For anyone looking for a job in the non-profit sector (like yours truly) check out this site, an excellent resource for jobs in the non-profit world. Unsure about the credentials of any foundation posting a position? Check out the NCNA and see if they’re listed there.

I’m going home tomorrow morning. I’m really wiped out from my extended DC stay but I promise to post lots of pictures of my train trek back to NC. I’ve had a wonderful time and have laid the groundwork for a really amazing 2006 in several respects. I’ll miss this town and its occupants and one roaming expatriate very much, but I’ll see them all very soon.

Locked Out - a true story of kindness in the city

Last night, after giving the little dog I’m taking care of his last dose of meds, I was dozing on the couch happily. It was late, maybe 12:45 or 1 am. Sure enough the dog started doing his peepee dance. Sometimes I try to fake him out to buy myself four or five more minutes of sleep. But this time there was nothing doing; he had to go, and *now*. Drowsy I got up and put on my coat, and helped him into his. I started looking around the room to see if I could eyeball everything I’d need before going out: front door keycard, regular keys for the door, cellphone.
But the dog had other plans, and somehow I opened the door and he took off down the hallway like a shot. I jogged after him and the door–from a fully extended open position–slammed shut. Hard.
Oh shit.
It’s possible to have three dozen thoughts at once inside one head, I now know. I hatched about a dozen plans–some legal, some not–and finally decided just to take a cab across town and crash on a friends couch. But with no way to call ahead and no cash or metro pass getting too far away from the building seemed like a bad idea. To make matters worse the 11PM-3AM desk clerk had missed her shift. I was going down the elevator to the basement to look for the maintenance person when I met F. I asked him if he knew when the next shift started. In a crisp Guyana accent he outlined what he knew of the front lobby shifts.
It would be 7AM before anyone could let me into the apartment again. By now I had called myself every name in the book for not being more alert. I thought a locksmith would be the best way to go. F. suggested I use his phone and I gladly accepted, calling around a few places and finally finding someone willing to come out.
A half hour later I met the locksmiths in the hallway, who all had apparently been dispatched from the “ethnic” division of central casting. To my horror I realized that with no wallet I couldn’t pay them unless they got inside where my checkbook was. I suddenly had visions of being tortured in the back of a van hurtling down Massachusetts Ave. at 2AM, as a steady stream of Greek profanity filled my ears. Or worse these three guys drilling the lock just so that I could pay them.
Lucky for the people of Park Tower, and woefully unfortunate for me, these locks just aren’t pickable. Defiantly I told them about the money. A brief Greek profanity filled huddle ensued. I fully expected the next sound I would hear to be the ripping of duct tape. Instead it was, “How much you have?” I reached into my front jeans pocket and produced the change from an earlier trip out for groceries: twenty-four dollars and some change. It was a miracle I had put it there and not in my wallet, but my hands had been full and I’d stuffed it there. The elder Greek stared at me as he began preparing a receipt. I would live to gain a greater understanding of dolmades and tiramisu after all.
After all this madness I returned to F’s apartment to deliver the news. The locksmiths, despite their best efforts, had been unable to get me back inside. Fortunately my life had been bought for twenty-four dollars and some pocket lint, so things were still alright. I told him I would wait for the next shift in the lobby and reached down to get the dog. As I was thanking him for his hospitality and making my way to the door F. emerged from another part of the house laughing quietly with a glass of water, a pillow and a comforter. “They are never on time. You are tired and the dog is asleep. Go down in the morning.” I was too tired to argue. When I asked how I could ever repay all this kindness he said that I already had, because he could tell I would do the same for him.
It was like Buddha had smiled on me, and I haven’t even really started working for him yet. I fell asleep watching a documentary about Fidel Castro and talking about socialism with F. This morning the dog and I, having been let in by the front desk clerk, fell asleep in a heap on the bed and didn’t move until almost 11am.
This is what I was saying about being a receptor for good things taken to ludicrous new heights; I made a bonehead mistake and it was as if the entire world stopped to help me out of it. All night it seemed the less I asked of people the more they wanted to give. It was an embarassment of riches and it didn’t so much renew my faith in humanity as reinforce it. I know that these people had great days today. And what an adventure.