Here's something "adults" do that I've never quite caught on to:
Referencing in what year things occurred. For example, in what year a particular album or movie came out. A year a TV show/style was popular.
I don't remember any years except Y2K, and 2001, obviously.
This makes me bad at trivia.
Is this something I will catch on to with time? Or is this way of thinking something I just don't do?
Hmm.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
What is "not a race"?
Since it seems like I'm making an effort to make this blog a regularly-updated thing, how about we try for a little introduction?
"Not A Race" - this title - comes from a tale of my childhood. Apparently, when we (myself and my sister, or my dad and I, or something) would be running about from one place to another, and I would begin to fall behind, I would yell "it's not a wace!" in my adorable southern lisp. This is a thing that my family still does. Adorable.
But, like many good book introductions have taught us, this seemingly both simple and uninteresting anecdote has a more complicated and even less interesting translation into the rest of my life.
"Not A Race."
I'm a very competitive person: not in the way where I will try super hard to beat someone else out, but more in the way where I am constantly comparing myself to others (usually women around my age, but also everyone else) to measure my success. When I find myself lacking, I get sad.
This has led me to split myself in a lot of different directions: some people are good at music - I should try music - but then I'm not very good at that, so I should make sure I'm still good at math or something - but I'm not very good at that - so I'll be mediocre at languages as well... and so on.
Not a race.
Sometimes I need to remind myself that I'm happy and satisfied and doing things that make me happy - but what is an easier thing to do is to try to find people of my age or my alma mater and try to figure out how I'm more successful than they are. I think this comparison, or "competitiveness," as I generously like to call it, is probably the thing that makes me the least happy.
This post has taken a somewhat negative turn.
I promise this is a good thing, though. The more I learn about myself, my default ways of examining things and what makes me happy and sad, the better I get.
This "competitiveness" idea was a pretty big breakthrough when it happened. Similar to when I discovered that my parents were fallible, when I figured out my least moral peers were the ones in my sunday school class, and when I learned that the more someone tries to convince you to make the decision they made, the more they're really trying to convince themselves they've made the right choice.
So yes, this blog. Maybe if I slow down and think and track my own life and progress I can be happier in myself, instead of poking around looking at other people's blogs and Facebooks to see how I track. Because it's not a race, you see.
*thunderous applause*
"Not A Race" - this title - comes from a tale of my childhood. Apparently, when we (myself and my sister, or my dad and I, or something) would be running about from one place to another, and I would begin to fall behind, I would yell "it's not a wace!" in my adorable southern lisp. This is a thing that my family still does. Adorable.
But, like many good book introductions have taught us, this seemingly both simple and uninteresting anecdote has a more complicated and even less interesting translation into the rest of my life.
"Not A Race."
I'm a very competitive person: not in the way where I will try super hard to beat someone else out, but more in the way where I am constantly comparing myself to others (usually women around my age, but also everyone else) to measure my success. When I find myself lacking, I get sad.
This has led me to split myself in a lot of different directions: some people are good at music - I should try music - but then I'm not very good at that, so I should make sure I'm still good at math or something - but I'm not very good at that - so I'll be mediocre at languages as well... and so on.
Not a race.
Sometimes I need to remind myself that I'm happy and satisfied and doing things that make me happy - but what is an easier thing to do is to try to find people of my age or my alma mater and try to figure out how I'm more successful than they are. I think this comparison, or "competitiveness," as I generously like to call it, is probably the thing that makes me the least happy.
This post has taken a somewhat negative turn.
I promise this is a good thing, though. The more I learn about myself, my default ways of examining things and what makes me happy and sad, the better I get.
This "competitiveness" idea was a pretty big breakthrough when it happened. Similar to when I discovered that my parents were fallible, when I figured out my least moral peers were the ones in my sunday school class, and when I learned that the more someone tries to convince you to make the decision they made, the more they're really trying to convince themselves they've made the right choice.
