Jake had the Right Idea

Ok, so I went to the on-the-job interview. Everyone I know, online and otherwise, has been like "this job thing sounds fishy, girl." (except for Jake, who said "f*cking forget those f*ckers") and I completely agree. But I'm very curious, and pretty stubborn. I wanted to know what the job was, and I wanted them to offer me the job.

Every job interview is a challenge, and whether I take a job or not, I want them to offer it to me. I want to wow them. My lack of any real skills makes this tricky. One thing that helps is, I'm very laid back during the interview itself. I'm good at speaking in front of people, and usually come across sounding decently lucid.

I walked into the interview office yesterday at about 10am, right on time. (I only arrive early for a first interview, to essay the layout). They let me wait about 20 minutes, it seems the people I was going to be on-the-jobbing with were in a meeting.

I debated walking to the corner to get something from Starbucks, but decided not to. My luck, I'd spill on my new suit (this had better be worth it) and ruin the outfit and the interview.

So I start eavesdropping on the meeting-in-progress. It's not hard, because there is a lot of enthusiastic cheering and whooping. Sounds like an all-guy group. Are they watching sports in there? Porn? SportsPorn?

Finally they all come out. Everyone's in a suit, and not the bargain basement version like mine (I bought it new, but I WAS NOT going to spend $500 of borrowed money on a suit) but, you know, classy. I looked damn good, don't get me wrong. My suit just wasn't made out of the world's most exquisite baby llama belly fur, is all.

It's mostly guys, with a few pretty sexy but hard-nosed women who look like they just gnawed their way through the glass ceiling and watch out bitch, I'll gnaw through you too.

They were very charged up and upbeat. Clearly these empowerment meetings happened pretty often, and it was the way they started their day.

I'm assigned these two guys to work with, James and Roberto. Roberto, as you may have guessed - is of Latino descent, about 25, clean cut, clearly has a lot of muscle under his suit and I wanted to unwrap him like a present.

James looked like a 40ish divorcee who works out to keep his gut to a minimum. Not a minute after we met, we were in James' car, a beat up Honda station wagon (I didn't know they made those) .

To my disappointment, Roberto sat in the back seat, leaving me up front with James.

"Ok, Litany - I know they don't tell you people what's really going on here." James said quickly.

"Uh - your nose is bleeding." I interrupted. A long trickle of blood was snaking quickly down his face.

So he mops up the blood and tilts his head back. The first thing I thought of was that James was a probably not a morning person, probably was a coke-head, and needed a lift to be energetic in the mornings. Great start to the day. Or maybe it was just a garden variety nosebleed.

So James stuffs a Kleenex up his nostril and drives off.

"Where was I?" James asks me.

"They don't tell us what's really going on here." I reminded him. Organ Thievery? Kiddy Porn? Coed Panty Pilfering?

"OK, this is a sales job, and we're on commission." James said, pulling over. we were still in the parking lot. "We're given a few cases of some random product every week, and we go door to door to sell it."

He gave me a long look. "So you want to get out of the car right now, or do you want to stay?" He was trying to be blunt and serious, but it was hard not to grin at him with the bloody Kleenex hanging out of his nostril.

Did I want to wear a suit every day, daily empowerment meeting, cocaine-aplenty, hawking random stuff door to door? It might make a good sitcom, but it's not a way I'd want to live my life.

But they hadn't offered me the job yet. I couldn't say no until it was mine to refuse.

"What's the product?" I asked.

Roberto spoke up from the back seat. "Last week we had these MP3 Player flashlights."

"OK. What about this week?" I asked.

"It's a kids toy. So are you staying or going?" James asked.

I stayed.

The first thing we did was drive about fifteen minutes to the Redondo Beach area, and parked in a shopping center. We all got out, and James and Roberto changed from their dress shoes to black tennis shoes.

"You never saw this." James said, teasing.

"Saw what." I tossed back the expected reply.

