Last time you heard from me, I had just been laid off by the Iowa City Press-Citizen as part of a “Newsroom of the Future” restructure that eliminated about 15 percent of newsroom positions between Iowa City and Des Moines.
Now, I live in my mother-in-law’s basement in a very, very small town.
Andale, population 964, is about 15 miles west of Wichita. I learned the hard way this week that the entire town is a dead zone for pizza delivery.
The whole situation sounds like the premise of a sitcom — some CBS fish-out-of-water show with a laugh track.
But the thing about sitcoms is that sometimes implausibly lucky things happen to the characters, and that’s where we are. Within 24 hours of moving to Andale, my husband George — the one who’d spent a year making pizzas at a gas station in Iowa — was offered (and accepted) a job teaching 8th grade American history in Wichita.
I don’t know how many public school teachers get hired in November to start immediately, but it’s not a lot.
I’ve never been one of those “Everything happens for a reason” people, and I guess I’m still not. But I’ll tell you this: If I hadn’t lost my job in October, George would still be making pizzas in December.
So it’s settled: We’re staying. And that means I have to do something I’ve never done: find work near the city I’m already living in.
If you know someone who’s hiring near Wichita, could you pass along my résumé?
Update: A reader has expressed concern about the lack of car photos in this post. Here are three of our roommates on the bed I forgot to make: