Dear Jordan Rochester,
Thank you for taking the time to apply for the Engineer role at Xem Group. We appreciate your interest in our organization and your effort in applying.
After carefully considering your qualifications and experience, we have decided not to move forward with your application. Please note that this decision was not based on any shortcomings on your part, as we received a large number of highly qualified applicants and had to make difficult choices.
We encourage you to keep pursuing opportunities that match your skills and interests and wish you the best of luck in your future endeavors.
Thank you again for your interest in Xem.
Sincerely,
Jordan glowered at the brightly lit screen of her laptop and gritted her teeth. Feelings of disappointment and frustration swamped her and her eyes filled with tears. It was honestly too much.
After the conclusion of that interview, she had been in great spirits. Potential questions and answers were rehearsed and during the interview, she felt she projected competence and confidence but, she failed.
Another failure ā¦
She needed a new, stable job because this was her final year at university. Classes have ended and Jordan will be graduating in a few months. Currently, she is a student worker but after graduation, she may be cut off so she desperately needed an opportunity.
'I may not get a job at this rate and will have to move back to the country'
'move back to the country.'
'Move Back To The Country.'
'MOVE BACK TO THE COUNTRY.'
She mentally visualized a trash bin and tried to shove the thought in but it kept bouncing around in her head then positioned itself front and center.
Jordan folded. With trembling fingers, she pulled up a new Google tab, entered YouTube, and searched 'Save me' by Remy Zero.
Video on loop. Volume on max.
Keeping her emotions on a tight lease had never been a problem for Jordan Rochester. Bland was her go-to face but occasionally, ever so often, she needed a release. A good cry and this song was her trigger... and a reminder.
"I feel the words unspoken inside
And they pull you under.
And I would give you anything you want, oh
You were all I wanted
And all my dreams are falling down
Crawlin' round (and round, and round)
Somebody save me!
Let your warm hands break right through-
The melodic notes washed over Jordan huddled in her chair, thin arms clasping knees drawn up to her chest. Her forehead kissed her kneecaps as tears streamed down her face.
"Somebody save me!
I don't care how you do it
Just stay, stay!
Come on, I've been waiting for you ..."
"Uhh .. uhh"
"Sniffles"
Jordan puled.
"SAAAVE MEEE"
She sobbed and shook uncontrollably while Save Me blared and enveloped the room, drowning the sounds and quickening her tears.
Several minutes later, all cried out, and feeling completely drained, Jordan shuts the music off. She roughly pushed her chair back and got up from the table. She paced the room. Her heart thumped fiercely from overflowing emotions while her mind swirled with ideas of her next move. She was stressed, she was worried, she was frustrated and, while it's cute to cry out for a savior, she knew she had to be her own.
'Sighs'
She blew a harsh breath, crossed her arms, and walked into the room she shares with a student from the neighboring university. Staring at the other's belongings which occupied approximately half the room, she grimaced audibly.
'Ugh!'
Right now, she really, Really, REALLY needed to move lodging. She had moved in the first semester of her second year and for the past two years, she had been occupying the house by herself. The rent is dirt cheap, it is twenty to thirty minutes away from her university on foot and best of all, the landlady resides in another parish.
For Jordan, that was a great deal. If she had learned anything from the last place she rented, it's that, it is quite a humiliating experience to be broke when the rent is due and you have to stare the house owner in the face and tell them that you do not have the money. It is even more humiliating to hear the issue being loudly discussed amongst family members while you are trying to get a good night's sleep. Then, to act like you did not hear anything the morning after is both a humbling and embarrassing experience.
Such broke-cannot-pay-the-rent-this-month admission, were best done over the phone.
Ten and a half (10 1/2) Park Lane, where Jordan resides is located on the outskirts of one of Kingston's ghettoes. The 'Ghetto' or the 'slums' is a term applied to really any rundown area in a country or state that is inhabited by people from all walks of life but predominantly the poor and the underclass. The said term is also used loosely to describe a particular way of speaking, behaving, or dressing in most subcultures.
In Jamaica, it is no different. Kingston, the capital, is home to numerous ghettoes infested with gunmen, gangs, the poor, the needy and, your everyday productive member of society. Park Lane is one such area. It sits in a crevice, down a few steps off the main Norman Town Road in the Kingston Six (6) area. Surrounded by sparsely placed trees and backed by a gully leading to another community, it can be likened to a weathered old man. It looked old, used, a tad unhealthy, and a lot tired. The dilapidated board houses, a distinctive feature of the area, are scattered about haphazardly and are separated by rusting zinc fences riddled with probably bullet holes. Overshadowed by a pall of gloom and poverty, the small community nested quietly.
The room Jordan rented in the lane, was in a three-bedroom concrete house tucked away in a corner. The yard was overgrown with weeds and shadowed by densely packed trees so high, you can barely see the house. The walls, painted a garish pink were peeling and the grill was discolored with brown, dirt spots. The basic amenities included one bathroom, a kitchen, and three bedrooms, each room was furnished with a chest of drawers, a small bedside table, a floor-length mirror, and two beds for double occupancy. There was also a living room sparely decorated with two dusty, flower-printed couches and a round bare-topped dining table in the center of the room. There was usually a single chair tucked underneath the table but today, it was absent.
Compared to where she had lived before, Jordan initially thought that moving to Park Lane was a step up and she was happy in the beginning; until the first two weeks. Not only did the yard with the knee-high weeds posed a problem for her when walking home at night but, the roof leaked in several places including her room whenever it rained. Furthermore, the other occupants of the house were quite undesirable; they were rats so bold, they scurried about and ran around in broad daylight.
