February 2, 1999
My New Best Friend

Home, briefly, between interviews: just enough time to snarf down a slice of cold pizza and toss a few words onto the website before I'm out the door again.

A minor miracle occurred this morning, whilst I was running around The Castle coiffing and primping: Mr. Interviewer Person  --  from the much-ballyhooed "downtown interview"  --  finally called me back.

I was flabbergasted. Truth is, in spite of yesterday's blathering journal entry about "optimism," I'd pretty much written that one off.  So when he invited me to come in today for a second interview ("We've narrowed it down to two candidates," he said), I was speechless ...

... but only momentarily. Mostly I was doing the logistics in my head: how was I going to get from one end of the island to the other in the required time?

"I do have another interview scheduled for this morning," I told him truthfully. "Can we plan to meet at 2:00 today?"

He said that would be fine, and I went to the morning interview as planned (it went OK: nothing thrilling to report), and now I'm just sitting here killing time and dribbling pizza on the front of my natty little suit and wondering how best to screw up this latest opportunity at a job that I really really want ...

(OH I'M JUST KIDDING. I figure I have just as decent a shot at this job as the other person does. When I told David I'd been called back to interview again, he pointed out that "They wouldn't be asking you back if you weren't being seriously considered." Which of course is sorta stating the obvious, but it helped shore up my self-confidence a little anyway. He's good at that kind of stuff.)

So now I'm gonna blot the pizza sauce off the front of my natty little suit, and run a brush through my hair, and slip back into the horrendously-uncomfortable shoes, and clomp off to my second job interview of the day.

Wish me luck. I'll let you know what happens.

Later That Day

I take back every snide comment I've ever made about Mr. Interviewer Person.

Mr. Interviewer Person has become my new best friend.

Even more importantly ... Mr. Interviewer Person has become my new BOSS.


I was offered the job at the very end of the interview this afternoon. It took every ounce of self-control I possess to keep from hugging Mr. I.P., right there on the spot. (Or slugging him, maybe, for keeping me dangling for two weeks. But neither would have been a prudent career move.)  So I simply said "Thank you," and agreed to start next Monday morning at 8 a.m., and I shook hands with everybody within a twenty-foot radius (including a visibly startled UPS delivery guy) ...

... and then I got into the elevator and SCREAMED.

I'm employed again, Dear Readers. I am giddy with excitement. I am limp with relief. I am flattered beyond belief. I am ...

... too jazzed to even write about it, right now. All I want to do is get out of this natty pizza-stained little suit and these incredibly uncomfortable shoes, and into some jeans and a T-shirt ... throw some loud silly music into the CD player ... brew a cup of Fast Lane Tea with extra sugar ...

... and exhale, literally and figuratively. (And then wait for David to get home so I can tell him the good news. There will be much *celebrating* in The Castle this evening.)

More tomorrow.



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