When the Opportunity Center staffers heard of Trixie’s outstanding school record, they asked if she was interested in continuing her education. The girl laughed and asked how long they had been in Branchwater – there was no more education – nor jobs to use it. The staffers cheerfully responded that there was an excellent “Technical School,” just ten miles away in the county seat of Evergreen, the South Alabama Technical Institute. The Institute had programs leading to associate’s degrees in many areas with good job opportunities.
Trixie was initially blown away by this news. A way to get out of Branchwater and get a real job, in an office, using her brains, not her body to earn a good living. However, a moment later she came down to earth. These posh women from the big city had no idea what life was like here in Branchwater. No wonder they had trouble finding clients!
“I haven’t a job or money. I couldn’t pay tuition or even afford the bus fare,” she admitted sheepishly. The two girls looked at each other and both nodded. They weren’t going to let their best prospect in over a month (in fact, the only real prospect they'd met) walk away without a fight.
“Look, Trixie,” said the older (maybe twenty-four), “don’t give up so easily. You sound like a girl with a lot of drive and we want to find a way to make this work for you. Could you come back tomorrow and we can show you what we can do?”
Trixie was in awe of these two, educated, and confident older (compared to eighteen) women, and impressed that they took a real interest in such as she (with great effort, she suppressed thinking the TPT words). Therefore she politely agreed to stop by the next day at three PM. After all, she thought to herself, I've nothing better to do 'cept prep for another 'dream date.'
The two women spent the afternoon and all next morning on the phone to the Congresswoman’s offices in Montgomery and DC as well as contacts that those offices supplied at DOE, DOT, and DOL. When Trixie arrived at three sharp the next day, they greeted her with broad smiles. They sat her down and went through what they had to offer. The package was most impressive.
Tuition at the Institute would be paid by a grant from the Department of Education’s Rural Development Initiatives program. The Department of Transportation’s Rural Mass Transit program would kick in bus vouchers. Trixie’s eyes almost burst from her head as she heard the news. Then they asked her if she needed money for room and board. The girl blushed charmingly fearing they would learn details about her home life. “Oh No!” she quickly answered. “I live with my mother and I don’t have to pay rent.”
“Excellent said the younger staffer. “Though we might have been able to get a rent voucher from HUD.”
“There is one very serious requirement,” said the older girl. Trixie felt her heart skip a beat. Was this all too good to be true?
“You are required to hold down a steady job to qualify for all these benefits. And, of course, to have pocket money for miscellaneous expenses in Evergreen.”
Shit, thought Trixie. A job? Around here? Feeling her heart almost breaking at the thought and her eyes watering, she started in her mind to consider the offer to strip at Clem’s father’s place.
“Now, you shouldn’t worry about finding one.” continued the staffer with a sympathetic look. “We can arrange for one at the Institute working in the Bookstore or Library or such.” Trixie’s face brightened like the sun. The girl saw it and hastened to control her expectations. “Of course, it’s low-level work and forty hours a week. You will have to juggle a lot of time in classes and homework with the job and your travel time back and forth. I'm afraid it will only pay minimum wage, $7.25 an hour.”
$7.25 an hour! Most ‘jobs’ in Branchwater ignored minimum wage. Trixie had inquired and learned bargirls were supposedly paid $4 an hour, though the bar owners often simply cut that in half at will, saying, “You don’t like it? Find another job you ungrateful slut!” Or they demanded sexual favors in order to give the full $4. Of course, there were tips. But those mostly depended on how willing the girls were to be constantly grouped and pinched and to give out kisses to foul-breathed men. Many bargirls could not sit down after an eight-hour shift.
Trixie jumped up and hugged and kissed each of the staffers, thanking them over and over for making this wonderful opportunity for her. She promised that she would work as hard as she could and wouldn’t let them down. The girls giggled and smiled at each other and felt a great sense of reward for delivering their first “opportunity.”