So yes, this blog. Maybe if I slow down and think and track my own life and progress I can be happier in myself, instead of poking around looking at other people's blogs and Facebooks to see how I track. Because it's not a race, you see.
*thunderous applause*
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Friend Want-ads
WANTED
Chatty female friend with whom to learn how to knit, while we eat fruits and raw vegetables and watch back-to-back episodes of Mad Men and/or Project Runway All-Stars.
WANTED
Mildly to moderately out-of-shape female to serve as my "work out buddy" in a twice weekly Pilates class.
WANTED
Someone to teach me the basics of PHP and web design during regularly scheduled coffeehouse/bar meetings. Banter desirable.
Chatty female friend with whom to learn how to knit, while we eat fruits and raw vegetables and watch back-to-back episodes of Mad Men and/or Project Runway All-Stars.
WANTED
Mildly to moderately out-of-shape female to serve as my "work out buddy" in a twice weekly Pilates class.
WANTED
Someone to teach me the basics of PHP and web design during regularly scheduled coffeehouse/bar meetings. Banter desirable.
Fall
SEASONS
I don't go outside very much.
But, here's the thing: in Portland, we don't really have seasons. Sure it's sunnier than usual in like, August. But that's pretty much it.
The picture at the top of this blog is from a fall day in Prague when I was, apparently, dramatically walking across a bunch of leaves. This is reminding me that I really miss fall.
And like I often do, I asked myself "what time of year is it?" - because here in Portland - and, I guess, in this "adult" life where time passes fast and seasons don't signal a change in behavior - I don't keep "what season it is" in my head. It's February, which means I missed fall - I guess because I was working. Fall just means rain in Portland, though. It doesn't mean leaves changing and falling and being crisp on the ground and raked into big piles. It means rain.
I could do more, to be fair - my friends don't do a lot of celebrating of seasons, and I haven't really had it as a priority either - did I have a halloween costume this year? Oh yes, I made it in a day. And we didn't even have a pumpkin at our house.
This should be a thing I do. I know that celebrating seasons and holidays, and just celebrating in general, would make time seem more important, and possibly make it pass slower, which would be nice.
TODAY
Today I woke up after 11am, worked (and did a lil Twitter reading/procrastinating) until 6:30, and then went to Kinko's, a coffeeshop to sign a lease for our new house, and played a show.
The time I spent at home working was - on and off - pretty productive. I'm making videos daily for a social media management project, planning concerts/tours/convention trips and writing to a few regular deadlines.
Today I realized this: I am a freelance writer. I am doing this. I have an adult life. And sure, I slept in until 11am and I'm up at 1:23 updating my blog, but that just means I'm an adult who isn't particularly good at "work ethic" or "not procrastinating." Still a grown-up, though. That's cool.
(the dichotomy between "real world"/not real world and grown-up/not grown-up is false, but it still seems real.)
I don't go outside very much.
But, here's the thing: in Portland, we don't really have seasons. Sure it's sunnier than usual in like, August. But that's pretty much it.
The picture at the top of this blog is from a fall day in Prague when I was, apparently, dramatically walking across a bunch of leaves. This is reminding me that I really miss fall.
And like I often do, I asked myself "what time of year is it?" - because here in Portland - and, I guess, in this "adult" life where time passes fast and seasons don't signal a change in behavior - I don't keep "what season it is" in my head. It's February, which means I missed fall - I guess because I was working. Fall just means rain in Portland, though. It doesn't mean leaves changing and falling and being crisp on the ground and raked into big piles. It means rain.
I could do more, to be fair - my friends don't do a lot of celebrating of seasons, and I haven't really had it as a priority either - did I have a halloween costume this year? Oh yes, I made it in a day. And we didn't even have a pumpkin at our house.
This should be a thing I do. I know that celebrating seasons and holidays, and just celebrating in general, would make time seem more important, and possibly make it pass slower, which would be nice.
