Slowly, very slowly, he sat up, and as he did so he felt more alive and more aware of his own living body than ever before. Why had he never appreciated what a miracle he was, brain and nerve and bounding heart? It would all be gone…or at least, he would be gone from it. […]
He could no longer control his own trembling. It was not, after all, so easy to die. Every second he breathed, the smell of the grass, the cool air on his face, was so precious: To think that people had years and years, time to waste, so much time it dragged, and he was clinging to each second. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows
and somehow, i remain jobless
So, about two months ago I had an interview for a “Social Media Specialist” position at a rapidly growing marketing company. Part of the interview process included a copywriting test administered by the CEO and a SEO skills test. I passed both and was asked to come in for an interview.
To prepare for my interview I did a little research on the company. The company made use of Twitter by posting a daily horoscope for Gemini. No marketing tips, no witty jokes to gain followers, no links to blog posts about the company. Just horoscopes for Gemini. Um, okay.
So I go to my interview. First off, I can’t find the place. It’s a marketing company, so you’d think there would be some kind of sign saying MARKETING COMPANY for a little advertising. Nope. No sign. Just a faded number on a curb that matches the company’s address.
I go inside and yes, it is a real company. I was starting to get worried. Then I go to my interview. Not with the CEO, who administered my two previous skills test, but with an accountant. Not sure what the accounting department has to do with the social media position, but I roll with it.
This woman is worried I cannot handle the position because I have never had a position using social media. I explain to her that I use social media everyday. I explain to her what Digg is, and Reddit, and tell her my ideas for how I think the company can use social media to network and find new clients. I then ask her why the company’s Twitter page has nothing but horoscopes for Gemini. (I also have to teach her how to Google her company’s Twitter page.)
I leave the interview feeling like I didn’t get the job, as the woman did not seem impressed by my knowledge of the internet, even though I clearly am qualified. Just out of curiosity, I visit the company’s Twitter today. Yup, starting a few days after my interview they quit with the horoscopes. Now they are tweeting per my suggestions. So I guess they didn’t think I could do the job, yet they felt my suggestions were good.
Ugh. No more free advice.
the picture changes
depending on how i tilt my head
but isn’t that what they say
it is everything, really
(and finally a reason
why it has become so easy to say
i’m forgetting you)
When I was little I had a big thing for airports. I still do, actually. There is just something so exciting about a place that can bring people together, no matter how far apart they really are. There is something magical about that.
My mom said my interest in airports probably started when I was three. My parents took me to an air show to see the Blue Angels fly. The other three-year-olds were terrified of the roars of the planes overhead and were screaming their heads off. My parents, prepared for the worst, had stuffed napkins in my ears. Napkins were the only things they had on hand, but they were afraid the noise would scare me, too. Instead I was smiling, trying to climb into one of the airplanes and take off. “Mommy,” I had said. “I want to fly.”
I like to think I got it from my father, that somehow this interest is just a part of my DNA. Some sort of tangible proof that I am my father’s child. He loved airports, too.
Back in the eighties, when airport security wasn’t so tight, my father would load me into his dark green pickup truck and drive me to the airport. We’d park near the landing strip and lay in the bed of his truck, watching planes come in and take off. We would make up stories about the passengers: where they had come from, what they were thinking, and who they were looking forward to seeing once they landed.
When I was eight, we had planned for another one of those days, watching the planes going in and taking off. The trip had been postponed all week because of rain and at recess there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. I was confident that our airport trip would finally be successful.
I ran out of class as soon as the clock hit three. But my dad wasn’t waiting for me, my mom was. My mother picked me up from second grade that day with dinner in the backseat of her car, chicken fingers and fries from Captain D’s. I knew something was wrong right away. Who eats dinner at three in the afternoon?
My mom was mostly quiet on the ride home. I asked her why my dad hadn’t come to pick me up from school. “I got off work early,” is all she said. When I asked about the airport she just told me I could go tomorrow, and without elaborating, she then asked about my day. It didn’t seem like she even cared, or that she was even listening, though. I kept talking the short ride home, but she didn’t even react when I told her I got an A on my spelling test.
At home, I asked why my mom didn’t get any food for herself, but she said she wasn’t hungry. I sat in the kitchen and was midway through my meal when I heard her crying from the other room. Why was she crying? My mom never cried, she was the strongest person I knew. She didn’t even jump when I would hide behind things and pop out to scare her. Crying did not make sense.
I went to ask her what was wrong and she just shook her head. “Did Uncle Mike die?” I asked her, wondering what it was that had upset her so badly. It had to be something real bad for her to be so upset. She shook her head.
“No, your daddy did.”
I called her a liar and told her I hated her. What had I done to make her pretend my dad was dead?
I ran to my room and locked the door. Then I had a meeting with God. I remember concentrating so hard. I squinted my eyes shut so tight that I began to see white and black dots blinking before my eyes. I told God I’d be good. I would eat all my vegetables, go to bed on time every night, and not sneak dessert before dinner. I would do all of those things and be the perfect daughter, if only he’d bring my father back. And I’d make it easy, he wouldn’t have to bring him to me, just bring him back. I would find him.
My mom went into my room a little later and I wasn’t there. She called the cops.
A police officer found me two hours later in the median on Blanding Boulevard. Apparently I told him I needed to get to the airport.
well, as it turns out, something can make me smile today. maybe it’s a sign?
sigh. i’ll live with it, whatever that means.