It's not.  But invest in sunscreen people, La Guera's headed south for the summer. I arrived here in Satan's Sauna (my pet-name for the 48th ratified state) four very long days ago and could not be more determined to get the hell out. "Fun"employment, however, isn't paying well these days, and I hear there are some monetary requirements associated with moving...go figure.  This puts a young broad like myself in quite the pickle; find a job elsewhere like NOW and hope I can get to "elsewhere" on limited funds, or find a job here in the meantime.  Obviously, the former is ideal (the latter may lead to long-term depression and some form of skin cancer).  That being said, I'm sure there are some jobs that would eventually allow me to transfer out of this godforsaken place, or that would at least give me some of that "experience" stuff employers have such a hard-on for these days.  Still not keen on Option B though, which is one of the reasons I had to decline my first job offer
Determined to run into another human being here in Destination Desolation, I ventured into town the other night. On a side note, it's unfathomable to me that I, a total So-Cal snob, can walk around for at least an hour in the desert sun, yet none of the natives can separate from their beloved air-conditioning units for more than thirty seconds at a time. Luckily, if you put enough misters in enough bars and restaurants (in addition to ever-constant icy blasts of inhumanely cold AC), the locals will leave their homes!  Overwhelmed by the confirmation that other people do reside here, my spirits were temporarily lifted and I decided it was time to contribute to the town's economy and wiggle my way into the social scene.  As a former Santa-Barbarian, I naturally felt drawn to one of the more obnoxiously loud (and misted) bars, and the outdoor seating was conducive to my smoking needs.  Little did I know, the standard quantity of alcohol served at said establishment was four ounces, mixed with who knows how many ounces of non-alcohol, and it's served in a mini bucket-like plastic container (I don't think I can refer to it as a "cup" without compromising accuracy).  I figured I'd sweat out at least half of it anyway and decided to indulge, but it may have effectively impaired my judgment, and it certainly succeeded in making me friendlier, which is how this all becomes relevant.

After the bucket and some small-talk, I decided to call it a night and started my journey back "home".  En route, I managed to befriend a nice Croatian fellow who sympathized with my new-to-town plight.  About five minutes into the conversation, he inquired about my employment status, and upon hearing the grimness of my situation, he offered a solution.  He invited me to become an Uber driver, an idea I was thrilled about (thanks a lot bucket of alcohol) at the time.  How perfect! I could make my own schedule, make money while I'm here job-hunting, and not have to worry about getting "stuck" in a dead-end job (again)!  We exchanged numbers, and after convincing my new foreign friend that I am both an excellent driver AND quite capable of dealing with intoxicated male customers (obvi), we decided to come up with a time and place to meet in sobriety to further discuss all of the details.  After parting ways, I made it back to home-base and went to sleep beaming with pride. "Calvin's got a job!"

The next day, I did a lot of personal reflection, and realized my eagerness the night before was slowly disappearing.  By personal reflection, I mean I remembered that I haven't seen my ID in ages, I'm in between insurance companies, and my registration expired in April.  I can only assume the Uber company would've been less than thrilled to allow me to work for them under any one of those conditions, nonetheless all three.  Methinks I'll start trying to make business connections before heading to the watering hole from now on.