Jordan was also cautious and a little apprehensive of the neighbors who lived a mere few feet away. They constantly blared music at odd hours of the night, cussed each other out, and had bi-weekly screaming matches that had her wondering if they were planned. The dysfunction in the families was obvious but for the most part, they ignored her and for that, she was grateful.
An Information Technology (IT) Support Analyst, Jordan worked part-time on the university campus to support herself so, she spent most of the time at work while attending school. But, with the start of the new school year in January, students had arrived with their guardians in tow in literal droves to view the empty rooms including hers.
How they had gotten in touch with the landlady? Jordan had no idea. She could hazard a guess but she more concerned with the fact that her quiet life was going to disappear.
The Landlady, bless her heart, was unobtrusive and only contacted her when rent was due; the utilities were Jordan's responsibility. The fact that the roof leaked when it rains and that the house was infested with rats, were communicated to Miss Jackie several times but her attitude remained blasƩ and uncaring. Probably because she was not waking up to rat shit on her dishes most mornings.
"Just get a trap," she would say or, "I'll try and get the roof patch."
Jordan could only assume, she was still 'trying.'
When she received Jordan's rent money a couple of months ago, Jackie had curtly informed her that some students that will attend the neighboring university will be visiting the house to view the rooms and she should make herself available to open the door for them or leave the key for the grill with the house manager. Yes, Jordan was also surprised one exists but he seems to use the money for his own means and not on the house. Honestly, Jordan did not want to do it but there was no way she could have refused; she owed rent. In order to take herself out of the limelight and keep some pressure off so Miss Jackie can feel good receiving rent from others, not just herself, she donned a friendly mask.
Luckily, she no longer had classes. Graduation is slated for November so she was putting in extra hours at work in order to save up and move to a new place. It was a student housing after all.
She thus left the key with the house manager; a relative of the landlady who frequently checks in to make sure she was not destroying the place, instead of fixing it.
Jordan was usually scheduled for the late shift at work and which starts at 7 PM so she happened to be home one afternoon when the two would-be students arrived with their mothers and the house manager, Mr. Brown trailing behind them. She had watched disheartened as the guardians' gaze brightened at the rent price, ten thousand. Again, that was dirt cheap but with the conditions of the place, it was easy to see why.
Jordan soon found herself with a slew of housemates including a male, all sharing the same facilities, and a roommate she could barely tolerate.
She was friendly with her housemates. At the very least, she greeted them and went on about her business. That was several months ago. It was now the end of July, almost August. They have all been living together for exactly eight months.
Things had been quiet until Jordan realized that her salt had dwindled and that her roommate had her own definition of what the word, 'roommate' meant.
It had been a Thursday evening when Jordan decided to cook herself some dinner. Though she had not cooked in a while, she always made sure that the cupboard she claimed for herself, was fully stocked with condiments and dry food. That evening she had not felt like eating another chicken sandwich; the one she usually gets at Burger King, so she had decided to cook. She had cleaned the chicken and was getting ready to season it, only to realize her salt was low, almost done and she clearly remember leaving a full bottle after her last bout in the kitchen.
Jordan sat on her bed, a dazed look on her face as she reminisced on what had happened.
She had stared at the bottle in disbelief while internally counting the number of times she used it; the number of times she actually cooked. It was not a lot. Honestly. She had mostly eaten a late lunch which sometimes doubled as dinner on campus, and for breakfast, she would fry a couple of eggs and have that with bread. That was not enough to down an entire salt bottle and looking at it at the time, it was practically empty. Plus, it was salt. It is just not a condiment you use all at once or even in large amounts so, she surmised that unbeknownst to her, it was being used for a while.
'I need to be the bigger person ā¦' She had paced the entire length of the small kitchen before heading back to her room.
'Say nothing.'
Paced.
'You cannot ignore this... I wonder if they used anything else ā¦'
Internally, the battle raged on and her brain started working overtime, throwing out question after question. She had returned to the kitchen and frantically started checking the oil bottle, the rice, the flour bags, and the sugar but, since she was not marking them before, she really could not tell if they were being used.
Frustration building, Jordan had returned to her room once more, debating how she was going to tackle the situation.
It was something she felt she should not ignore because if she did, it will no doubt continue.
No one wants to be the cause of contention and strife in a household but some things have to be addressed. Once she decided to speak up, Jordan took a shower, sat on her bed, and waited.
She had been apprehensive and felt a bit scared. A poor student struggling to get by, an ambivert but leaning more introverted and can only be described as socially inept at times and largely reclusive. She valued her privacy highly, was not very friendly unless she wanted to be, and desired to be left alone, her things included.
On the other hand, she also did not want to be seen as a doormat even if she tended to let things slide. Maybe she was just a coward but she hated confrontations down to her core. The mere thought of confronting someone about something you already know the answer to, do not want to know the answer to, the fear of what they might do, how they will react, is enough to make her hands shake uncontrollably.
However, after her latest introspection, she had been determined to stop bottling up her feelings. Who cares how others will feel? What about Jordan's feelings?
'If I give a shit about the feelings of every Tom, Dick, and Harry, except my own, I am essentially abandoning myself.
And I will NOT abandon myself.'
That evening, she had waited. She had waited until the last person came home to quietly enter the living room and ask, "Who used my salt?"