TODAY
Today I woke up after 11am, worked (and did a lil Twitter reading/procrastinating) until 6:30, and then went to Kinko's, a coffeeshop to sign a lease for our new house, and played a show.
The time I spent at home working was - on and off - pretty productive. I'm making videos daily for a social media management project, planning concerts/tours/convention trips and writing to a few regular deadlines.
Today I realized this: I am a freelance writer. I am doing this. I have an adult life. And sure, I slept in until 11am and I'm up at 1:23 updating my blog, but that just means I'm an adult who isn't particularly good at "work ethic" or "not procrastinating." Still a grown-up, though. That's cool.
(the dichotomy between "real world"/not real world and grown-up/not grown-up is false, but it still seems real.)
Victory is driving all the way home without hearing a commercial
Just got home from a show/party/event thing we did for the band. It's late. I have a couple of extremely poorly structured thoughts I'd like to capture.
PART ONE: MY CAR
Today I signed a lease, along with my three housemates, for a new house in a wonderful location that is close to things.
This upcoming move, combined with other life changes and upcoming possible life opportunities and the fact that my car's headlight is out, has led me in recent days to contemplate life without a car, or at the very least, life without my own car.
This evening, I contemplated how wonderful it is that I have my own car. Truly great.
Take tonight, for instance. It's Mardi Gras, apparently, which means the roads were insane. We were also playing a show at a bar, and frankly it would probably have been a more enjoyable experience with a few drinks in me - but I was driving, so I didn't drink. "Waa waa waa," you might think. Indeed.
BUT. It was a crazy night. Things happened. It had highlights and low times and things wound around and much excitement and so on - and I got to control it. I was able to control my own evening's destiny, because I HAVE A CAR. And it's mine. And I can leave whenever I want to.
This is true most of the time now. Sure, my boyfriend has a car. But he would prefer not to drive it. And sure, I say I would prefer not to drive mine... but I usually end up driving. Which means he has to put up with my choices of where we go and how we get there and when we get to leave. Deciding when to leave is a big one.
Other things I like about having my own car:
PART TWO: CREEPY DUDES
Something that happens a lot to my sister and I, particularly at shows we play, is that we get approached and involuntarily caught up in conversations with creepy dudes. I was planning to make a list of things that creepy dudes do that are NOT OKAY, but I just realized that that is just going to make me all angry and worked up before bed. So instead I am changing the name of this topic.
PART TWO:CREEPY DUDES THE PIRATES ARE COOL
First, a brief explanation: there is a pirate crew in our town. They show up at bars and sing, sometimes they are hired to do this, to make places fun: they also have a pirate ship/stage thing, and they perform at festivals and parties and stuff, being all pirate-like, because this makes pretty much any event a lot more surreal/awesome. Run-on sentence. We are friends with the pirates, because one time they showed up at a show we were playing and were like "we respect your nerdy music" and we were like "we respect that you're dressed as pirates." That's how friendship happens, folks.
When we go places with the pirates, there is often a lot of alcohol, there is frequently a good deal of standing outside, and we sometimes run into creepy dudes. They approach us and they do not leave us alone.
Thankfully, the pirates have PLANNED for this.
Story One: The first time I realized this was when we were at the Space Room, where the pirates go to get really really drunk sometimes, and a couple of fellers were there, totally wasted, with another of their friends who was a fan of our band and less wasted and sorta shy.
The wasted dudes decided that they were going to make the fan guy's night by making us talk to him. They got really fixated on this idea. It was a stupid idea. We just wanted to dance, and they just sat there staring at us and trying to get us to approach their friend... blablabla and so on.
So the pirates are observant, and at one point they asked us what was happening and if we wanted the dudes to go away. And I said yes, not having any idea what this would entail.
Two things happened. One: I think they got one of the guys kicked out of the bar for being a drunk idiot and, among other things, almost following me into the bathroom.
