Knock On Wood

The two interviews last week didn't go as swimmingly as I had hoped, but today was a much better turnaround. I guess after you've been asked the same questions over and over, you really start perfecting the replies.

THEM: "What is it you are looking for in this job?"

ME (thinking): "Money ... women in business attire ... "

ME (speaking): "Well, I'm really just looking for somewhere that I can grow and learn to be an integral member of a team."

THEM: "So which of these jobs has best prepared you for a career in the business world?"

ME (thinking): "None of them, really."

ME (speaking): "Oh definitely The Chronicle. I really learned a great deal there and was given a healthy amount of responsibility every week in managing my section."

And today he pulled a fast one on me ... giving a new variation to the strengths and weaknesses bit:

THEM: "So it says here you were responsible for training an assistant."

ME (thinking): "Uh oh ..."

ME (speaking): "Yes, that's correct."

THEM: "So if your assistant was sitting in that chair beside you, what do you think he—it was a 'he,' right?"

I nod "yes."

THEM: "And what would he tell me your biggest strength is?"

ME (thinking): "A high tolerance ... great ability to quote Bill Hicks ..."

ME (speaking): "Um ... probably by writing ability."

ME (thinking): "Research, you idiot! Say research!"

THEM: "And what would he say your biggest weakness is?"

ME (thinking): "Late every Friday ... Missed deadlines ... Smells like bourbon ..."

ME (speaking): "Well, probably that I didn't explain certain aspects of the job as fully as I could've the first time around."

The other new element to today's interview was that I was being grilled right alongside a female applicant. Luckily, most of the questions went her way first. So there were a couple of, "Yeah, like she said ..."

I wasn't going to get my hopes up too high about that "we'll be calling you" line. Yeah, I heard that twice last week and about the only people calling are the bank that's asking where their fucking money is.

But remarkably, less than ten minutes after leaving the office—in Chicago and not the lame suburban locations I was at last week, a major plus—my phone did ring. I was paying for a soda and couldn't grab it. And it wasn't the bank's phone number. It actually was the interviewer, seeking a more hands-on full-day second interview tomorrow.

It hurts when you just about shit a brick on the train, but I was stunned.

Of course, I'm supposed to work at the restaurant tomorrow. But if you think I'd pass up going downtown tomorrow so I could sling waffles instead, well, no fucking way. I've never called in sick, but now would be the time.

I have but one phone number for one of the waitresses at work—and she quit last weekend. But she's got the other girls' numbers and so I began placing calls late this evening. First girl didn't answer, second girl has plans tomorrow, and I was already perfecting my "sick voice" for the morning before the third girl was only too kind to say, "Sure."

Her interest in the World Cup had already given me a high opinion of her, but now she's been moved up on to a pedestal. "I owe you," I told her—thinking immediately that I should ask her what she drinks. But we'll worry about that later. Right now, it's back to rehearsing those answers.

Repeat after me: "Research ... research ... research ..."