A few weeks ago I started a project of self reflection, see the details here. And my first installment in the Writefully Shamed series is here: My embarrassingly true interview failure story.
A lot of people say you never get 'the call' with your first novel. And that could be true. But is it necessarily true for Day Jobs as well?
I was desperate for a job after I graduated. I had nearly 60,000 dollars in student loans holding me down and I needed real money to pay those down. Not the sorta money you make working three crap jobs. I worked my ass off to get my college education and I wanted to put it to good use. So when I got my first interview request for an entry level position at a really-real corporate job I was thrilled.
So all that remained was getting ready for the big event. I'd been out in the real world for 2 years and had gained the real-world-thirty. Pounds, that is. I was able to find one skirt that could still zip and one of my husbands button-downs that I could still button.
I curled my hair and put on makeup for the first time in months. I looked about as Corporate America as Chris Farely in a little coat:
Anyway, we only had one car so my hubby had to take off work to drive me to the interview. I wish it could go without saying that I was sweaty but I'm not a normal sweat-er. I sweat like this guy:
I got a plastic 'Visitors' badge at reception before using the restroom where I stuffed scratchy toilet paper into my pits. It's a tried and true method of keeping my pits dry for a short period of time.
I was as ready as ever when they brought into the interview room: dressed in the only professional-ish clothing that fit, face painted and hair curled, with wads of toilet tissue in my pits. Let's do this!
After what felt like a full day of questions everyone had smiles on their faces. It seemed like I had wow'd them with my dazzling wit. I pitched the TP and did a happy dance all the way back to the car:
Just before I got in the car I felt a breeze across my chest. I looked down and saw my shirt button had come undone. There was a giant gaping opening in my shirt. I was more shocked than this kitty:
Stunned, I opened the car door with a trembling hand. When I lifted my leg to step into the car I felt a breeze on my hip. The zipper on my skirt had come open during the interview.
First the shirt and now the skirt.............
I burst into sobs that would make Britney proud:
My hubby tried to comfort me for days after the interview. "I bet the button didn't come undone until after the interview," He said. "They didn't see anything," He said. "I'm sure you did fine. At least they didn't see the TP up your selves," He said.
But all I could think about was how I ruined my one chance. My one and only chance to get a really-real job. The one thing that my entire childhood had been leading to. All that school. All that debt. All those expectations and hard work were for nothing. All because of a some shitty weight gain and ill fitting clothes.
Weeks later I got the call. They wanted to offer me the job! *cue more happy dancing*
I worked there for several years and I even asked my interviewers if they noticed my shirt or skirt coming open-that would not easily be forgotten-but none of them knew what I was talking about.
In the end, we are always our own worst critics. And we are the cruelest critics when we are the most vulnerable.
Have you ever lost it over reacted like this? Share your stories here.