Then we started going door to door, walking right past the NO SOLICITING signs as if they weren't there.

These guys had their patter down, I'll give them that. They went into each and every place. Dozens of places. A Korean manicure place, a Wienerschnitzel, even the bank. I thought the bank would throw us out instantly. Instead, we sold toys to two of the tellers!

Oh, the toy was always the same - it was this cheap preschool cash register. The only real function it had was a little bell when you hit the button to open the drawer. They were selling it for $9.99, and people were actually buying it.

Only one place threw us out - it was this family owned legal firm. Everyone else seemed more uneasy that their boss would yell at them, than they were with our presence.

I felt really uneasy going in to all these places, but for the most part, people were pretty friendly. It seems that cheap preschool toys cranked out of a sweatshop in Indonesia are a popular summer item.

At lunch time, my feet were killing me (I thought this was going to be an office job) and I wished they'd told me to bring sneakers too. Of course, management couldn't condone comfortable footwear.

Eventually we went to Burger King and James bought me lunch. It seems that if I were hired, I'd be working under him in a pyramid setup of sorts.

I gotta tell you, that chicken sandwich did a lot to convince me that this was a top rated job, and I'd be silly not to take it. By the end of the day, they'd sold thirty-three toy cash registers, making $329.67, more than half of which was profit.

I was back in the office with the short short man, and he asked me about my day. I wanted to go off on him for wasting my time, but it was clear that if you were willing to go door to door selling crap, you could make money. Their system did work.

What was keeping me from selling my own crap door to door, and forget the commission BS? Because selling crap door to door sucks. You're outside a lot, it's damned hot, you're invading people's space and are unwelcome everywhere you go. Not for me.

So instead of going off about being duped, I gushed about how surprised I was that people were willing to buy, and there was real money to be made and yadda yadda.

I got the job, of course. I'm sure everyone who still wants the job once they know what it is will get the job.

I called this morning and told them I was "sorry, but I'd accepted another opportunity". Interesting day, though.

Litany Webb, signing off

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And Wear Something Professional Next Time...

I just got back from my interview with the marketing company. I ended up wearing the grey slacks, but I'd bought a new black top at Robinson's May, very crisp and professional. I'll probably be doing lots of interviewing, so a new top is a good idea.

I got to the place about twenty minutes early (Dad had loaned me his car) and waited a bit in the parking lot - I didn't want to walk in ridiculously early for the interview. No more than 10 minutes early is my rule.

So I go in, and the waiting room has a good forty people in it. Ugh, this is supposed to be for an office job, not a sitcom casting call. I signed in, took a clipboard, and began filling out a thirty page questionaire. I'm not kidding. This thing was long. The consensus in my neighborhood of the waiting room was that we were being used as a free focus group. Nice.

The questionaire took a good hour. At least half of the questions required essay paragraphs as answers, the other half were multiple choice. And of course you want to make the best possible impression at a job interview, so I answered the questions as completely as possible.

The interview itself was mostly this very short man (I'm not trying to be picky, this guy was like 4.5 feet tall) in a very sharp suit (he reminded me of those overdressed little kids you see at a wedding or funeral) going over my answers on the questionaire, asking me why I answered certain ways, and making notes.

In the end he told me I was a great candidate, and that he wanted me back for a second interview, where I would sign an NDA and get to see what a day on-the-job would be like.

And this is a quote. "Oh, and you're dressed nicely today, but for tomorrow, I want you to dress even better. Really professional."

(The outfit I was wearing cost $150, not counting shoes.)

Um, Ok...

The only thing more professional than what I was wearing would be a suit. So I guess I'll have to go shopping again today, if I decide to go to the second interview. It's not like people are knocking my door down with offers, so why not go?

Litany Webb, signing off

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Let the Mirror Decide

Yowza! I got a call from that marketing company that I applied to the other day. I don't think I've ever had such a quick response to submitting my resume. That's encouraging.

