I was on my way to a job interview...

I returned to university as an older student.

5 years earlier, I had quit to backpack Califonia. Why CA? Because my bf's finger landed there on the US map at 3am (he was blindfolded). Two weeks before my junior year. I was excited! Courtesy FYI: Don't do drugs.

The new PLAN was to return to school when I returned. Mom was what you would call "not happy" about this new plan.

It got hairy in CA. I was 20, half-educated, very observant, always thinking, thin, cute. I'm not quite clear about what all happened while I was away. Months flew by. Jobs, boys, beach, Vegas. Did I marry?

The day I finally returned, I went to see a haircutter gf to get some face-soap. It was a hair salon but had pfou-pfou beauty products.

This was back before the brilliant marketing of Bath & Beauty (I can just imagine THOSE marketing meetings. "Let's change the way middle-class women think! We'll suck them in by their noses, they will enter snorting. They'll browse pink and purple lotions with flowery names. They want to touch the product. Let them connect to Mother Earth and relish their feminine superiority! With no male shaving cream or maxipads near.

But that's off topic.

My gf was cutting a lady's hair and I heard her say "Kim, do you know anyone who would want to work for an airline, and get flight benefits?"

Is it possible for a woman to get an immediate hard-on?

I had returned to Texas that day! That hour! My eating habits had been so bad in CA that I drove to the salon to get face-soap before I went home.
My mother was waiting there for me, with college re-enrollment papers.

A few years go by. I am broke (still), but now semi world-travelled.

One day a gf called. "I'm getting my Masters next week, and you haven't finished your undergrad..." Ouch.

The deal with working for airlines is that travel benefits are so... priviledged... that you can't fathom returning to... gasp!! no free flights!!

That life is for OTHER people. The ones who aren't...entitled. First-class is usually packed with airline employees who continually re-route your flights in order to keep their own desired flights open.

"Yes, Mr. Black...Toronto/Amarillo/Miami is the quickest way to New Jersey at this time. Please keep in mind that you are being filmed right now. Enjoy the nuts in the lounge, and here's a complimentary drink coupon. You will be home in 2 short days...I'm sure your daughters' wedding can wait..."

But that's off-topic.

Oddly, in the SAME week...my ex from my freshman year called to tell me that he re-enrolled in university also. (He was kicked out, but I left by choice.) I was a classier drop-out than him.

Drum-roll...I DID quit the airline and return to school.

I was determined to graduate without debt so I worked 40 hrs a week. Sitting in class as a 28 yr old with a job is MUCH different than sitting in class as an 18 yr old on her parents' dime. "Oh --- my --- God...what am I going to wear tonight? I don't have time to go to Houstin. Oh my God."
This is my competition for getting a job? Yay!

Interview time...
I had no money to buy the standard navy blue suit /white blouse /heels combo. So, classic avoidance technique: I pretended that college didn't actually end in one month. I didn't sign up for any interviews.

I dreaded going to class. Job offers, benefits, office perks!, welcoming parties, future opportunities, oh-my-God-look-at-my-business-cards-they-sent-me!!....it was ALL anybody talked about. Shut-up already. I get it, you have a job.

I began to think I should get a good hair-cut and maybe spiff myself up.
Or trim it myself. No, that hasn't worked well in the past.

Since this was back-in-the-day...you could still juggle hot-checks to balance your wants and needs. There was none of that auto-digital-debit crap.
A three-day turn-around was rare. Not that there wasn't the occasional burn (how did it clear that fast?! How can they charge me an extra $25 for a $4 salad??!!)

But that's off topic.

I got an $80 haircut (poor people tip good), and picked up extra-shifts to cover the check.


I still wasn't what you would call "professionally presentable." Graduation was 2 weeks away. Nervousness set in; phoning home was not an option.

2 weeks to graduation.

I will take ANY job. Are there any interviews left? I'll take leftovers. Do I need to talk to somebody about getting on a list?

I had never been inside the career center. To this day, I don't know where it's located on that campus. (In my defense, I was not 100% sure that I was all-the-way graduating. Statistics III was very difficult for me.)

1 week to graduation.

I hear talking. I see booths. I see signs. I see older people in suits. I see classmates who are showered and in their church-clothes. Lordee, they clean up well. I look down at my outfit.

I am wearing old red sweatpants and a blue shirt. The old-school style of sweats that bunched up around your ankles. Started out too big for me. But I'm at college and I snack and now my butts kind of big and they fit over it. So I wear them. Often. I am also wearing flip-flops. It is an overall very unattractive combination.

Companies are packing up to leave the HIRING fair that I didn't know about. Note to self: Read the flyers in the business building.

I have an absolute case of desperation...the kind that propels you forward into humiliation before you have time to think about it.

I have a new haircut! Be so engaging that they never look down! I walk over and start greeting the booth people. (This means I said hello and kept walking.) But it was a start.

I am nearing the perimeter. I can now honestly tell my parents I talked to several companies.

At the very last booth, a man said hello. I saw his colorful pile of free t-shirts, and decided to try to earn one.