Two: In an epic movie-like music sequence, The Awesome Pirate, as he will be called - did a sweet dance all around me. It was hilarious and weird. I think the intent was to show that I was "taken" and wanted to be left alone. The intent was also to show off that he is an amazing dancer, which he totally is. I don't know if this was an effective strategy, because getting a guy kicked out of a bar tends to have a pretty big effect on how much he's able to hit on people who are in a bar... but it was kickass. I love the pirates.
Story Two: This is a short one, but tonight, at the show/party/event thing, unfortunate stuff was going down with a persistent creepy guy, and the pirates did this:
PART ONE: MY CAR
Today I signed a lease, along with my three housemates, for a new house in a wonderful location that is close to things.
This upcoming move, combined with other life changes and upcoming possible life opportunities and the fact that my car's headlight is out, has led me in recent days to contemplate life without a car, or at the very least, life without my own car.
This evening, I contemplated how wonderful it is that I have my own car. Truly great.
Take tonight, for instance. It's Mardi Gras, apparently, which means the roads were insane. We were also playing a show at a bar, and frankly it would probably have been a more enjoyable experience with a few drinks in me - but I was driving, so I didn't drink. "Waa waa waa," you might think. Indeed.
BUT. It was a crazy night. Things happened. It had highlights and low times and things wound around and much excitement and so on - and I got to control it. I was able to control my own evening's destiny, because I HAVE A CAR. And it's mine. And I can leave whenever I want to.
This is true most of the time now. Sure, my boyfriend has a car. But he would prefer not to drive it. And sure, I say I would prefer not to drive mine... but I usually end up driving. Which means he has to put up with my choices of where we go and how we get there and when we get to leave. Deciding when to leave is a big one.
Other things I like about having my own car:
- It is a place that is truly mine. It belongs to me. I can leave stuff in it. I can hide things in it.
- On a similar page, I can drive it anywhere and be alone. I can drive it around and explore, aimlessly, answering to no one. I've done this a lot recently. I've even done this with my boyfriend in the car. He seems ok with it, but it would drive me crazy.
- I get to decide what to listen to on the radio. No loud punk rock music for me. That stuff gives me a headache.
PART TWO: CREEPY DUDES
Something that happens a lot to my sister and I, particularly at shows we play, is that we get approached and involuntarily caught up in conversations with creepy dudes. I was planning to make a list of things that creepy dudes do that are NOT OKAY, but I just realized that that is just going to make me all angry and worked up before bed. So instead I am changing the name of this topic.
PART TWO:
First, a brief explanation: there is a pirate crew in our town. They show up at bars and sing, sometimes they are hired to do this, to make places fun: they also have a pirate ship/stage thing, and they perform at festivals and parties and stuff, being all pirate-like, because this makes pretty much any event a lot more surreal/awesome. Run-on sentence. We are friends with the pirates, because one time they showed up at a show we were playing and were like "we respect your nerdy music" and we were like "we respect that you're dressed as pirates." That's how friendship happens, folks.
When we go places with the pirates, there is often a lot of alcohol, there is frequently a good deal of standing outside, and we sometimes run into creepy dudes. They approach us and they do not leave us alone.
Thankfully, the pirates have PLANNED for this.
Story One: The first time I realized this was when we were at the Space Room, where the pirates go to get really really drunk sometimes, and a couple of fellers were there, totally wasted, with another of their friends who was a fan of our band and less wasted and sorta shy.
The wasted dudes decided that they were going to make the fan guy's night by making us talk to him. They got really fixated on this idea. It was a stupid idea. We just wanted to dance, and they just sat there staring at us and trying to get us to approach their friend... blablabla and so on.
So the pirates are observant, and at one point they asked us what was happening and if we wanted the dudes to go away. And I said yes, not having any idea what this would entail.
Two things happened. One: I think they got one of the guys kicked out of the bar for being a drunk idiot and, among other things, almost following me into the bathroom.
