I also followed the job wanted ads in the newspaper. The same thing happened. Same refusal. Although my English was quite good, some people pretended that my accent was a problem. At some point I saw a position offered in the newspaper that I decided to call for. I didn’t know what it meant, “Stuntwoman” but I called anyway. On the phone, the lady realized that I had no clue what it meant and she told me. That was indeed something I had no experience for, nor did I want to try for. I also called the Army. They told me that their cut-off age was 29 and I had just crossed that mark.
The family we had met on the plane from Rome to New York sent us gift certificates to cover the installation of a phone and monthly fees for about 6 months. Another Romanian, whom we met there, presented us with a gift of a small black and white TV. We also discovered Thrift Stores. For a very modest sum, we managed to buy a sofa and loveseat. Plus, much to our amazement, we discovered that many people abandoned a lot of good stuff when they moved. Being on foot a lot (didn’t have a car), walking the dog, we noticed when people were moving or having an annual spring-cleaning. That way, we found lots and lot of good things such as kitchen items, clothing, even furniture. Little by little, we managed to put together a rather comfortable, even if sparse, cheap and quite eclectic apartment. I still remember coveting a pair of purple high-heeled sandals that seemed the epitome of elegance to me at that time. They cost î3.25 at the Thrift Store. I didn’t know if I could really afford them. I went there a few times trying to see if the price would go down. In the end, I did buy them. It was a great happiness.
We managed to get some extra money by collecting empty cans, bottles and cardboard and taking them, by foot, to the recycling center. The few dollars that we got that way were like a gift from Heaven. Usually, after getting our money from the recycling center, we would go to a nearby supermarket and buy something good to eat. It felt very rewarding. Carrying heavy supermarket bags in our hands all the way home was difficult and we often had to stop to rest. But we were already used to carrying our groceries like that from Romania. The difference was that in Romania you bought food that you had to wait in line for, that you had to “hunt” for. In America, it was plentiful, readily available, tasty and when it could be purchased with money obtained through recycling, it was even better.
We were called to the Welfare office quite frequently. And some times we had to go even without being called. For some reason, we often received less money or food stamps than we had been promised. Or the benefit check did not arrive and we were scared we might not be able to pay the rent on time. Oh, and we also got Medicaid, the health insurance for the poor. Unfortunately, not many providers accepted Medicaid.
One day, while waiting at the bus stop to go home from the Welfare Office, I got to talking to a senior lady who was waiting for the bus too. She told us that she was originally from England and now living all alone. She was amazed to learn of our predicament (no jobs although we were both able and willing and had some good education behind us). She offered us a job cleaning her apartment. She offered î15 to our team of 2 (mother and daughter) for a 3 hour cleaning session once a week. That was î2.50/hr each but we took it. The lady’s apartment was spotless. She probably spent all her time cleaning it herself but thought that is wasn’t clean enough. So, we polished it from top to bottom although we felt that there wasn’t anything to do to make it cleaner. I suspect that the lady just created this job for us, when she didn’t really need us. Besides, when we left, she always would give us a bag of canned food or other necessities.
One day, she had a visitor, a friend of hers, when we were there. Our employer told her about us. The visitor, who had a car, told us that her church was giving out food and other supplies (like toiletries) to the poor and if we wanted to go there with her. Of course we did. We were never too proud to accept charity. We went and they gave us so much that we were barely able to carry it home.
Some people that contemplated immigration decided against it because they were proud and said that they never could work beneath their education and expertise or out of their chosen profession. Or others immigrated but, again, were too proud to accept charity or work beneath their level. Some people back in Romania, including my grandfather who had just become a widower (my grandmother died in May 1983) said that we had been crazy to give up such a nice house in the heart of Bucharest for poverty in America. But we never regretted leaving. Not even in the midst of the worst “adventures”. And we never thought of returning. For us, it was a definitive break with the past.
During that time, various Romanian men, some of which seemed quite dubious as to how they scraped an existence came visiting us with designs on either me or my mother or both. Neither my mother nor I were interested in any of them. We didn’t like their looks or anything. They were usually older, poorer, uneducated, lacking in basic manners. Some came and went straight to our refrigerator to see what we had to treat them with. Some took us to their churches and there we discovered more opportunities for monthly giveouts. One of them discovered a Government center that was distributing butter and cheese for the poor. We took that too. And went there regularly. Some of the men couldn’t speak English well. So they took me to fill out forms for them or translate/interpret for them. In exchange they drove my mother and me to some of our appointments. They seemed amazed how two women could live without men. They offered their services and were dismayed that we turned them down.
(to be continued)
