Memoirs of a Fat Girl

The leftover treats in their cellophane bags with cheery hydrant tags have been stocked in the freezer. With luck they will come back out for a party or two, but but right now, I don't want to be reminded of the personal fiasco that was Woofstock.

Next on my list of happenings since: the job interview. The entire time in Jordan my cell phone was completely pms-ed, and only one call in two weeks came through. That call was from Jennifer, team supervisor at gigantic movie house in my city. They needed a Closed Captioner, and was I interested? But of course I was, and we arranged to meet the week of my return.

This movie label is housed in a gigantic building in the city, and I guarantee many of you have seen the logo flash across your screen. I dressed in my most professional suit and took the turbo elevator ride up 15 floors, where I was directed to wait in the lounge.

What is your most intimidating experience at a job interview? Here's mine: sitting in an Eames chair and pretending to read the Time magazine in my hands, but instead sweating under the fixed gazes of dozens of Oscars, Emmys and Golden Globe awards lining the walls.
Shucks. Of all days to leave my Oscar at home. Maybe they could loan me one for Worst Performance Under Pressure.

It got better, though. Jennifer came out shortly and led me to her office, where I had what was definitely the most enjoyable job interview of my life. At one point we were even talking shoe stores, and she was showing me pictures of her pets. The boring stuff was first though, like job expectations and what I would be doing. A Closed Captioner watches shows and with a special little computer program, types in everything that is said so it pops up at the bottom of the screen for the deaf and hard of hearing audience.

Oh, the deaf. I wonder how much longer you'll have to suffer me.

There are more perks to the job, Jennifer said, the best one being that after a few months, when the closed captioners get bored of what they're doing, they are asked to write. Would I be interested in this?

I tell you, when I heard this, it took every fibre of my being to keep from drooling and whining while on my knees in the standard begging position, and screaming, "YES!" in the most orgasmic way possible. How could I not be interested in this?

The questions started to get more interesting after this too. Jennifer asked about my most difficult jobs, my most demanding requests and unusual editing experiences. She wanted to know what it had been like for me to work overseas, and my five-year goals.

My five-year goals. Where did I see myself in five years? I was tempted to tell her the truth, which was, "Lady, I'm really on a day-by-day existence for the moment," but knew that would get my name crossed off the potetentials list in a heartbeat. So I made it up as I went along.

Here is what I told her: "First and most important, I'm not going to say it's my goal to get married. If you meet the right person then it is what it is, something wonderful that happens along the way. Marriage isn't something I aspire to."

Jennifer nodded in a positive way, and actually wrote that down on her clipboard. I've never been professionally commended on my marriage attitudes before. Keeping up with my on the fly responses, I then said, "In five years, I'd like to be running my own business, living in my own house, and enjoying the days with my dog."

Here is what she said in response to that: "Perfect."

Here is what I thought in response to that: "It is perfect." I don't know how I thought of that future for myself, but whenever I do think about it now, there is nothing I'd like more.

After the interview, I parted ways with Jennifer and was taken to Leigh, who sat me down in front of a computer and gave me a bevy of tests. Typing speed (I aced), editing (I so aced), grammar (hate grammar so, mostly aced), and spelling (in the bag). The last test was actually close captioning with their program for a half hour, and I didn't see anything difficult about it. Leigh praised me throughout.

I was incredibly positive on the way home. Jennifer had basically told me I'd gotten the job, as did Leigh. I all but walked into the house and toasted my brilliance with champagne.

I didn't get the job. The girl that did get it has a PhD in Political Science, and was the first in company history to score 100% on both the grammar and editing tests.

How can I possibly compete with that?