Two: In an epic movie-like music sequence, The Awesome Pirate, as he will be called - did a sweet dance all around me. It was hilarious and weird. I think the intent was to show that I was "taken" and wanted to be left alone. The intent was also to show off that he is an amazing dancer, which he totally is. I don't know if this was an effective strategy, because getting a guy kicked out of a bar tends to have a pretty big effect on how much he's able to hit on people who are in a bar... but it was kickass. I love the pirates.
Story Two: This is a short one, but tonight, at the show/party/event thing, unfortunate stuff was going down with a persistent creepy guy, and the pirates did this:
- Approached us and asked if we needed help getting the guy away.
- Walked us to our cars to protect us.
- Showed us the secret signal they have devised that means "please help me with the situation I am in."
And that, my friends, is why the pirates are awesome.
Monday, February 20, 2012
2012: The move
HELLO AGAIN, INTERNET
I just finished leafing through my old Prague blog and in it found a few posts that reminded me how glad I am that I kept a journal during that time. I had forgotten, for instance, how supportive my friends were through comments on that site - some of these people are friends I rarely talk to anymore. I had also forgotten some of the specific stories - especially the terrifying day I had to travel from Germany to Prague, my myself, on a train - with no currency or sure way to get from the train station to my hostel. What a crazy day.
So I thought I might ought to come back to the world of personal blogging. It's a world I left when I thought no one wants to read about the mundane details of my everyday life, and people will judge you for sharing so much online. But I didn't care about that when I was in Prague, or when I was on LiveJournal as a high schooler, or when I was (ugh) sharing my poetry online for anyone to see. And when I didn't care, and I didn't think to care, I was writing. I was analyzing my thoughts and putting them into words, and I was sharing those words. And it didn't matter if anyone read them - but sometimes people did. And those people were good friends.
And thus I have returned. And I'm returning right back to the last place I had a personal blog, because it's here, so I'm not creating a new thing just to abandon it - also because this blog's older posts have a nice combination of "my creative writing" - which I don't do anymore, and "my trying to learn how to be an interesting blogger" - which was cute.
BLATHER TIME: MOVING
Right now I'm sitting in my "office," which is actually a bedroom I've stolen from my roommate who doesn't live here anymore. It's going to be my "office" only for a few more weeks - my housemates and I are planning a move across the river to the East side of Portland. It's going to be a great location and a wonderful house. Our current house is HUGE - but most of that is wasted space - extra bedrooms, a big finished basement that we haven't really furnished, etc. The new house is smaller, but has a bigger kitchen, a bigger bedroom for me (yay) and a bigger living/common area. About this we are very excited.
Before we can move, we need to pack. Before we can pack, I need to get rid of like... all of my stuff. I have a lot of stuff. I have everything I brought to college, and everything I've acquired since then. Because this house has so much darn storage space, I haven't gotten rid of anything since I moved out of the dorms two years ago. I've barely even thrown anything away, really. So this should be fun.
I'm in a good place for throwing things away, because I just watched this video. In that video, Alex Day, who you don't need to know who he is, whatever, explains that he owns fewer than 100 things. Of course, that's extreme. Plus he's a boy, and he's British, so he's weird. But the message that I got out of it was that you really don't need to own things, because things take up space, and you don't really use them. I was particularly struck by one moment where he showed off all of the clothes he owns - about 5 t-shirts and two pairs of pants. Because, you know you have only a few articles of clothing that you really like wearing, he explains - "I thought, I'll just always wear my favorite [clothes] and not own any of the others."
Not a new sentiment necessarily, but when it's said in such a nice british accent it's hard to not hear it in a new way.
This post doesn't have much of a dramatic arc or anything - but I'm going to stop writing now and go sort my clothes. Bye!
I just finished leafing through my old Prague blog and in it found a few posts that reminded me how glad I am that I kept a journal during that time. I had forgotten, for instance, how supportive my friends were through comments on that site - some of these people are friends I rarely talk to anymore. I had also forgotten some of the specific stories - especially the terrifying day I had to travel from Germany to Prague, my myself, on a train - with no currency or sure way to get from the train station to my hostel. What a crazy day.
