5.13.98

    So, just yesterday I was saying how I wasn't going to talk about my job interview but I would definitely be selling short the one or two of you who read this when I beg you to.

    The job interview was in downtown L.A. and I got to drive by Hollywood again. I noticed a large white cross on a hill that I'm curious about. Anyway, when I say downtown I mean shiny, tall skyscrapers and fast traffic and lots and lots of newsstands. I felt quite happy downtown. Maybe I am a city girl after all.

    Anyway, I park and walk over to the beautiful office building that I'll be interviewing in. The lobby was truly gorgeous with wood where marble wasn't.

    I was pretty much on time but there was a slew of other people interviewing, thankfully not all for the same job.

    Two interviews were planned and the first one went over smashingly, I thought. I really liked the lady and we covered a range of topics. It was actually pleasurable. She reminds me of one of my favorite teachers in High School, Mrs. Daniels. Mostly it was her mannerisms but she kind of looked like her, too.

    Fast forward through a glass of water and some magazine-reading and I'm in my second interview.

    The second interview went pretty well but by now it's five or a little after. I could tell that he was tired and I was tired. Have I mentioned yet how tiring interviews are? I mean there's the excitement of getting called in for an interview and then the buildup and then the driving and worrying about showing up on time and then the sitting in the lobby and then the interview and questions and what should I ask and what kind of answers are they looking for and... I bet this sentence just made you tired.

    Maybe it's around 5:30 p.m. or so. I say my goodbye's and head down to the parking garage, validated ticket in hand. I get into my car and whip out my trusty Thomas Guide to make sure I know how to get home. I choose an exit and head out. I hand my ticket to the cruel and unusual ticket taker who informs me that I don't have enough validation. I plead my case. He reassures me telling me that I can go to an ATM across the street since, yes, I have no cash. He then says that I can write a check. Yippee, I think, while pulling out my checkbook. Ohhh, poor Amanda, she's out of checks.

    At that point I was seething.

    So, I go and repark my car and walk back out of the parking garage and over to a Wells Fargo that is next to the building I interviewed in. After walking around and around without seeing an ATM I peer into the Wells Fargo office to see, guess what, nothing! Wells Fargos all over the city (and across the state for all I know) are closing their banks and putting tellers into Von's grocery stores. I opened my stupid account in a Von's grocery store.

    Everything is closing up now so I ask a doorman where the nearest ATM is. He points me down the street a couple more blocks. Gee, another Wells Fargo. Why don't I feel comforted?

    I get to the Wells Fargo and again am having trouble finding an ATM or even a door. Finally I find one just inside the doors. I put in my card and the machine tells me that I do not posess an Express ATM card. Yes, I do, I reply. The machine tells me to please remove my card. Well, that would be easy except THERE'S NO CARD TO REMOVE. I press a few buttons. Nothing. The damn ATM ate my card!

    Oooooh. I hate, hate, hate Wells Fargo with all the passion that my dark, little heart can muster. A thousand pox on Wells Fargo. The only reason I'm with Satan's bank is because it is everywhere. How I miss my Washington Mutual and think fondly of my ULane-O Credit Union. *sniff*

    No, the story does not end here. Let me recap. I have no money. I have no way of getting any money. My car is being held captive by the vicious underlords of the parking garage. It is now after 6 p.m. and everything is closing. My options are to call T. or go back up to the people I interviewed with. In case you had any doubt, my professional, calm and collected demeanor is rapidly unravelling. I start to look for a phone and wonder how I'm going to explain to T. where I am. Of course, there are no public phones in sight.

    Let me just take a moment to thank all the drug dealers who used public phones to make their deals until the phone companies removed the call-back numbers. Let me also thank them for their persistence until phone companies removed them altogether. Let me also thank the degenerates who rip off handsets and pee in coin slots until the cost of having a public phone far exceeds the money brought in by normal people simply trying to make an honest phone call. THANK YOU!

    My last alternative is to go back to the office. Up I go and knock on the now-locked door. I feel so sorry for the poor individual who happened to open that door. I started to explain what happened but when I got to the part about the ATM I burst into tears.

    Okay, I cried. I couldn't stop myself. Tired, hungry and frustrated just snowballed into big, ol tears. As my savior frantically looked for tissues I gathered a crowd of sympathizers. They apologized for not having enough validation and gave me cash. Two of them, one a UO alumni who had a class with me, walked me to the parking garage and sent me on my maniacal way.

    I finally got home and collapsed at 7:30 p.m. Someday this will be funny. Someday.

Disclaimer:
If you are the prospective employer who interviewed me the other day — please don't hold this against me. I'm really not a nut. Not completely anyway.