Open the champagne – I survived my interview.

I don’t want to hold off celebrating until after I find out whether I got hired, because there’s a possibility that I didn’t get hired and then we’d feel weird drinking the champagne.  Well, I wouldn’t feel weird – I hardly ever do.  But you might feel awkward drinking a celebratory type drink around a failure of a human being, and I’d really like to spare you the embarrassment.

But you know, the fact that I made it through my first job interview since early 2008 without falling on my face or sporting massive pit stains really is a feat in itself.  And I’ll tell you what – after over 6 years of holding salary positions and living in cubicle land, interviewing for a part-time  waitress/bartending job was cake.

I just plopped myself down at the bar, filled out the application, and had a quick chat with the manager.  Nope, no 3 hour interviews here!

(Though I’d be lying if I said she didn’t express a tiny bit of disbelief when she read my past three employers were Plexus Logistics International, CDM, and the Civil Engineer Squadron at Moody Air Force Base.  I told her she could call any of them – our breakups were amicable.  So Jason, if you’re reading this, please be nice to Nancy or Danielle if one of them calls. Oh, and please don’t tell them about this blog!)

I was so relieved on my walk back to the car, awed by the difference between this experience and an interview for a job I had back in 2007.  We had just moved to North Carolina, and I was eager to work in a real office building with a lobby and an elevator and key card access and clacking heels and pencil skirts and people bustling through the halls with rolled up maps and plans.

It seemed so grown up.

A couple of days before the highly anticipated interview, I noticed a small, unobtrusive-yet-slightly-odd bump on the back of my leg just below my bum.  Don’t ask how I noticed it.  I just did.  I didn’t think about it again until the next day when it was distinctively larger and sore. It had an elliptical red shape surrounding it, and all I could think after living in this strange and exotic land of the Sandhills for only a couple of months, was this. is. not. right.

Not at all.

So I did what any American 20-something with a computer and internet access would do.  I Googled it.  And the results were terrifying.

I found myself inundated with photos of spider bites.  More specifically, spider bites of the Brown Recluse.  I will spare you the photos here, but if you haven’t heard of the Brown Recluse, do yourself a favor and forget I ever mentioned it.  Do not, under any circumstances, Google it.  You have been warned.

Of course I ran off for an emergency visit to my doctor who, after his idiotic intern who should have spent more time studying her med books and less time applying lipstick determined it was a pimple, verified that it was, in fact, a spider bite but NOT that of the recluse.  He wrote me a prescription, told me it was going to get worse before it got better, and sent me on my merry way.

The day of the interview arrived.  Sitting in a conference room for 3 hours while a different person comes in each hour to grill you about your education, experience and interest in the company is not a comfortable situation.  Now imagine sitting in a conference room for 3 hours while a different person comes in each hour to grill you about your education, experience, and interest in the company when sitting is the most profoundly physically painful thing anyone has ever asked you to do.

Ever.

Oh, and you just spent an hour-and-a-half driving to get to the interview.

My bum was on fire.  And I was afraid to stand to relieve it between interviewers lest I burst into tears and run crying from the building and for ever after be remembered as the candidate who cried because her butt hurt.  Oh no.  I was stronger than that.

So why was I telling this story?

Oh yeah.  The interview yesterday was easy.  Too easy.  I’m a little worried.  But I’m going back tonight to meet with the other manager.  Apparently a second opinion is in order.

I can’t say I blame them because I am a sketchy character.

Here’s hoping they don’t figure that out until after I’m hired.