So I thought I might ought to come back to the world of personal blogging. It's a world I left when I thought no one wants to read about the mundane details of my everyday life, and people will judge you for sharing so much online. But I didn't care about that when I was in Prague, or when I was on LiveJournal as a high schooler, or when I was (ugh) sharing my poetry online for anyone to see. And when I didn't care, and I didn't think to care, I was writing. I was analyzing my thoughts and putting them into words, and I was sharing those words. And it didn't matter if anyone read them - but sometimes people did. And those people were good friends.
And thus I have returned. And I'm returning right back to the last place I had a personal blog, because it's here, so I'm not creating a new thing just to abandon it - also because this blog's older posts have a nice combination of "my creative writing" - which I don't do anymore, and "my trying to learn how to be an interesting blogger" - which was cute.
BLATHER TIME: MOVING
Right now I'm sitting in my "office," which is actually a bedroom I've stolen from my roommate who doesn't live here anymore. It's going to be my "office" only for a few more weeks - my housemates and I are planning a move across the river to the East side of Portland. It's going to be a great location and a wonderful house. Our current house is HUGE - but most of that is wasted space - extra bedrooms, a big finished basement that we haven't really furnished, etc. The new house is smaller, but has a bigger kitchen, a bigger bedroom for me (yay) and a bigger living/common area. About this we are very excited.
Before we can move, we need to pack. Before we can pack, I need to get rid of like... all of my stuff. I have a lot of stuff. I have everything I brought to college, and everything I've acquired since then. Because this house has so much darn storage space, I haven't gotten rid of anything since I moved out of the dorms two years ago. I've barely even thrown anything away, really. So this should be fun.
I'm in a good place for throwing things away, because I just watched this video. In that video, Alex Day, who you don't need to know who he is, whatever, explains that he owns fewer than 100 things. Of course, that's extreme. Plus he's a boy, and he's British, so he's weird. But the message that I got out of it was that you really don't need to own things, because things take up space, and you don't really use them. I was particularly struck by one moment where he showed off all of the clothes he owns - about 5 t-shirts and two pairs of pants. Because, you know you have only a few articles of clothing that you really like wearing, he explains - "I thought, I'll just always wear my favorite [clothes] and not own any of the others."
Not a new sentiment necessarily, but when it's said in such a nice british accent it's hard to not hear it in a new way.
This post doesn't have much of a dramatic arc or anything - but I'm going to stop writing now and go sort my clothes. Bye!
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Acing the Interview: a presentation
Acing the Interview: a presentation
by Angela Webber
Once Upon a Weekend Submission
Fall 2009: Oct. 18
“Saboteur”
Acing the Interview: a presentation
NARRATOR (NAR) (male/female): Authoritative, cocky, speaks in a very presentational way (almost fake, but not quite). Wears nice, but not office-professional clothes: perhaps khakis.
PROSPECT/JEFFREY (P) (male) is lovable, sympathetic, but changes throughout the scene according to the narrator’s description. Dresses in a very professional suit.
HIRING MANAGER/ANDY (HM) (female/male) is reasonable, but strict, professional.
FAMLY MEMBER (FAM) (female): dressed obviously unprofessionally (revealing dress, logo t-shirt, tie-dye, or something), this person is the mother/compassionate father of PROSPECT.
FORMER EMPLOYEE/JORDAN (silent character): (male/female) out-of-work programmer: messy (has been in a basement eating Cheetos for days, possibly weeks). Sloppy nerdy/pocket-T t-shirt, cargo shorts or equivalent
INTERIOR, OFFICE, DAY. HIRING MANAGER and PROSPECT sit across from one another at a desk, such that it is obvious PROSPECT is interviewing for a job. There is a door behind the desk to stage right, through which actors can enter and exit. There are papers on the desk, including PROSPECT’s resume and a list of questions the HIRING MANAGER is asking from and making notes on. Also on the desk, a phone, other basic office supplies, a computer monitor or similar prop. PROSPECT is dressed professionally, but in this portion has his shirt untucked so he looks a bit sloppy. NARRATOR sits forward on the stage, close to the audience, so he/she can walk in front of the action. When he is not speaking, NARRATOR watches the scene unfold behind him.
