I have been on more than my share of job interviews over the years.
Some crazy things have happened at these multitudes of job interviews.
-one with a very creepy lawyer who asked me, “So, are you a good liar? This isn’t about managing my office; it is about managing my personal life. I live a very interesting personal life. You need to learn to lie.” I glanced at a picture of his cherubic children on his desk and wondered how much I would have to lie to their mother about their father’s affairs. I decided I just couldn’t do it. He told me he smoked heavily in the office, so I told him I had asthma (I don’t. But I guess I WAS a good liar after all) and could never work with a smoker.
-a place where the HR director warned me that my potential boss would make my life miserable. He’d treat me like dirt, but the end of each day, I’d feel a victory that I survived yet another 9 hours with him. I wouldn’t be allowed to talk to him in the elevator, and she guaranteed that he would make me cry. (And then I started imagining that maybe I would be the one person he DID like. I would be the Tiny Tim to melt his Scrooge. However, we would never know, as I didn't get the job.)
-with a place that does award shows for advertising (I know…”huh”?) where they shook my hand and said, “Welcome aboard!” and then I never heard from them. Ever. Again.
-I applied to work for a theatre company. I later learned it was to be the assistant to a puppeteer. One of the tasks was “dog-walking”. Now, I wonder, was that for a puppet dog or a real dog?
-One in which I accidentally referred to the Human Resources manager, Bob Meade, as Daniel Meade to the hiring manager. Daniel Meade is the boss of Ugly Betty. (“Shoot! His name isn't Daniel! That's Betty's boss!” Then I thought, "You know what...if you can't laugh with this guy, then you don't want to work with him!")
Me: You know why I called him Daniel by mistake...because Ugly Betty's boss is named Daniel Meade!
Potential Boss: I LOVE THAT SHOW!
We chatted about Ugly Betty for a bit, and on my way out, he said, “See you later!” I wanted to say, “Oh…but will you…will you?”
-right after that one, I went to another interview, at a place the packages horror films.(Cuz...you know...I just love horror movies...yup...I'm glancing at my DVD shelf now...there's Audrey Hepburn movies and Rodgers and Hammerstein movie musicals and TONS of bloody horror movies.) The word “random” comes to mind. I really just wanted to get out of there. I was in there for all of 90 seconds, and had to sit in a chair which majorly sunk in so I was pretty much sitting on the floor! The fellow begins our interview with, "So, ask me questions.” Then tells me, "This office is very slow. Not much happens, and I'm not here most of the time." He asked me if I knew Quicken. I told him no, in hopes that he'd dismiss me. He didn't. I finally get to leave, called out a hearty, "CONGRATULATIONS!" to the very pregnant receptionist and then went skipping down the street, shaking my head in amusement and looking forward to watching my beloved Apolo Anton Ohno dance his little heart out on my television set that night.
-And then there is one company that I have wanted to work at FOREVER. I have been on about ten interviews there, and they always go really well. (I am not just saying that! They really do go well!) And then I never hear from them again. I interviewed there a couple of weeks ago, and they told me I had a tremendous amount of experience and that I was a very good writer and that I would be hearing from them very soon. Never did. Not surprised. The building still makes me drool, however.
Last week, I went on an interview (as I do most days), and entered a very cosy and welcoming lobby. I hung-out for a bit, and when the woman came out to get me, she told me take off my shoes and leave them in a cubbyhole. I did so, grateful that for once, I was sure there were no holes at all in the toes of my tights.
Now, I am pretty sure that I am missing some kind of "shoe gene" that most women have. I really do not like shoes. AT ALL. I know that I would NEVER be welcome in Carrie Bradshaw's circle of friends. Don't get me wrong...I love clothes. I have too many clothes...I have taken over pretty much every closet in my home with my clothes. I am also a good one for sales, and could make $200 stretch VERY far when there is a clearance sale at Ann Taylor Loft.
I hate wearing them. I hate shopping for them. I hate trying them on. I REALLY hate it when I am shopping with other people and they INSIST on stopping to look at shoes. ("THIS WAS NOT IN THE AGREEMENT!" I cry.) I think it is ridiculous to spend $300 on a pair of shoes.
My gosh, I just HATE SHOES.
However, it is probably a bad thing that I hate shoes so much, because I am pretty sure that I am cursed with the world's most hideous feet. I am pretty sure I could climb trees with these things. My sister once pointed out that my feet looked more like hands, and I really couldn't argue with her. They do. I have fingers for toes. I should probably put on shoes and never, ever take them off so nobody would ever have to look at them. I have heard some people criticize their own feet and say, "My second toe is longer than my first one!" Ha! Well, I got 'ya beet! My FOURTH toe is longer than my first one!
(I would like to point out now that I at least have very nice, slender fingers, even though my pinkies are crazy crazy crooked.)
I am thinking that perhaps a job which I would NEVER be allowed to wear shoes during the day just might be a wonderful thing...I could wear slippers on the subway, then kick them off when I get to work, and never have to buy another pair of shoes EVER AGAIN!!!!!
It is like a fantasy world!
(Ahem. I didn't get the job, though. Maybe there's another shoeless career out there, waiting for me...)