As of writing this, at the tender, miserable age of 22, I have had 3 interviews for what I call “adult world jobs”. The first one was last summer and was completely embarrassing on my end. All I will say is this: halfway through I discovered I’d been pronouncing the name of the company wrong.
Two weeks ago was my second adult world interview. I was a half hour late, thanks to my poor planning skills. Apparently, the train station I’d planned on using fills up by 9am. Who knew?
Last week was my third. I arrived on time, pronounced the name correctly, bonded with the office manager, and even was squeezed in to meet with the CEO.
…which was when he promptly described all the ways in which I not did not want this job.
Something I hate is people telling me how I feel. Even a comment as innocuous as “You’ll love this movie!” makes me frown. It was particularly painful to sit in front of the bow-tied CEO in his Madison Avenue office, smiling and pretending he wasn’t making my blood boil. I didn’t go to college for this job, he said, so why was I here?
Um, because, obviously, I want it anyway? Thanks to his generation, an entry-level job only vaguely related to my field is the best I can do. Not that I even got hired, so maybe I’m just completely screwed.