Interviews are precious, like gold
Interviews are long these days. Long like my sad, tired face…
~sheds tear; wipes sad-clown makeup from face~
The interview I went to today was an hour and a half.
It’s hard to talk about yourself for that long. Really. I get tremendously bored hearing myself say the same stuff, so I am sure the interviewer felt the same.
I feel like I should make a commercial that has a catchy jingle and send that tape instead of real life Abbie to the interview. I’d be so rad on t.v. Really. I could rap like that “give us your gold for cash,” dude with the suit. Everyone would love me and would want me to represent their company. I mean, hey. Who DOESN’T trust an aging white dude (or awkward white 20-something) in a suit with their prized possessions? If I were him, I’d be rich with benefits, work, and friends…
Yup. I really hope I get this job. I cannot imagine the hell awesomeness I’ll go through if I have to cashier full-time.
OK, OK. Cashiering isn’t so bad. I get to listen and watch some classic moments between: customer and spouse; customer and child/children; customer and self (this one is amazing…); and customer and associate.
Ah, uncomfortable humor. It’s a beautiful thing.