workingfortheman.com

I heard some zen koan-ish type of proverb once that said something to the effect of, "One disease, long life. No disease, short life," which I took to mean that if you knew your one weakness, you could find healthy ways to work with your limitations. If you don't admit that you have any type of fault, you could really hurt yourself. Well, maybe I've got a number of diseases, because I suck at a lot of things. In my case, the proverb should really read, "Many diseases, long life full of mockery followed by pained obsessing afterwards." I do know, however, that if I'm going to overcome any diseases at all, I need to start with individual things, such as my suckiness at conducting myself during job interviews. Consider this discussion a constructive how-not-to.

I interviewed at the local metropolitan multimedia center, the one where they show art films and where you have to pay a fee to be a member to rent films from their humongous retail store library. During the interview, I let my nervousness get the best of me. They asked me all this stuff about film (I can't believe I didn't collect my thoughts on this in advance), and even though I love film and in certain aspects of it I can be fairly knowledgeable, I totally blew it. All I could remember was that I liked Ingmar Bergman and Terry Gilliam films. Of course now I can think of tons of directors I love, but at the time, my end of the European director discussion really consisted of me trying to remember stuff from college film class. I couldn't remember any other titles besides "400 Blows," which, if the truth be known, I was never all that crazy about anyway. The rest of it all came out like this: "You know the guy who did the -- you know the guy..." It was like the way people on the subway talk about the The Drew Carey Show, all, "You know, the guy with the show, the one with the chick with the blue eyeshadow ..." I felt like I looked like some shmell who saw movies once a year.

Then they asked me about American directors, and of course NOW I remember how I actually quite enjoy Woody Allen or Wes Anderson or Whit Stillman movies, I, well, -- OK, wait...Before I tell you what happened next, I have to admit that when I tell people this story, I full on LIE about this next part. I tell them this part, and then I laugh and go, "Nah, just kidding! I didn't say that!" But actually I DID! So here it is: I said, cringe, "Oh, um, I like Quentin Tarantino films." There. It's out! I really did say that! I admit it! I'm so embarrassed. I mean, I was working for an international film festival competition in the mid-nineties, and it was cliche-ingly horrible to see how many student films came through with that Tarantino-wannabe feel to it, and it was really horrible, and I'd get that empathetic embarrassment feeling for these kids. So as you can see, I really have no excuse; of all people, I should really know better. But then, well...I was nervous, and I couldn't think of any other American directors! I mean, I don't mind Tarantino films, but by no means would I, in my normal non-interview existence, consider him a favorite director. He's not even on the list! I just know what they said about me once I left. "Oh please! How unoriginal!" Plus, like when was the last movie Tarantino did? In the last century!

In addition, they asked me to tell them about the last movies I've rented and seen, and the first thing out of my mouth was "Well, I haven't really had much time to see any movies lately," which was true, but good lord! You don't say that at a multimedia film center interview! Plus, immediately after I announced that remarkable tidbit, I remembered that a month earlier I had actually rented, no shit, TWELVE movies at once and watched them all, since I'd had a few days off. So I had plenty to talk about, but I was all anxious, and I panicked and the only movies I could remember were "The Cell" and "The Minus Man," which are dumb ones to remember, but I said 'em anyway.

Also, dig this: when I got home, one of my friends, who works in film, was talking about shell cases, and I was all, "What are those?" and he informed me they were the cases you put videos in, "You know, like at the video store?" which made me feel extra dumb, and of course full mockery ensued, including the words, "Talk about unqualified!" To make matters worse, whenever I recall this story, I can't even remember that they're called shell cases, and I end up calling them clam cases, which repeatedly proves his point. In fact, I'm not even sure right now that I have the right word for it.

Oh, but the story gets better! They actually called me back for another interview in a different department of the very same multimedia center! It was an office job! They must have thought that I couldn't be trusted to interact with the public but I was just mindless enough to follow administrative tasks. They put me at this long table facing six executives who drilled me on typical interview questions, which was right out of the big "try out for the big dance company" audition scene at the end of "Flashdance," where she does all those amazing flips (controversial, since it was actually a double for Jennifer Beals and not really her), and she points at all the judges and there's that one lady blowing her nose to the beat, which is really stupid. (Geez, I seem to know a lot about "Flashdance." Why didn't they ask me about that?) I interviewed with them forever, and at the very end there was an exercise that required a pen. I had to write something down for the "Flashdance" judges. And of course, since we all know that I don't seem to be the most prepared candidate at interviews, I didn't have one. I said (here it is, where I'm sure I really clinched the job), "Well, don't hire me. I don't have a pen."

Can you believe it? I didn't get a job at the multimedia center. Gee, I can't imagine why. There's no good lyrics from the "Flashdance" theme song to comfort myself. It wouldn't even be proper to say that "All alone I have cried/silent tears full of pride," because that wouldn't be true. I cringe when I think of this whole experience, and now I'm even too embarrassed to go see movies at this place. Just as the zen proverb needs to be reworked for my own situation, so does Irene Cara's lyric, perhaps to read something like "All I alone I have complained/moaned about it to anybody who makes eye contact with me and then they think I'm this total freak who has my heart dead set on never getting a job so then I'll never be able to support myself because I'm totally incompetent."

So, "Reservoir Dogs" anyone?

This story originally appreared in the premiere issue of the zine Caboose, which Liz Saidel publises. Liz also puts out the zine Cul-de-sac (co-published with her childhood friend Julie). Caboose is $2 per issue. Cul-de-sac is $1 per issue. Ordering address: Liz Saidel, po box 476802, Chicago, IL 60647.

Back to the archives.

Return to the main page.