Marvin Hamlisch Saves the Day….kinda

Well, a surreal interview this afternoon—I go to a brokerage firm that I know nothing about, based on a last minute call from one of the various agents, while I am wearing a pair of unpressed, almost cat-haired pants (Dexter “autographed” them near the chair), wondering “what the hell’s this gonna be like?” in a section of the city that’s even too ritzy pour moi—across from Van Cleef & Arpels. Pink topaz in the window. Very “Spring”.

I get there plenty early via a lovely Haitian taxi driver: Moussai Narcisse (a nice flower, really) only to stare up at a huge building. I walk into the lobby to hear a lachrymose version of –GOD THESE THINGS ONLY HAPPEN TO ME—Through the Eyes of Love, that wonderfully diabetes-inducing song from Ice Castles that’s won me many a karaoke contest over the years. I can hear my father giggling in my ear as I pass the pianist. I visualize him stuffing $5 into the lady’s coat pocket as I pop on the elevator and shake my head. Who puts a pianist in a lobby? Landlords across the street from Van Cleef & Arpels, apparently.

It’s a re-insurance company and I hear nothing about what my agent promised me, but I do hear plenty about who my interviewer wants in HER employee, what SHE expects, and how the last person was fired after three months. She’s only there 2 days a week, I’d be unsupervised, mostly untrained, there’s no pension plan, but there is a 401K (bankruptcy at age 80, anyone?), and the hours are long. What else is new? There are 25 people in the company. Then, the phone rings, she picks it up and says the next person that’s supposed to interview won’t be able to be seen, despite the fact that this person is sitting 10 feet from her door. She also cuts me off in mid-sentence to check her email. If that ain’t a bad vibe, I don’t know what is. I continue to stare through ice-cold blue eyes (definitely NOT Marvin’s Eyes of Love), and wonder how I’m going to get back to the office and pull off another “Dr’s appt.” lie. She mentions her perfectionistic tendencies. Perfectionist + Ice Cold Blue Eyes= Control Freak. Shades of former jobs? You betcha. Check, please!

Now, I wonder at all if my agent (who resembles Ethel Merman) will even take my call. I appreciate aggression, but this ain’t the place for me. I can talk a good game--I grew up on a stage for god’s sake!—but if I make more than two or three mistakes, will I have three months, as well? Interviews are not just what I say, they are what the person says. And I did not like what this person had to say.

Still, I’ll send the references and a thank you note. Time is time, and I took some of it today. My first real interview, rather than a pre-screening. I’ll at least tell my agent that. I’m not going to take the first job after one interview. That’s like marrying the first guy you’ve ever dated. I had a friend that did that. I told her I wouldn’t be attending her wedding back in 1992, I’d rather attend the divorce. She got pissed at me. We didn’t speak. I got a strange phone call in 1995 from her. Her words?

“You were right. Wanna have coffee?”

Mais, oui. The phrase I love most.

I Can See Whats Mine Now...Finding Out Whats True...