We talked for a few minutes. Then he got serious. He asked why I hadn't applied to sell advertising. He got something out of his pocket, looked into my eyes and said "sell me this pen."

Is this an interview? Can I have a bit of preparation time? What company is this? What state are you located in? I'm wearing flip-flops!

I vaguely remember talking about how that pen could keep people alive should any natural disaster occur. I know I said the word "ninja" and I think I mentioned imroving women's rights. For good measure, because it's usually PC in so many ways, I included God. He used that pen on Jesus.

Then I asked him how many of these incredible pens he needed.

....Apparently I had "pulled the trigger" which means I asked for the sale.
Which nobody else in their expensive dress suits and high-fiber resumes had done all day.

He offered me a job! I was speechless. (wanted to jump up and down!)

The next day, I casually shrugged my shoulders in business class. And announced that I had finally decided which position to accept.

During new-employee training, I won the most-coveted advertising contest. I was starting this company ; lwith a star by my name! The prize was 2 gold company pens. Pens? I gave them to a guy who had worked all weekend on his project. As in ALL WEKEND. I spent maybe 45 minutes.

I made 120% of my advertising sales quotas from week 1.
I was only required to hit 70% for the first 6 months.
People who sold 40% less than me were paid the same salary.
(waitressing provides very good sales experience.)

I, the girl who was profoundly unemployed with no prospects just weeks earlier....boldly called a meeting and asked for a commissioned-position.

Commissioned positions required 1 yr of employment. YEAR?!
They did say that I was already on the list for the new "on-line advertising" (the company was first monitoring to see if the public would accept this new-age "internet idea.")

I began spending Thurs and Fri doing almost nothing (literally) since my quotas were attained by Wednesday. I was dressed very well, pausing at cubicles, coffee in hand, giving out tips. Other dept managers greeted me by name. One starts to feel like one is the boss.

I was not on the "You'll-lose- your-job-soon" list. But some were.

Note to college graduates: Don't go right out and buy a big house and expensive car. Or stage an elaborate wedding to your college lover. On credit. (There's over a 70% chance that you won't have that job 2 years from now. And over 50% chance of divorce.)

I had a co-worker who was on the bad-list. She'd be fired within a month. She asked me to help her find a job. So she brought the classifieds (remember those? Pouring over, weeding out, circling the good ones?)

It was Thursday, I had time. I closed my solitaire games and asked about what she COULD possibly succeed in (did not sound promising) ---- But, in the big picture, it was a marketing issue. I went back to HQ (my cubicle) and sat down with the classifieds and a highlighter.

In hindsight...was it appropriate for me to be involved? I signed a contract that I would support the company mission. To help out-source a low-performer surely qualifies as a public display of company loyalty?

Seriously, you should never mix business with pleasure. I started out very happy to help a friend (I did, afterall, spend the night with her last week)...
but the more I analyzed her past few months' performance......
she was rif-raf and had to go.

Whoa Betsy! An ad caught my eye. Hooked, realed, landed. HERE.
But not for her.

"Live in Dallas, train in Paris. International travel required."

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I did not have design experience, but I did have 5 weeks of professional work experience. Highlight the positive.

This was before cellphones. I used the company line to called the number.

"The candidates were already chosen." Ugh.

I begged the lady to tell me what they were looking for anyway. I wrote down every word. I flattered...we talked, we discussed, tossed ideas around. I desperately wanted to talk in private, but I was on that twisty-phone-cord-leash-thing from a long time ago. (And surrounded on 3 sides by colleagues who knew my sales numbers were way higher than theirs.)

Finally, finally!! she said "why don't you come talk to me this afternoon?"

I immediately announced a bad case of food poisoning.

I was already composing the dream resume. It was a bit fluffy.

Things so went well that day. (Thank goodess there were no internet search engines back then. The companies did not exist.)

On the day of my final interview...the decision-makers were flying in from France to interview and select.

I needed an edge! I needed to stand out in the crowd. Everyone wanted to live in Paris, damn them.

Think, think, think.....this is a marketing issue......

I got up very early and went to Kinkos. This is back before they were price-competitive so copies were expensive. BUT they opened at 5am, and they still smiled at people spending less than $1000. Ying for yang.

From an English-to-French dictionary (font 4)...I found the sentences "Good morning to you" and "I look very forward to meeting you" ----- I spent $18 to enlarge, and re-enlarge, and re-re-enlarge the words (remember that small detail.) Then I faxed it to the office where the French-speaking interviewers were waiting for me.

I arrived to an interview full of smiles. French people are so happy!Everyone had a copy of my glorious resume.

New note to self: Browse fabricated resumes before interviews.

Conceptual-type questions. Lots of head-nodding. I truly don't remember specific skills being addressed. I was so excited to be there that I didn't even know what I agreed to. "I'm a quick learner, I can do this!" were my thoughts.

This is God, sending me a sign that he's proud of me for quitting the airline to finish my degree!! I DO have a personal relationship with him afterall! Free Travel!! Yummy cheeses!! Apartment in Paris!! Literate men!! Ooooh, pick me, pick me!!

