The Lousy Adult

Abstract

The Lousy Adult William J. Cobb (bio) Dream Job, with Fine Print Joel Wind is gallery curator for the Taos Art Institute, and although he would have once considered this a dream job he hates it, actually. He loves art, but he's come to believe that most artists are at best troubled misfits and at worst vicious egotists. Based in New Mexico, Joel is regularly required to nurse a gaggle of prima donna Southwestern poseurs, negotiating between their pet peeves and petty sensitivities as they strut about in paint-spattered cowboy boots spouting New Age hooey. Not to mention, but we will, the worrisome phone calls and e-mail. Plus he hates talking on the phone, that businessman voice he has to use. More than once he has hidden beneath his desk to avoid a drop-in visit. So he decides to hire an assistant. He interviews five people for the job, five squirming encounters with the outside world, that uncontrollable realm that seems to throb and pulse with trouble, resentment, and desperation. The first two interviewees are sad, lumpy characters sent over from the state employment agency. Number one is a homely fellow with a long neck and enormous Adam's apple, as if he's swallowed a pet turtle. He vaguely recalls actually having been inside a museum but admits he does not do so on a regular basis, and confesses to being a bit fuzzy on the ins and outs of the biz. He asks if the Billy the Kid museum in Carson City counts. Joel says I don't see why not. "It's not as fancy schmancy as this one, that's for sure. Like, there's no men's room inside the building, and if you gotta go, you end up in [End Page 548] the nastiest portajohn in eastern New Mexico." He shivers and makes a face. "Enough to gag a maggot, if you know what I mean." Number two is a hepatitis-thin dirty brunette with long fingernails painted a dark, unusual shade of purple, who resembles Elvira's little sister. She confesses to possessing no typing skills but an eagerness to learn. Joel asks her what shade those nails are; they're unique. And he likes that, unique things. "Rootbeer," she says. The look on her face is suspicious. "Is that a come-on?" she asks. Joel assures her it is not. The third is a pretty young man who likes art and seems promising. He's a witty one, he is, and Joel likes that. He's dressed smartly, and makes a point of insisting that he never be referred to as a secretary. "I might be gay but I'm not menial," he says, which makes Joel laugh. The fourth is so nervous it's a shame. Just looking at her, Joel feels as if he's on the Titanic, near the end, when the band's playing bravely and it's time to die. When Joel asks if she has any experience as an administrative assistant, her voice breaks when she replies, "I used to run postage stamp vending machines with my Mom, a year two ago." The fifth is Ladonna Smith. Ladonna is a short blonde in her thirties who admits she's been around the block a time or two but is it a sin to have led an adventurous life? She's been a PR person in Dallas, a folk singer in Phoenix, and a home improvement coordinator in Albuquerque. She has jiggly arms and heavy breasts and pronounced wrinkles in her neck. She wears turquoise and silver necklaces above her low-cut blouse, a brightly colored batik skirt, bracelets and bangles on her arms. From one of these dangles a kokopelli of a howling coyote she bought cheap off an authentic brujo in Las Cruces. Actually, she dabbles in watercolors herself. Joel admits that he also paints, oil mainly. He feels funny saying so, as if blurting out a secret love, something not to be confessed to strangers. Ladonna says she'd be thrilled to see them sometime. Joel shrugs, says it's nothing really. A personal thing. [End Page 549] "The best...