Back from No Chance Land
When last we left our hero he was tossing the night away on his damp childhood bed in his dirty laundry-strewn childhood bedroom, hyped-up as he was for his third (charmed?) interview on the island of Manhattan.
A chronology:
7:30 - Alarm, shower (ahem).
8:50 - Train leaves without me.
9:29 - Last best hope. It'll be a squeaker.
11:10 - Metro-North touches down at Grand Central Terminal.
11:11-11:15 - A frenzied rush to a Brooklyn BRIDGE-bound 6 train.
11:20 - Ascent from the sultry depths onto the dingily glistening corner of Park Avenue and 23rd Street.
11:22 - The Flatiron Building whizzes by in a blur.
11:25 - Rubber-soled "dress shoes" don't make much noise on the marble inlaid lobby floor of the building where publishing industry dreams go to die.
11:29 - Shirt tucked in, brow wiped dry (don't touch it again), knock and enter.
11:31 - Interview begins (don't say "entice").
11:55 - Let me introduce you to my assistant. She'll tell you about the specifics of the job.
12:10 - Thanks for coming in*! Thanks for having me! *An old Heraldism come back to haunt me.
12:15 - Trudge back to Park and 23rd.
12:25 - Hello again, GCT. Someone told me that that ball-shaped clock is "priceless," as in infinitely valuable.
12:35 - Lunch in the Terminal bowels.
12:45 - Back on the train.
2:40 - Hello New Haven.
I don't think I'm going to get this job. And I think it's because I'm not a girl. I've been getting an inkling that women in publishing prefer female underlings. Not that I blame them. (Feel free to vehemently disagree with my assessment whether or not you've got any hard evidence to back up your vehemence.)
I suppose I should try harder to convey my many girlish tendencies.
I've still got that mag from yesterday, and it's looking pretty good.
And: There's been one more nibble on the line (a voicemail just after 5 this afternoon). I'm not even going to discuss it, because I don't want to jinx it or even think about it too much (ha). I'll say that it's ideal in every aspect except geographically, and leave it at that. More to come (hopefully soon). Stay tuned.
A chronology:
7:30 - Alarm, shower (ahem).
8:50 - Train leaves without me.
9:29 - Last best hope. It'll be a squeaker.
11:10 - Metro-North touches down at Grand Central Terminal.
11:11-11:15 - A frenzied rush to a Brooklyn BRIDGE-bound 6 train.
11:20 - Ascent from the sultry depths onto the dingily glistening corner of Park Avenue and 23rd Street.
11:22 - The Flatiron Building whizzes by in a blur.
11:25 - Rubber-soled "dress shoes" don't make much noise on the marble inlaid lobby floor of the building where publishing industry dreams go to die.
11:29 - Shirt tucked in, brow wiped dry (don't touch it again), knock and enter.
11:31 - Interview begins (don't say "entice").
11:55 - Let me introduce you to my assistant. She'll tell you about the specifics of the job.
12:10 - Thanks for coming in*! Thanks for having me! *An old Heraldism come back to haunt me.
12:15 - Trudge back to Park and 23rd.
12:25 - Hello again, GCT. Someone told me that that ball-shaped clock is "priceless," as in infinitely valuable.
12:35 - Lunch in the Terminal bowels.
12:45 - Back on the train.
2:40 - Hello New Haven.
I don't think I'm going to get this job. And I think it's because I'm not a girl. I've been getting an inkling that women in publishing prefer female underlings. Not that I blame them. (Feel free to vehemently disagree with my assessment whether or not you've got any hard evidence to back up your vehemence.)
I suppose I should try harder to convey my many girlish tendencies.
I've still got that mag from yesterday, and it's looking pretty good.
And: There's been one more nibble on the line (a voicemail just after 5 this afternoon). I'm not even going to discuss it, because I don't want to jinx it or even think about it too much (ha). I'll say that it's ideal in every aspect except geographically, and leave it at that. More to come (hopefully soon). Stay tuned.
posted by temporarily unemployed at 20:23
5 Comments:
i'm not going to jinx anything either, i'm just going to write this comment and leave it at that. HILLS HERE WE COME!!!!!!!
6 trains are not brooklyn-bound (although they are brooklyn bridge- bound).
UPPPPDDDAAATTTEEEEEE. Lots to say!
alright seriously.
The real question is: why was your childhood bed damp?
You've broken through the (what would it be? Glass dressing room door, glass hymen, glass obgyn stirrups, glass diaphram. take your pick) into a job that was classically filled by a woman before (Mrs. GM). Why can't you do it again?
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