Wednesday, January 30, 2008

I Hate Re-runs

I couldn't believe my luck yesterday. My incredibly bad luck. I was riding the bus again to my second interview up north when the same foul-mouthed pregnant lady I was pressed up against last week hopped on board and plopped herself down across from me. I quickly closed my eyes, feigning sleep. It would've worked too if it hadn't been for a girl sitting next to me with a scratch-off ticket problem.

"My husband bought 300 tickets--he figures we have to win something with so many tickets."

"How much did that cost?"

"Six hundred dollars."

That opened my eyes so wide the pregnant lady immediately went straight into a rant about the incredible cost of having a baby ($100 sneakers not included). What is wrong with these people? Maybe if they weren't buying baby shoes laced with gold and $600 scratch-off tickets they wouldn't have to take the bus.

When I reached my stop, the girl was still scratching. I wished her luck and hopped off the bus, thankful that the hundredth ticket or so had lulled her into a silent trance, saving me from any more inane bus conversations. I had a good hour to kill before the interview. I found a cute cafe that served the best egg bacon and cheese sandwich I've ever had. I must've gotten a little too into it, because when I looked at the time after I licked off the last bit of melted butter from my fingers, forty minutes had passed. I had just enough time to make it to my interview.

I had walked the same route just a week earlier, so I was confident I'd have no trouble finding the place again. Why I had this confidence I have no idea. I once got lost for two hours running along the beach. It's a straight line. So of course I managed to stray off course and was only able to find my way again thanks to a very friendly school crossing guard. I looked down at my cell phone. I had only ten minutes to get to my interview, and I knew I had about a twenty minute walk ahead of me.

It was like that time I'd missed my flight while sitting at the gate all over again. I just couldn't be late to this interview. I quickly put my two-inch heel, backless loafers to work: I raced down the uneven, ice-covered streets, praying I wouldn't lose a loafer--or a leg--in the process. I can only imagine what a sight I must've been in my wool suit and long, beautiful white coat, running down the sidewalk like I was in some kind of corporate Olympics.

I made it just in time. Of course, my face was flushed and I was dripping sweat underneath my heavy suit, and my hair had an interesting tousled look, but I had made it. I might not have gotten the job due to my heavy panting at the start of the interview, but damn it, that egg bacon and cheese sandwich was worth it. Mmm... so buttery.