When the owner asked how soon I could be ready to leave for Paris...
I could feel my heart beating. I think I could even hear it. I looked at him (serious business eyes) and put my passport on the table. "Tomorrow."

I signed a contract. It was so cute, the words were in French. I would have my lawyer look at it later. Note to self: Get a lawyer?

I was there before I called my mom to tell her about the job. And ask her to pick up my dry-cleaning on Monday..."Because I've run into a bit of good luck and I moved to Paris this morning. It's really quite lovely..." (I think I was already wearing a scarf.) She kept asking if I was drunk.

Never-lived-in beautiful 2-bedroom apartment, leather furniture, private 900sf garden-balcony. I would share a rolls-royce (blue!!) with another design-consultant (is that what I was, too?) I will sit in the back seat and lick the leather. Oh, God, somebody please take my picture.

I accepted everything very graciously. I inquired about security, garden maintenance (surely they don't expect me to do it?!), local markets, tailors. It was very difficult to maintain composure. I had not known that I was getting those things. I wanted them to leave so I could jump up and down and scream like a maniac.

I planned my entire priviledged life that night.
I would dress immaculate. Hair always shiny and perfect.
Invitations to my roof-top garden parties would be hard-to-get.
I'd fly my family over for holidays (if I had time for them that year.)
My international friends and I would trade villas all over the world.

Interestingly...my plan didn't include a man. That was something I USED to think. That was yesterday. Before.

I would, of course, design clothes on the side. Once I figured out how to design something. Surely there would be crossover skills?

In all this perfect-ness....in all of this right-out-of-a-fairytale.....there was only one very small issue. And it would not stop nagging at me.

What, EXACTLY, was my new job description? Had they told me?

Ooooh....memories......It's a little painful to write this next part...

DAY ONE OF WORK, Paris:

Gorgeous coffee...croissants that make you cry...HQ from a Vogue-like dream...I am on top of the world, happiest girl on earth. I can't wait to see my office. (corner, corner, I want corner!)

I am most of all interested to learn about my job. What do I do?

Imagine my surprise as I am introduced to my FRENCH-SPEAKING ONLY design-team. Who were told that I am very charming, and very funny.

And I'm an experienced designer who speaks French.



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this is a true story (changed name of country)
:)

The Funeral

Let's see.....I was about 30 at the time... (I'm 40 now) ....my little sister was 27. Our dad died when I was 8, so most family events were with my mom's family. We have an uncle (dad's side) that we really like, but we don't get to see him too often because he retired to Mexico. Well, we heard that he was coming to Texas for a funeral. ONLY BECAUSE WE RARELY SEE HIM!!...we decided to go to the funeral. In hindsight, you probably shouldn't go to funerals of people you didn't know. ----------- We're still not sure how the seating happened. Maybe we overdressed. Maybe our "I don't know a single person here" deer-in-the-headlights look was misinterpreted as "it's obvious they're in deep grief and must be with the family".....(we hadn't seen Uncle Carl yet). My sister and I were led to a pew to sit down. We were thankful to be sitting, and we were humbled by the gorgeous stained-glass murals. We just stared. The details were too amazing for words. Well, people were filing in as our attention was diverted to recognizing bible stories in the murals. -------- Organ music started. A casket was wheeled in. It brought us back to reality. But not quick enough for a getaway. It just seemed inappropriate to leave while a casket is being opened. (yes...NOW we are worried about appropriateness)....We were on the 3rd row...staring at a dead man that we have never seen. --------- I am an easy-going girl with a great personality; humor has always been my friend. But there are times to laugh and times not to laugh. Something very bad and very inappropriate got switched in my head right then. It started as a small giggle. With the speed of light, I covered my mouth while my stomach lurched, and I suppressed it. All I could think was "OMG, we have GOT TO GET OUT OF HERE NOW!" ------ but then I made a bad bad mistake. I looked at my little sister. In the eyes. She has a good sense-of-humor, too. And she was trying to suppress her own giggle. ----- that didn't work.....................If you've ever watched an avalanche in real-life..........thoughts went flying through my head at rapid speed "funeral....dead man....who IS he?........sister.......giggling......do not look at her again no matter what............uncle..WHERE is HE???.......3rd row......people looking at us......giggles turning to laughter.....uncontrollable........loud....loud.....louder.........dear God please rescue me.......very inappropriate......beyond anything I've ever done in my life EVER.....my body is shaking so hard that I'm bumping into my sister's shaking body..." -------- This is a public confession: The only thing that seemed appropriate GIVEN THE CIRCUMSTANCE.....was to act like we were crying. Hysterically. In fits. Because that's what it looked like with our covered faces, muffled eruptions, shaking bodies...and sitting on the 3rd row. --------- It lasted about 20 minutes. I don't know who might ever read this, but you've never been that embarrassed. --- The family (the real ones who knew dead man) ----- they came straight over after the service to find out WHO these women were that knew dead-man so well that they were crying harder than them. It was all we could do to walk at that point. We covered our faces and avoided eye-contact as we walked out. -------- I wish I could tell you that it ends here.....but the limo driver insisted we weren't fit to drive to the cemetery in our condition.