Memoirs of a Fat Girl

Screwy moments happen in the blink of an eye. So do opportunities.

This morning, on my way to work, I stopped by the ATM to curse my financial predicament and lack of a decent career. I took my handful of bills from the machine, ripped up & tossed out the receipt, and started taking my shortcut (by the fountain) to the college when a blonde chick came running up and said, “Excuse me, do you have a minute?”

Not really, but she had been seemed nice, and definitely wasn’t homeless. I assumed she needed directions. Not so. She wanted more.

Blondie wasn’t dazed and confused, she was a reporter with 24. Did that sound familiar?

Indeedy so. 24 is a local, very small paper put out by one of the city’s dailies in direct competition with the worldwide Metro. It’s mostly geared at city folk and subway travelers. What on earth could she want with me?

Plenty, as it turned out. “Well, the paper has a section every day where we ask someone a question…”

Uh oh. I knew where this was going.

“…and we publish their answer…”

Shit shit shit.

“… along with their photo. Would you be interested?”

Lord, no. I hate having my picture taken. Hate. I’m not one for dazzling smiles and striking poses, much less put myself at the photographic mercy of the five million plus citizens of this town. I begged off saying that I was late for work, and prepared to go on my merry way.

Blondie was persistent. “Please,” she said, “I’m on deadline. This won’t take long, I promise.”

I hesitated. I know what it’s like to be on deadline and deal with difficult, asshole-ish people (in this case, me), who absolutely refuse to help a reporter in need. But still, I just didn’t want my picture taken.

However.

An idea started to take root. If it worked my face would be splashed throughout thousands of papers, but this was definitely worth it. “Okay, I’ll let you take my picture. There’s one condition, though.”

“Name it.”

“Is 24 hiring?”

I expected her to be taken aback or insulted, but instead she grinned. Maybe she’d tried networking like this at some point, too. “Not at the moment. But management doesn’t know that a couple of people are soon leaving, and others are in transition.”

Perfect.

Blondie made deadline, 24 got my face & opinion, and I got an inside e-mail address, the promise to keep in touch, and notifications of job opportunities, should they ever arise.

Fingers crossed.