It was two years ago and there was talk about getting my delinquent ass a job. Everyone was helping and I wasn’t really asking for any help in any sort of positive “career” direction what so ever. So at any rate, I had an interview over at Vanity Fair to be some kind of assistant to someone or some shit or some fuckery that I wasn’t prepared for and did no such homework to get myself up to speed.
You know in Hollywood films where the little smart ass “real genius” has an interview and they roll in late like they own the place, they just curse a lot and totally laugh at the dean of admissions or the CEO that offers them 500,000 a year, because “who could give a shit about money? I’m a genius, I can get paid that much making videogames or curing cancer in Europe where they shower me with cannabis and Swedish hookers?” yeah, well, I did all of that, but no one was really wanted me there in the first place. I had nothing, NOTHING to offer them. It was like looking through a telescope at a gigantic horse’s mouth across the room. I should have been in there mouth open, knee pads locked into position if I wanted a job that day.
No one knew who the hell I was, and it’s not like there was a lot to know at the time, I was a drunk, a pill head, I had zero ambition and even less respect for the massive institution that was allowing me in whatever building I was at that week. It was a ready-made disaster.
So anyways, I went, for the idea that it would be a fun thing to do that afternoon and showing up might get some loved ones off my damnable back. Here is the story of that:
I got lost. I showed up a solid 45 minutes late after calling twice and getting directions again and again. I realized at that point that as healthy and aware and coffee perked I was, I was also, very hung over. It didn’t matter. I thought about rescheduling but it felt silly. I was a few blocks away, I should just make it happen.
I showed up, and immediately started flirting with the secretary. Scumbag. I was wearing a suit, looked damn fine except for that I had thrown on some zebra addidas without thinking so I looked like hipster scum. The secretary was nice enough to let me cut the three interviewees that showed up on time to get back on some kind of schedule I guess or to get rid of the kid that rolled out of bed wearing a suit, winks too much and whom reeked of whiskey.
I went into the damn lady’s office and looked her over. She was short, kind of squat, easily forgettable except for her wandering eye. Immediately that was trouble. I had to maintain, and not lose my shit that the woman they have pulling the Saint Peter job of watching the door is occularly “distracted.” So after about 10 minutes of small talk it is apparent that we can’t connect on any topic. She seems a little irritated and her trying to talk me out of even wanting the job “maybe the world of media isn’t for you?” none of it mattered. The only thing I was thinking was “Look into the eye that’s looking at you. Pretend she has ONE eye. Look at that ONE eye. Imagine a patch over the one doing loopty loops. Ignore the googly eye. Fuck. Fuck this is hard. ONE EYE! dammit.”
Then we both just stopped talking. We had that awkward silence. The moment I live for. So I said “I don’t really want this job, I mean I wouldn’t mind havind it, but I’m not dying for it, to be totally honest.” It just came out. I didn’t think about it I just fucking opened my stupid bastard mouth and out it came. I was fucked. Since I realized I was fucked I said lets get this sinking boat lit the fuck on fire, it’s going down anyways, lets see how fast we can submarine the bitch.
So I switched eyes. I watched her googly eye go from my head to the wall behind me to a poster on the wall to my right and just sit on the poster for a while and then back to me, not just me but direct eye contact. And that’s when it clicked. She didn’t have a wandering eye at all. She had a dead eye stuck in one position, straight forward. Straight forward at me. it wasnt even really linked up direct with my eyes, she was staring intently at my forehead.
I WAS WATCHING THE WRONG EYE THE WHOLE TIME. I BET ON THE WRONG FUCKING HORSE. As soon as I started staring into the wild eye, it locked onto me and she started paying attention to what I was saying. She just was bored the whole fucking time, looking at other shit, coasting on the dead eye’s merits.
I fell in love with the woman immediately, her complete ambivalence towards the sad sack dip-shits that find their way before her was intoxicating. We bonded instantly. We talked about everything we could think of that wasn’t related to the job. We talked for another hour and 15 minutes, just bullshitting. It was great. the secretary buzzed like 10 times for the people that were waiting outside for now near two hours because of the boy who was late and stank of last nights booze.
At the end she said if I called back in 6 weeks the job was mine. But by that time, I was working on a feature film with some friends and was otherwise committed. But hell, it was a fine time spent with a crazy old woman with a dead eye and a brilliant way to handle people.
Sooooooo…. That’s the interview story. not quite as bad as a bunch of dead astronauts and teachers, but still, it was rocky at first. Then it went pretty well, i guess.
whatever.
