Interview #2

I woke up from a ridiculous dream at 8 a.m., fully convinced that I had not e-mailed the magazine editors back to tell them that I would be in at 3 to take the writing and editing test.

In the dream, it was my birthday. My building concierge called me and told me that I had a package from American Express downstairs, they had sent me a pink cupcake. So, I went downstairs to claim my cupcake. Only when I got there, I already had a cupcake in my hand. It was on a stick. But besides the stick, it was the same cupcake AmEx had sent me in the mail to try to bribe me into paying annual fees. After evaluating the cupcake situation (two of the same, but one on a stick), I decided that I did not want the AmEx bribe cupcake, and tried to give it to the concierge. He didn't want it, so I tried to give it to the doorman. He didn't want it either, so I tried to give it to the super, and then to the maintenance guy. No one wanted my cupcake.

Then I woke up full of anxiety about the e-mail I may or may not have sent. I rushed to throw on sweatpants, a Roger Williams University sweatshirt, threw my hair into a ponytail and went downstairs to the business center to see if I had sent this e-mail. (I don't have the Internet in my apartment). Given the hour, I assumed no one would be in the business center. I was wrong.

Apparently, 8 a.m. is the time when gorgeous men in suits are in the business center. Crap. I really know how to make a first impression. In addition to showing up in my pajamas, with my hair in a ponytail (not even a cute, bangs-out ponytail- it was the kind you run a triathlon with) and unbrushed teeth, I kept having sneezing attacks and diverting the gorgeous male attention from their early morning work, to me. Ugh.

I looked at my sent e-mails and find that I did indeed RSVP to my second interview, but I didn't want to seem weird to the men in suits and get up and leave two minutes after I arrived, so I stayed in the business center and read the NY Times online. They left, and since I still didn't want to seem weird for leaving right after them, I stayed for ten more minutes. Then I left.

I decided to go back to bed and take a nap before getting reading for Interview, Part Deux. I feel asleep watching Kathy Lee and Hoda on the Today Show. Then I had another dream.

This time, I was an NBC Page, and I was helping out on the set of the Today Show. I was standing off camera, just doing my Page thing, and then I fainted. The producer came over to see if I was okay, and then asked if I thought I could stay for the rest of the day because they still needed people to help. I said yes. Then I fainted again, and Hoda (during a commercial break) said something to me about all of the fainting. The producer came back over to confirm that I wasn't going home.

I woke up, got ready for my interview, and left.

I had to take a press release, make a story out of it and give it a headline. Then I had to fact check something. It was uneventful.

Interview #1

Today was my first big-girl job interview.

I'd had to interview before, but since the positions weren't in New York City, the interviews weren't nearly as intimidating as this one.

I got dressed, made sure I didn't have anything in my teeth, and headed to the R train. When I started walking I felt something poking my foot in my shoe. Not a big deal, I thought, it's probably just a small pebble or something.

I sat down on the disgusting subway bench in my freshly ironed interview clothes, and took off my shoe.

OH man. Blood. Everywhere. All over my foot, all over my shoe. Hm. How did this happen?

Let's flash back to the day earlier when I had forcefully opened my refrigerator (I was hungry, don't judge) and my butter dish had fallen out and shattered everywhere. Apparently, a small shard of the glass ended up in my interview shoe. And then in my foot.

So I'm sitting, shoeless, on this bench, digging around in my bloody foot to try to get this shard of glass out, and the cut just keeps getting bigger and deeper. Finally I'm able to pin this thing between my nails and get it out. But by that time, this tiny little cut had become a real gusher. Do I have any napkins? Nope. Tissues? Nope. So I had to put my shoe on. I could feel the blood pooling in the bottom of it. I'm fully convinced that these things don't happen to normal people.

I make it to my interview, bloody foot and all. I felt like Curt Schilling, minus the sock.

So...

The job pays $28,000 a year.

Assuming I get it (which I'm only hypothetically doing, since they were interviewing tons of candidates) I would have to give up the following things to exist on that kind of salary:

1) Manhattan. I'd have to move to Brooklyn or Queens. Could I do it? Maybe, I've never actually been to Queens, but I don't own anything plaid so I'd stick out in Brooklyn.

2) Food. On a meager salary like the one listed above, I would not only have to give up dining out (not a huge problem, I cook most of the time anyways), but I would have to give up eating in general. Fresh fruits and veggies? Psh- not anymore.

3) My smart phone. This one really kills me. It might kill me more than moving out of Manhattan. Because what will I do with myself if I'm wondering something and can't instantly google the answer? Or if I get lost and I can get directions sent to my phone? How would I function? Anyone want to start a family plan with me?

4) Drinking. Well, not really. I'd just have to wear more low-cut shirts when I go out, and then I wouldn't have to pay for it. But I really prefer cardigans and tee shirts to sparkly, low-cut tops.