They woke me up with the call - I just hope that my incoherant "HuhWhatUgh?" didn't off-put the HR guy. And my breath was foul, I just know he could tell over the phone.

They want me to come in on Monday for an interview, it's supposed to take two hours. What kind of interview takes two hours? They didn't give me any details, but I can only guess there will be testing of some sort.

I've spent the last hour studying their web site to get an idea of what they're about, who they are and what they do. It's all pretty vague, really. Lots of snappy verbage and not a lot of detail. We'll see.

I need to get an interview outfit dry cleaned. Should I go with the ankle-length black dress, or the dark grey slacks? The dress is classier, and the slacks more professional. Hmn. Maybe I'll get both of them dry cleaned, and decide once I've tried them on. Let the mirror decide.

I sent out a bunch more resumes yesterday. I've applied for just about everything that I'm qualified for at this point, and a few things that I'm not qualified for.

You know what's funky? You need less training (time wise) to be a Paramedic than you do to be a Librarian.

Litany Webb, signing off

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Scrubbing Bubbles, Eat My Dust!

I'm still riding the warm glow of my weekend with Peter. He hasn't called since I left on Monday morning, but then I have not called him either. Why do we expect it's the man's job to call? I don't know, it just is.

I've been cleaning Dad's house, earning my keep. He's a decent house cleaner, especially now that he often has Joann over. I came home on Monday afternoon to find them lolling on the couch in their PJs. I called first to make sure the coast was clear. I mean, the whole sex drive thing IS genetic...

I scrubbed the upstairs bathroom - even the ceiling. I actually enjoyed the somehow relaxing domestic chore, how scary is that? What's with those little orange/amber colored droplet looking things that develop on the ceiling of any bathroom with a tub or shower? Soapy precipitates carried and deposited by steam? But the steam should not be carrying any precipitates. Just a funky kind of mold?

A friend called and alerted me to a job in the paper, it's one of those "Entry-Level Marketing Position - Great Opportunity For Advancement!" kinda jobs. I just emailed them my resume, like 10,000 other folks no doubt have done. I'm interested in advertising and marketing, so this might be interesting, even if it doesn't last.

I need to get a new cell phone, new plan, all that crap. That will have to wait till I get a job, of course. Oh, and crap - when I do get a job, I'll be catching a bus. I've been bussing in Los Angeles since I was twelve, so I know my way around, but it's still a pain in the ass.

It's not the riding, it's the waiting for the bus that sucks. Trying to be on time for work after making three transfers. Ok, I'll catch my first bus at 5:33am in order to be on time at 9:00. My 10 speed bike is still in the garage. Get to work all sweaty though. Mebbe a cute little electric Razor Scooter? Nah, I'd get run over and killed.

I can hike the length and breadth of Ack, no worries, and then I'd get hit by a mail truck on the way to work. Greaaat.

Litany Webb, signing off

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Waffles Be Damned!

Superb weekend!

Friday night with Peter was great. He picked me up at Dad's house (he showed up with a single white carnation - I love those, they're so classy yet understated).

And he'd dressed up, which is rare for him. Peter is one of those California Boys whose wardobe consists of hemp jewelry, shorts, faded t-shirts, and sandals. But he was as stylin in his dress shirt and slacks, and he looked so good. I wore my grey gabardine skirt and a black long-sleeved top.

He took me out to Buca De Beppo, which is a great Italian restaurant. For those of you who've never been, it's airy but busy, it's always bustling with lots of people talking and laughing. There are thousands of photos on the wall, of all sorts of random things, largely Italian or Italian-American themed.

The food is truly excellent, the service is great, the portions are gigantic. I just can't say enough good things about Buca. Oh, and they have a booth in the kitchen itself, where you can eat your meal if you choose, while all the talented artisans get their skill on.

Peter still has the same issues that I originally couldn't stand, (namely his drug use) and I know this is just a great weekend with a nice guy who I'm not going to spend the rest of my life with.