(fade up from black, en media res.)
P: (nervously, with lots of far-too-long pauses) …and though I don’t have experience with Photoshop specifically, I’m sure I could learn it quite quickly, since I, um, have been to college and can learn, things, very quickly.
HM: (skeptical of Prospect’s ability to do the work, but doesn’t want to be mean as Prospect is obviously nervous.) I see. That’s great! Here’s my next question: How have your previous positions provided you with the skills relevant for this position in our marketing department?
P: Well, it would be great if you hired me. See I’m… have… a marketing degree, and I can do marketing excellently. Please?
(lighting switch to focus on NARRATOR)
NAR: Hohoho (expected, fake laugh…) I bet you could see what went wrong THERE. Hi. I’m Mr. Anderson, and I’m here to help. The truth is, most people sabotage themselves in their first job interviews. I’m here so you don’t have to be “most people.” Jeffrey just demonstrated one of those typical “rookie mistakes”… don’t show your weakness! They can smell it! Hohoho… I’m just kidding…. of course. Let’s watch another scene… and see how it goes this time around. Let’s try a little more confidence, Jeffrey!!
(lighting switch to focus on DESK: PROSPECT now has his shirt tucked in and looks much more professional as a result. He now has a briefcase on the floor next to his chair.)
HM: Why are you interested in this position?
P: (with great confidence) Thanks so much for that question, Andy. Let me tell you—I think a position in the marketing department of your fine company is an important step in my career. Frankly, can I be honest? (HM does not react, P goes on quickly) – I’ll be honest, I don’t think I should take this job. But in this economy, there are so few Marketing Managerial or CEO positions that are in solid form… I think I’m going to have to start at the bottom, and I mean not just because your company is so small and relatively insignificant, but the position…(looks at pocket) Is that me? (takes cell phone out of pocket) Oh, hold on just a second, Andy. (answers phone) Hey doll—no, it’s fine, it’s fine of course! I’m going to have to give you a ring later, alright?—Yes I’m doing great… as always. Hahahaha! (hangs up the phone.) Now, where was I? Ah yes…
(lighting switch to focus on NARRATOR)
NAR: Oh no, Jeffrey! Now you’ve gone too far! Never lose your professionalism! So… so far we’ve learned that you need to strike that balance: show your confidence without being cocky. But the interview is more than just how you talk…. It’s also what you say. Let’s try that again, and this time you try to spot everything that goes wrong.
(lighting switch to focus on DESK: PROSPECT is now wearing a fedora)
P: I’ve always admired the work your company does, providing decorative houseplants to orphans in underdeveloped nations. I, like you, understand that it’s the small things that really make a difference in the lives of children. And that’s why I would embrace an opportunity to work with you.
HM: (smiling, really liking this interview) I appreciate that. One final question: Why should we hire you, out of all of the candidates for this position? What makes you a particularly ideal choice?
P: (to self, at first) Why should you hire me… why you should hire me… (raises voice, stands up, begins a musical song-and-dance number, HM is freaked out a bit) Why you should hire me? Oh, Why you should hire me! My name is Jeff and I’m a qualified guy – I’m a real team player and a real fast learner, oh! the reasons you should hire me…
(lighting switch to focus on NARRATOR)
N: Did you catch it? That was a tricky one… but important. Never sing songs or perform dance routines without being asked. (to audience) Of course, you won’t make all of these classic mistakes in your interview—not after this presentation! Hoho. Remember, it’s good to display your talents, but sometimes you can go too far! Make sure to gauge the feel of the room before you stand to perform, and remember that the volume of your voice should reflect the size of your audience. This next scene is the last one. There are at least 3 things wrong… try to see if you can identify all of them! (NARRATOR may exit the stage at this time)
(lighting switch to focus on DESK: PROSPECT is now wearing flip-flops and drinking loudly, but not arrogantly, from a slurpee/equivalent. There is now a big “Less Than Jake”/equivalent sticker on his briefcase.)