Is it worth it?

I think so.

The place seems great- it's a trade magazine run by nice women who are looking for people to join their editorial team, transcribe interviews, do the bitch work, etc. And would I mind doing it? Not at all- in fact, I'd be glad to. Because I'd suck it up and transcribe for hours to be in an environment where I'm happy. And because sometimes, you just have to suck it up and transcribe anyways.

I'll find out if I've landed a second interview by Friday. Let's hope so, because this is the most promising, if most fiscally challenging, lead so far.

That time I got fired.

I got fired.

O told me to never refer to the situation in those terms (using the word "fired"), but I was.

I was just sitting in my office, reading the real estate news like I did every morning, and O's dad (L) came in and said that since O was leaving the company, and he was supposed to train me and wouldn't be around, that I should start looking for another job. That I hadn't done anything wrong, but without this training I probably wasn't able to contribute to the company.

Awesome.

Hey L, remember that time I gave up a really competitive graduate school program to move to New York City and work for you?

Or that time I designed logos for your properties so that you wouldn't have to pay graphic designers a couple thousand dollars to do it?

Or that time I got your building in the NY Post with a phone call?

Or that time I memorized the market research for all of your comparable buildings on the Upper East Side so that you wouldn't have to know what you were talking about?

Or that time I looked up every single floor plan for units in those comparable buildings so that we could compare them to our intended floor plans?

Or that time I put up with your broker sexually harassing me at work, almost apologizing, and then saying that I could put him in his place by spanking him, because he likes things like that?

Etc.

But of course L, you don't know any of those things because you never bothered to figure out what I did. Or you know, my last name.

He said I could keep the apartment until the end of the month, and that I would be paid through the end of the month. I could leave whenever, I didn't need to come in to finish my projects- I didn't even need to stay for the rest of the day.

I told Jamee first. She was the first friend I made here, I tell her everything. And being Jamee, she was the best about it, because that's just how she is. If I needed another job (which I did), she'd do whatever she could to help me find one. If I needed another apartment (which I also did), we'd find one. She even let me use her laptop the next few days while mine was being fixed to start my job hunt.

Mark interrupted.

After putting on his nice personality, our lawyer (previously referred to as "the other Mark") came into my office and told me that he wasn't going to watch me pack up because he didn't think I'd steal anything confidential (so sweet of him), that he had no idea that was going to happen (meaning me being fired, which was most likely a lie), and that I could use him as a reference when I was looking for a new job (because as I reporter, I definitely need a good lawyer as a reference. Maybe?). He said he'd have to send me something to sign and needed my e-mail address.

I almost cried, but since I'm stubborn it only got to that point where my chin started shaking (more of a muscle wobble, really) because I trying so hard not to cry. It's a good look for me.

Hm. But what to do with my $5,000 computer, fully outfitted with Adobe CS5 and Final Cut Pro? Did O pay for it, or did the company? I left it in the office, as I wasn't sure. I did take the Apple gift card I bought it with though, assuming that I would see O later and give it back to him. If it was in fact the company's, he could deal with it.

I called Alicyn to tell her. She came downstairs and shut the door to my office.

I packed up my stuff, organized the files they needed, and called O. Naturally, he didn't answer. I e-mailed him to say that his dad had fired me and that I wasn't sure what to do with the Apple gift card. Because I'd just lost my job, was about to lose my housing, and was worried about gift card ownership.

The worst was when I told Joy. She's crazy, has strange mood swings and told me that my outfits were "interesting." But she also taught me how to use the copy machine, put more paper in the printer and looked in my throat when I was sick. And however crazy she was, I was going to miss her Macy's-coupon-collecting, general-stuff-hoarding, white-purse-cleaning, overly-mothering self. I was going to miss her a lot. Because when you move somewhere where you don't have a family, or friends, or anyone, that one person who cares about you enough to look at your disgusting, spotted case of strep throat and then yell at you to go to the doctor means a lot. They mean a lot more than the person who pays for everything.

So I told her. She got up and hugged me. I burst into tears and knew I'd have to leave soon.

I got lunch with O a few days later. He said he was working on getting the company to pay me for more than a month, and that I now had six months in the apartment. He said that this entire thing was his fault. He said that I should go on vacation while I had the time off, that I should try new things while I figured out what I wanted to do with my life.

I've known what I wanted to do with my life since I wrote my first not-so-hard-hitting news story on sanitary conditions in my high school's bathrooms when I was 15. I don't know how to be anything other than a journalist. I had three jobs while I was a full-time college student- I am not okay with taking vacations while unemployed. Normal people aren't. But O's not normal, he's rich, and so he doesn't understand.

I have an interview Wednesday for a job that barely pays, but that I might actually like.