hell of a day

Erm...

Yesterday I had my first job interview ever. I am almost 20 years old and I have never held a job. I consider this an accomplishment. Others are less complimentary.

I took longer getting ready for it than I ever spent getting ready for a date. And I looked a lot hotter, too.

We had the black cropped pants. The sensible sandals (borrowed from Mom, because I don't have anything that could be considered "sensible" yet, thank goodness). The springy green oxford button-down. The head-scarf-turned-belt.

Yeah, I was feelin' it.

Joshua suggested I bring a book. Lately I've been munching on James Joyce's "A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man." I thought I'd bring the old Irishman along.

Since I was a little too enthusiastic, I ended up arriving at the place an hour early. But I was unfazed.

"Ha-ha!" I thought. "I have already planned for this! I am unfazed! Let the reading begin!"

It was then that I discovered the first rule of interviews:
1)Do not read James Joyce before an interview.

You may not know this rule. That is probably because you have never made the same mistake. But my dear readers, I am here to make the mistakes for you: to experience horrors firsthand and pass my wisdom (gained through experience) down to you. Don't thank me. It is my duty.

And I am here to tell you that although reading James Joyce before an interview is potentially hazardous, Chapter 3 of "A Portrait..." is absolutely lethal.

Let's take a look at an excerpt, shall we?

"The very air of this world, that pure element, becomes foul and unbreathable when it has been long enclosed. Consider then what must be the foulness of the air of hell. Imagine some foul and putrid corpse that has lain rotting and decomposing in the grave, a jelly-like mass of liquid corruption. Imagine such a corpse a prey to flames, devoured by the fire of burning brimstone and giving off dense choking fumes of nauseous loathsome decomposition. And then imagine this sickening stench, multiplied a millionfold and a millionfold again from the millions upon millions of fetid carcasses massed together in the reeking darkness, a huge and rotting human fungus. Imagine all this, and you will have some idea of the horror of the stench of hell."

Oh joy! Millions upon millions of...

And I was in a hospital, mind you!

Somehow I managed to get through the interview, although in the process I discovered the second rule of interviews:

2) It is really hard to know when to smile and when to look serious and responsible. Your face will feel very funny by the end of the interview. And sit up straight, you heathen!

As my friendly (?) interviewer was leading me out the back door, she took a moment to introduce me to one of the doctors.

He (of course!) noticed the James Joyce.
"What're ya readin'?" he asked.
"Um..." Is my hand hiding the title? Can I make something up? Grey's Anatomy! The Lancet!
"James Joyce."
The interviewer took the liberty of helping me out.
"Meg's a college student back for the summer. She's an English major, and loves to read."
Loves to read? Did I say that in the interview?
The doctor seemed pleased with the information.
"That's great. I'm studying Italian to read Dante's Inferno in the original."
I smiled mutely at him. He held up a book.
"See? This is my Italian dictionary!"
I wanted to cry. My glasses weren't strong enough, I couldn't see the book. He was smiling in such a strange, wide way that I couldn't tell if he was kidding or not. Was this some sort of joke? Italian? Wasn't he more interested in reading about gallbladders or something? And what was with the "hell" theme? Was this a sign?
I tried to smile in such a way that it could be construed as genuine excitement for his recent Italian conquest or an overexaggerated, obviously sarcastic response to his obviously sarcastic comment.

Afterwards, my face felt even weirder.
But at least my cheeks weren't seizing up, right Laurel?

Addressing someone who is not actually there is called apostrophe.

I bet you didn't know that. But I know that because I am an English major. If you were an English major and now have kids, you probably knew that once, but it has now been pushed out of your brain and replaced by the tune to Little Tommy's favorite television show.

Not that you let your kids watch television. Like, EVER.

And so, let us close this lesson with a song to the tune of "Sesame Street"

Interview, everything's really bad.
Don't read James Joyce, it will make-you-sad.
There is numbness in your cheeks:
Let's go back to Boylston Street!

Oh boy. It is way too hot here.

Next time, I'm bringing the Bible.

Or Vogue.

A Good Day for Blogging

It could have been an ordinary day. Rainy and cold. No gas in the car.

In fact, it could have been a not-so-good day. When I went to get gas, I couldn't remember where the button-that-opens-the-gas-door-flap-thing was. Luckily for me, I have a totally shoddily manufactured car, so I was able to pry it open with my fingers.

I was feeling saucy, so I put exactly $10.90 worth of gas in my slammin' vehicle.

At the register, I gave the cashier a 20, my second paycheck ever steadily dwindling away. And then, like magic, in that eerie green color, my change was displayed.

$9.10

I smiled.

Back in the Megmobile, skies were getting bluer.

On 88.1, the announcer signed off, saying:

"I'll leave you with a song from Yma Sumac"

Yma Sumac?! Only the best exotica singer in all HISTORY! Only the woman with the largest range in all HISTORY! Yes!

This called for some serious air-punching.

I flew down the streets with Yma blasting. She trilled; I thrilled. And then, my community radio station segued into the Concert Calendar. I was contemplating taking another visit to BB's Jazz, Blues, and Soups when the reader signed off, saying

"I'm Seth Wahlman and this is KDHX."

Seth Wahlman?! Seth Wahlman of the Wahlman Four! Oh, Seth. Seth of lip-ring fame. How many nights did I spend at the concerts in your garage? And your older brother had it bad for my half-Japanese half-Greek best friend. I had it for your younger brother, and your other brother was my sister's first boyfriend! When they talked on the phone, he would play his trumpet incessantly because he was too afraid to make conversation! Oh Seth! You are still in St. Louis? Seth, you are a wonderful wonderful man!

Those three events may have been the most exciting, unexpected 15 minutes of my life.

Now I have to go drop off my Dad's daytimer. He left it at home.

Can this day get any better?

(I'm back in St. Louis, but when I went to Cha Yoon at 10:30 last night, they were closing. I love you, St. Louis night life! Laurel returns from The City Of Lights soon.)

Let the healing begin!

-Meg

Screw you, livejournal! Get lost, diaryland! Meg+Blogger=Love 4 Life!