It was Friday night, and I was struggling down the aisles of Key Foods, lugging eight bottles of wine, in search of toilet paper. Eighty people were going to pass through my apartment that night, and if I didn’t find the toilet paper, eighty people would be stranded in my bathroom with q-tips and a hand towel. They would be arriving in just over an hour. And I hadn’t showered. And I was still sporting my best Banana Republic suit from an interview at a law firm earlier in the day. When reality boils down to locating toilet paper in Key Foods, you know life is really heading for the dumps.
Fresh! In the imperative.
A young man was struggling towards me, carrying a twenty-pound bag of dog food. At fifteen feet, he was cute enough to qualify as a potential mate! At ten, a potential date. At five feet, alas. Probably not. And he was grimacing at me. That’s when I realized I was bleeding profusely from my right hand and blood was splattered all over the sleeve of my Banana Republic suit jacket.
Sucking on my finger, I struggled back to the cashiers and interrupted them as they scanned.
“I’m sorry but where is your toilet paper?”
“Your TOILET PAPER. Where IS it?” This was starting to get embarrassing. Must one yell about these sorts of things?
Why was it so great that the toilet paper was in aisle four?
As I stumbled towards aisle four, still sucking on my finger, I considered the poetic significance of my injury. If there was already blood on my suit, I was clearly not supposed to take the job.
The Job Interview…
At one o’clock that afternoon, I was sitting alone in a windowless room on the 19th floor of a terrifying corporate tower. Think faux rubber tree plants, a conference table and plush pinkish brown armchairs. I had just met with the girl whose position I would be taking (marketing and recruiting for a law firm. DREAR.) , and I was waiting for her boss. The idea of working there was already giving me a splitting headache.
When my hypothetical boss walked through the door I gasped (in my mind). She looked like a cross between Shelley Duvall, an anteater and Ursula from The Little Mermaid, only terribly thin. She was wearing a glittery purple and bronze dress with knee high riding boots.
“So do you have any questions for me?”
“Questions? Ahh. Hmmm. Ahh… Let me think. Well, um, actually, no, I think I understand everything this position entails.”
“Is there anything else I can tell you?”
“Well, I think I understand what marketing and recruiting means. Um, but, um, well, how did you end up working here?”
Fail. Death. Fail Death. Eat my shoes – I broke rule number one: always have a question for the employer. Ahhhhhh. I can barely hear what she is saying.
“Well it’s great to meet you Rose. We will be in touch with you this coming week.”
I shook her hand and split like lightening, only faster.
Back in Key Foods with a bleeding finger…
I located the paper products in aisle four. Toilet paper found. Recycled Marcal’s looked promising. A six-pack was all I could handle. I reached out and coaxed the bag under my arm. Toilet Paper Victory!
1. When guys stare at you, it’s probably because you’re injured.
2. Run from the law / lawyers / people that work for lawyers.
3. The toilet paper is in aisle 4.