “Disaster is a little harsh,” I said. “I’m very good with data entry. And I got very few complaints as a seating hostess at Denny’s. Four or five, tops.”
She pushed me toward the door. “You should probably leave before you burn down my office.”
“I resent that. I’ve never burned down an employment office.” She pushed me harder and opened the door for me, waving me outside. “I’m not bad with food. I could be some kind of taster.”
She leaned in and got in my face. “Listen young lady, nobody will ever hire you in this town. Do you understand me? One whiff of your trouble-making, and they’ll head for the hills. You’re the jinx of minimum wage jobs. You get me?”
“I’m happy to work for more than minimum wage,” I offered. But it was too late. She closed the door on me and locked it to make sure my bad luck self couldn’t infect her employment files.
What was I going to do? I had worked every job in America. I had run into a brick wall. And not just the one I ran into when I was a chauffeur in Los Angeles for three days. This was an employment brick wall. I was persona non grata for anything with a paycheck. I was doomed.