June 16, 2008

she didnt really care about anything else because she only wanted him to think she looked nice and he did

I had my initial interview for American Apparel today. I say initial because apparently there are stages of interview. There are multiple first impressions to make. And several power-handshakes to disperse, the more levels you beat. That's right, I think of it like a video game. I can't see any other way.

I got to the Lower East Side store fifteen minutes early like a responsible job-seeking person. Only to find a huddle mass of people in front of the store, resumes in hand. Flippin' great. It was a cattle call. I WAS TRICKED. I "signed in" and waited around for an hour or so, in the meanwhile, walking around the store, leaning against a lamp post outside trying to look not like a nerd, or sitting on one of the many benches outside. My "competish" were all people around my age-ish wearing regular street clothes, but being very careful not to make crease marks in their resumes and they folded them in their hands. What is the point of taking pains to keep your resume crease free if you are wearing jeans, a tank top, and sandals to an interview? Meanwhile, I was dressed appropriately, yet my resume was letter-enveloped folded in my purse.

I sat on a bench facing a Turkish deli, listening to the couple next to me whine how they've been there for an hour and a half. Hearing this, I seriously consider bailing. But I don't. So I sit and wait patiently. Until, a BIRD FUCKING POOPS ON ME. I don't care what people say about that being good luck, it is a horrifying and disgusting trick to pull on someone. Goddamn birds. Most of it got on my purse and I just got the splashback on me.
After the initial "OHMYGOD THIS IS SO GROSS WHAT DO I DOOOOO" reaction, I run across the street to the Turkish deli and ask the counter for napkins. The man gives me one. I ask for more. He gives me 50. I take about 4 and clean myself and my bag off in the bathroom which has a large BATHROOM FOR CUSTOMERS ONLY sign on it that I ignore.

I then come back, wait some more, get called into the basement to wait outside a door that says "Private Office" with 7 other sullen-looking girls. I don't know how long they've been waiting but they look pissed. I wonder if Dov Charney is behind that door and if I'll ever need the opportunity to roundhouse kick my way out of it from the other side. It's a sweet image in my head.
Girls go in for 10 minutes, or 7 minutes, some for just 1. What is that about, I ponder. Some come out with faint smiles and others come out looking quite sheepish. I am confused. I want to leave. I want to grab an arms' load of deep V T's from the stockroom and run like the wind to the F station and freedom. Naturally I don't. That's what crazy fiends do. Not me, so much.

I talk to the nice lady in the room behind a desk. We discuss my resume, mostly the time I spent working for H&M last summer. I told her I really want to work someplace I could wear high-waisted shiny leggings to work. She asked, What color? Black, I say matter-of-factly, with a smirk. She seems pleased and says I'll hear back within a week either way.

And then I bought a bag and left. I am going to print on that bag tomorrow. I'm excited.




At dinner, the restaurant gave me a straw like this!
IMPOSSIBLE!






Oh and,

My headshots came in the mail today. They look like this:

1 comment:

Simone said...

the photos are nice...

bird poop is suppose to be good luck so maybe you got the job in the bag. also, you didn't have to sit next to your annoying brother all night and listen to him talk about stupid things.