My shrink once told me that I have slight sociopathic tendencies. At the time, I laughed because it sounded kinda cool. Now, I wish it were true because I can’t for the life of me figure out how to talk myself out of this mess. I’m trapped. I’m living in a hotel, paid for by my employers. Originally they stated that they would pay for it for two months (2 mo = $4,000), during which I was supposed to save money and look for a permanent place to say. Well, I found a place. I want to move. Only problem is that I haven’t actually gotten a paycheck from them yet and I’ve spent, literally, every penny I have on this move and on my car. They didn’t pay me to relocate, which I now realize I should have tried to negotiate beforehand. Basically I’m in a position where I need their money. The security for this place is $1300. They are willing to advance me the money so that they can take a little bit out of my paycheck every week until it’s paid off. This is good. Except that there is no way I want to be in debt with them for three months. The idea I put forward was that they use some of the money that I saved them by moving out of the hotel a month and a half early on the security for my deposit. Afterall, if the money was going to be used on my housing anyway, wouldn’t transering it make sense? Makes perfectly good sense to me. Erm, no. Not to the selfish assholes that are my employers. No. According to the father, what they were doing by paying for my hotel was them generously investing in my getting settled. Generosity my ass. I moved out here on the condition that I would have a freaking roof over my head. That I would have two months to save money for a place to say. Well, the instant I got here, I got e-mails after e-mails with listings for apartments. It was clear that they wanted me out of the hotel as soon as possible. They even loaned me a company car when mine broke down so that I could drive around looking for places to stay. Not because it might be a bit dangerous and scary for me to be stranded in a strange town with absolutely no means of transportation. No. So that I could look for apartments. So I did. I found a place. It’s a house share in a beautiful home that’s owned by a really sweet Indian couple. Well, because this isn’t a regular apartment, they didn’t ask for a lease agreement. This is a problem for my employers. They feel that it’s too big of a risk to hand over so much money without a written agreement. Okay. That makes sense. I get it. I agree to get a written agreement the following day. Half an hour. Half an hour I sit there listening to the husband explaining all the risks involved and the reasoning behind their pressing this. I get it! Really. I get it. I nod. I say, okay. I understand. Over and over again. I feel like I’m listening to my father telling me about boys and why they can’t be trusted. Broken record. Really, I get it. I get it. Finally, I approach with my idea regarding the money saved on the hotel and my security deposit. What do I get it? A patronizing smile and yet another rant about their generosity and how it isn’t as though they has allotted a certain amount of money for me. That it wasn’t intended to be transferable, that my getting an apartment sooner wasn’t some sort of incentive to pocket money, though that’s clearly not what I’m doing. And so I’m pissed. More than pissed. I’m pissed at me. I’m pissed at them. I’m pissed because they are being godamned misers and over what? $1300. That’s fucking pocket change for them. It wouldn’t make a dent in their checkbooks. And it’s not as though they weren’t intending on spending nearly double that on my housing anyway, right? But on the otherhand, I don’t want to be a begger. I don’t want to have to plead for this, because damnit, I’m too proud for that. However, I definitely do not want to be in debt with them for three months. Either way, I’m still a charity case. Either way, I’ll owe them. Owe them for their generosity, or literally owe them money. And I’m starting to hate them. For being affluent assholes. For talking to me like I’m twelve. For making me feel like I’m in a vault with no way out. And there is no way out. And I hate it. Because I’m here thanks to them. I can’t leave. I can’t escape. I’m completely flat, fucking, broke. So I’m lassoed to them. Completely shackled and trapped.