The Road to the Interview

So today I had an interview. I didn't know, going in, if this was a job I would actually want but I don't like looking like an idiot so last night I did my homework. I was all over their website and their competitors' sites, I researched their audience and investigated associations and organizations that tie to their industry. I came up with questions to ask them. And I put a lot of confidence in my memory.

This morning, in an attempt to start this important day right, I got up early to meet my friend Janice at Curves. Curves is a very social place. I see a lot of the same faces there most days that I go and they all seem to know each other and talk a lot. I talk to a couple of them but mostly I go when Janice goes, and we have our own dialog. But today, I got there 10 minutes before Janice and I was the only person there. This is never good because when you are alone the instructor has the time to notice that you are not using the equipment correctly and makes you do it right. This invariably leads to a lot more discomfort and pain than you bargained for at 8:45 in the morning. I know, I know: "no pain, no gain" but I subscribe to the similar but less demanding "no pain, no pain".

I was home by 9:30 - and my interview was at 2:00, 38 miles away in West Los Angeles. Map Quest said the travel time was 41 minutes but Map Quest reports time from the parallel universe where there is no traffic or accidents. And no 405. I decided I needed to leave by 12:30 - giving myself a full 90 minutes. (Recently I had been late to an important interview - due to a truck losing its cargo in the middle of the freeway and I nearly lost my mind. I lost any opportunity I had for getting the job too.) However at 9:30 I certainly I had enough time to have a cup of coffee. And another. And a snack. And another cup of coffee. And a chat with my daughter. And emails. And Facebook. And automatic bill pay. At 11:45 I finally got moving and to be honest, that should have been plenty of time to get ready. But at 12:05, when I started blow drying my hair and rehearsing what I might say, I realized that my memory was not behaving as I might have liked it to. I couldn't remember a lot of the details that I had studied last night. This panicked me and then... I could remember none of them. I sped up the hair styling process and wound with a kind of Barbie "bubble hairdo", circa 1960. While it wasn't what I was going for, thankfully it did look kind of okay in a retro sort of way. Realizing I had left myself no time to weigh my options, I dressed quickly - in clothes I had been considering returning because they were so ridiculously expensive (too late now!) and flew to my MacBook to try to find what I had read last night. I made chicken scratch notes: titles, names, rates, statistics - enough to jog my memory and keep me from embarrassing myself. Then - the makeup bag. Applying the 300 "little points of light" to my face (see previous post), I realized I had not printed out my resume. It is now 12:25. Trying to draw a straight line of eye-liner while you're screaming across the house for someone, ANYONE to help you is no easy trick. Finally, Prince Bob (my husband) came to my rescue and printed 2 copies of my resume (which it turns out, I didn't need). At 12:45 I was in the car - 15 minutes off schedule but hopeful.

I had given myself 75 minutes to travel 38 miles, park, find the elevator and arrive and suddenly I felt like I couldn't breathe. In my new, used car - a big black Volvo - I am feeling a little bit insecure about driving because I have not yet gotten accustomed to my sight lines, where the blind spots are and how much room it takes to make a quick move from one lane to the next. I'm edgy. I just want to get there on time at this point. I can blow the interview but please, please, please - don't be late. I turn on the CD I have made of some of my most favorite music and go straight to "Sailing" - N'Sync's version. "Well its not that far from paradise, at least it's not for me..." Soon the message of this song will kick in and I will sail with Justin and boys down the 101 toward the 405. But once I get to Woodland Hills, traffic slows. I hit "repeat track" and we start the song again. "...and if the wind is right you can sail away and find tranquility..." Okay now we're at a dead stop and it is 1:10. I have 50 minutes. 30 seconds later, I look at the clock again and 4 minutes have passed. Hit repeat track. "Oh the canvass can do miracles, just you wait and see.." Yes, I need a miracle Lord please help me here. Its now 1:19. Hit repeat track. "Just a dream and the wind to carry me, soon I will be free..." Free?? Oh, shut the eff up, Justin! I turn off the CD. I take a breath. I wait on God. As ALWAYS, He shows up. I'm movin' again.

I sail down the freeway to Heart's "Dog and Butterfly" Michael Jackson's "Human Nature" - and feel genuinely sad that he just died. I listen to "Homeward Bound" by Simon and Garfunkle, "Walk Like an Egyptian" by the Bangles and before I know it I am ready to sit across the table from a stranger and put on the whole "dog and pony" if need be. Then, as if in some custom-made nightmare, at Wilshire Boulevard we stop again, for no apparent reason. But I know my exit is close. Within way too many minutes I finally see the sign: Olympic Blvd - 1.25 miles. I have 10 minutes till show time and I quickly calculate that with the crawl factor I am experiencing I will make that exit by sometime tomorrow morning. I bully my way across lanes and get off at Santa Monica. I navigate at record speed to the building, into parking lot - a virtual cave - and slide my car into a space near the elevator. I need to refresh my lipstick. Where is the light in this car? I feel through my purse in darkness - pulling out everything but the tube I am seeking (something about dumping my purse???). No luck. I hit the visor for the lighted mirror and it offers about as much illumination as a BIC disposable cigarette lighter. I wonder if there is a psychiatrist in the building. In complete panic and frustration, I dump my purse in the passenger seat and feel my way to the lipstick - find it, apply it, grab my empty purse, hit the elevator, find the office, and walk into the reception area at 2:00 sharp. No one is there. I kid you not.

But wait, I hear a pleasant male voice coming from an office just beyond and I cautiously move toward it. Quietly, so as not to disrupt I ask: "Hello?" "Oh hello" he replies. Searching his desk for what I assume is my resume he says: "You must be..." He's trying to find my name. I help him out. "Yes! I'm 52!" Oh my God - did I actually just say that? No, no, no. I did NOT say that, I just heard it in my head. Very Loudly. "Yes! I'm Valri Smith". We exchanged pleasantries and then he gave me a form to fill out and said he and another woman would be with me in a moment. It took no time at all to complete the form and so I had plenty of time to think about how I hadn't dropped one pound since I had been laid off. I tried to figure out in what sitting position I would look thinner. I picked up a magazine and noticed my manicure - I had let my acrylics grow half way up my nails. Again. They looked about as natural as those fake plastic nails kids put on at Halloween. I made a mental note to either not use my hands at all or to gesture with them so fast that no one could focus on them. Is there no air in this building or am I hot-flashing? I began to visualize the fashion possibilities of a straight jacket and then - finally - I stopped. I remembered that God had gotten me there on time. He would certainly have my back when I went into the interview room. At last - peace.

The interview went fine. I liked the two people I met with (although I do think I saw one of them staring at my fingernails.) I know I can do the job but I also know a whole lot of unemployed sales people who can do the job. Each of us brings something unique to the table and at this early stage, I don't know if my uniqueness is what they are looking for. I'll hear soon. But regardless, I feel confident that even if I wind up not being their ideal candidate, I made a positive impression on them. I represented myself well. As I should have. And I hardly remembered at all that I am 52, unemployed, and starting all over again.