We talked about that at dinner. I didn't want to give him any wrong signals. He understands why we're not together, but I guess it's not important enough for him to stop using. He's improved over the last couple of years, so there might be hope for him yet.

Needless to say, we got stuffed. By the time we stumbled back to his place, we were pretty heady with pasta fatigue. We relaxed on his couch and turned on the tv, but we didn't really watch. We had some wine and relaxed and ended up doing a lot of sweet, slow kissing. It was the tender, warm makeout session you can only have with someone you're very at ease with.


We went to IHOP for lunch and it was all I could do to keep from jumping him right there. Just jumping across the table, syrup flying everywhere, waffles be damned.

Litany Webb, signing off

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Thirstily it Drinks the Lotion

We had a flyer rubber-banded to our doorknob this morning. I laughed a bit and then I cried. I feel for the poor schlub whose job it was to put it there.

You know what I realized today? The problem with lotion is that in 10 minutes, you need to put on more.

It feels so good as you're rubbing it in, but you're spoiling your skin, who's gonna want more attention, and soon. Why can't the dry-skin area just make more oil? My nose doesn't seem to have a problem with that concept.

I finally got around to updating my resume, and sent it out to a couple of dozen places. My experience and skills are kind of scattered, so I don't really qualify for any one thing. Not in an on-paper, this is my career kind of way. I put The Pilgrimage down as product testing, and said I was a Junior Tech. Helpfully vague, I hope.

I have plans to go out with an old friend tonight, Peter. He's actually an old ex, he was my second boyfriend ever, and the first guy I had sex with. He spoiled me something rotten, and I could use a little spoiling right now.

Peter's separated from his girlfriend, who's out of the country on some humanitarian mission. Separated as in, "let's see other people", so we'll see what happens tonight.

Peter's appreciably endowed with social skills and animal prowess where it counts, which is tempting - though I don't know if we'll indulge... Let me just clue in all you boys who have used a ruler to measure your ahem - it's all about girth.

Litany Webb, signing off

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I'm Alive!

I'm sorry I haven't been blogging, especially after I promised to. Nothing has been going on really. I've been in a funky nonplace for a while now, and I haven't even gotten around to updating my resume, much less submitting it anywhere. Mostly I've been sleeping a lot and eating more. I've gained six pounds since I got back.

I wonder if I could put The Pilgrimage on my resume somehow. Come up with some strong foreign name and pretend it was research. Der Skarsgard Projekt, hmn... I wonder.

All of the team have now returned home from beautiful Ack, they're safe and sound. Church was talking about coming down from Washington State to visit sometime soon. It seems she has some money saved, don't ask me how.

I came home to a small pile of threatening letters, it seems I forgot a few bills. Nothing too freaky, but I want to take care of them as soon as I can. I'm loathe to sell any of my hiking gear, but it might come down to that.

I've been crashing on Dad's couch, though my brother offered to let me stay at his place. But he has a very very active social life and I really don't need to listen to the Headboard Against The Wall sonata every damn night as I try to sleep, thank you no.

Shelly (of bitch fame) has a younger sister, Megan, who just turned 18 and is itching to find a roommate to get her first apartment with. I don't know if I want to do that, since I know her folks pretty well and they'd expect me to make sure she wasn't drinking, dropping acid, and boinking the neighborhood. With a role model like Shelly, I fear for Megan, but I don't want to be her babysitter. If something happened to her on my watch, I'd feel responsible to her folks.

Obviously, I need to get a job before I can think about getting a new apartment. But I know I'm cramping Dad's style living here. He finally gets some freedom, a girlfriend, and then here I come again. I try to stay out from underfoot.

I don't know that I'll be posting daily any more, but at least a few times a week. I've missed you guys! Thanks for all your thoughtful comments and emails and friendship - I'm blessed!

Litany Webb, signing off

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