HM: (kindly hinting that prospect is not going to be offered the position.) So… Jeffrey. Jeffrey, Jeffrey—thanks so much for coming in to interview for this position.
P: I was afraid that was going to happen.
HM: Ah… yes? What?
P: (voice increasing in volume, as he calls someone from the next room)
Yes. And I think there is something you and I could discuss. Seriously. Isn’t there.. (shouting)
(enter FORMER EMPLOYEE, who for the rest of the scene does not speak, but looks quite pleased with him/herself for being empowered to ‘stick it’ to his/her former employer.)
HM: J… Jordan? What… what’s going on?
P: Yes, Jordan. You remember him. You laid him off, two months ago. Well, that wasn’t a very good idea, was it? Jordan was your network administrator. Jordan left himself a back door. (FORMER EMPLOYEE takes a floppy disk/CD/USB stick out of his pocket and waves it menacingly.) Jordan can bring this company down right now. He has already started transferring your money into several private Swiss bank accounts. He knows how to disable your security system. (rising intensity of speech, excitement. HM is FREAKING OUT. FORMER EMPLOYEE is quite proud.) He knows every little shortcut and every mistake this company has made in the past 15 years, and he knows which governmental department to report to. You’re over, Andy… you’re over. Because Jordan here can bring you down. He’s dangerous. He’s powerful. (PROSPECT and FORMER EMPLOYEE share a meaningful humorous nod). And he’ll do it… if your shoddy HR practices treat me the same way they treated him.
HM: What is WRONG with you! You’re insane!
P: I’m insane? Me? You’re insane! You’re too scared to hire me because I interview poorly, have some typos in my cover letter, and can’t demonstrate competence in marketing or any related field, from previous employment, educational transcripts, or basic questions. Really? ME? I’m insane??! Well now you have no choice, do you?
HM: (PROSPECT, throughout this speech, affected by the criticism… beings to whine/eventually breaks down to a sobbing cry, interrupting HM, who nevertheless continues his beratement. Jordan looks disgusted.) No… I suppose I don’t have a choice… There is no way I can offer you a marketing position. Or any position. You have no practical experience. You should have gotten an internship during college, or… I don’t know… created a portfolio? Gone to class? Listened to your teachers? What have you been doing? How do you expect to be employed? And now you’re trying to BLACKMAIL me? Really? This company has more lawyers than your little action-movie-watching brain can even comprehend.
P: Waaaaa!!! But I wanna have a job!!! Mommy….
(FAMILY MEMBER bursts through the door)
FAM: Oh, Jeffey. Poor wittle Jeffey... I heard you crying from the waiting room… do you need a tissue, baby? (wipes the tears off of PROSPECT’s face with a tissue from her purse) Mommy loves you. Did this mean man tell you you couldn’t work here? (turning to HIRING MANAGER)… you should be ashamed of yourself. Look what you’ve done to him. Jeffey is a positively brilliant boy. He can do anything he sets his mind to.
HM: I’m sorry, ma’am, but I can’t offer him…
FAM: Well then… he doesn’t want to work here anyway. Do you, Jeffey? (taking PROSPECT’s arm and leading him toward the door.) We’re going to find somewhere nicer for you to work, Jeffey. And you can just live in your old room in the house until you find a job. (walks out the door, yelling back at HM) Goodbye, Mr… Andy. And NO thanks. Don’t call us! We’ll call you!
(HIRING MANAGER and FORMER EMPLOYEE share bewildered looks)
(fade to black).
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