Because I cannot make this stuff up

1. What you are about to read is the absolute truth. 

I am not creative/imaginative/cool enough to make this stuff up.

2. I wish I could take a selfie

 3.& then my pants fell down. On a public street.

I have a job. A mostly fun & pretty okay job.

I don't see it as an adult career type job.

Some people do, but I am a horrible WASPY snob.

I appreciate several facets of my current employment, I really do.

I know that in this economy I should be grateful to have any job.

Still, I aspire to something, really almost anything, else.

So, I have been seeking alternative employment, that will work around our family schedule.

This is the story of an interview.

This is the truth.

I am pretty sure that I was a Jennifer Aniston romantic comedy in a former life, &

in an effort to remain anonymous, & not get sued for something, some details will be vague.... 

I got called 2 days ago for this interview.

This job was at a phone center, usually featured on award winning & acclaimed shows, 

like, 'Rescue 911'.

As I found myself smack dab in the middle of a Law Enforcement kind of family, I though great.

Now Husband & I will something else in common to talk about, seeing as how we have pretty much used up all the other topics. You can only discuss the weather & your dream camper so many times.

Then the obvious freak out occurred. 

What's a girl to wear?

I have leggings, yoga pants, sweat pants, & some really cute denim capris.

I have sun dresses, cocktail dresses, party dresses, & even a wedding dress.

 No where in that mess was serious adult interview wear.

Thanks to DressBarn, I am now the proud owner of the greatest tailored blazer, ever, & am finally one step closer to acting my age.

I took a poll, & when said blazer is matched with a lovely mauve, silk shell, & skinny trousers (hence forth called adult trousers, even if they are in fact fitted yoga/leggings/running/work-out pants, in that ponte-knit stuff), & very hookery, patent leather pumps (because that is what you have, even if you end up so tall you could be mistaken as Sasquatch), apparently you are interview ready.

Let me just say, having to enter this very scary building, surrounded by hardened criminals, just about gave me a heart attack. Growing up, it was always pointed out to me, that if I ended up in such a place, for any reason, my life, as I knew it, would be over.

&that has stuck with me, 

Firstly, I had to find a parallel parking spot, in which I didn't in fact have to parallel park. 

If you don't use it, you really do use it.

The resulting spot wasn't, in fact, very near to the actual destination.

So I hike, & I hike, wearing those miserable shoes.

Just to arrive at the bottom of a very tall staircase. I am sure that it is some kind of aesthetically pleasing security measure, but those multiple tiny steps that you cannot put your entire foot on at once were nearly the death of me. All 24 of them. Damn shoes!

&, then- it was a group thing. Maybe I am just lucky, but up until this go-round, I have never had a group interview. I think they are stupid, & make for a group of people trying to 1-up the poor guy next to them.

So, the group thing starts off with a quiz about where everyone parked. The closer spaces have a 2 hour limit, & this was going to be more than 2 hours, who needs to move their cars, or would you prefer a parking ticket. Apparently we have a very dedicated parking authority.

Guess who was the only one who needed to step out, & move a vehicle?

Yep. Fail #1.

I dash off, back down those stairs, & trot to the car. 

As I am crossing a fairly busy intersection, I feel the footless body slimmers under my adult trousers, roll down. I mean whats worse? being a sausage or having a VPL? 

Guess what else? it wasn't the under-trouser slimmer....

it was the adult trousers.

I guess working at job 1, contrary to popular opinion on outcomes, has caused me to reduce slightly, around the middle wiggly bits.

The closest parking option at this point, is the ancient & somewhat decrepit, down-town parking garage.

it is old, dark, & not clearly marked. 

Somehow, I manage to make it in, only going the wrong way once, which husband says is not even possible, but I did it, so there.

But, then there is no obvious way to get from here to there, just across the street, so I had to delicately leap over a barrier, & then run back up all those stupid, safety stairs, holding up the adult trousers.

Which brings me to the best part- the computerized test.
It was 2 hours of crazy cakes.
2 hours of reading & listening comprehension, spelling, map reading, data entry, mock emergency calls, typing, & memory skills, all while this little box on the bottom of the screen kept popping up with an emergency & you had to decide what group to send out in response, in less than 15 seconds.
I am pretty sure, my brain, is a male body builder, covered in oil, wearing a tiny trousers, right now.
Talk about brain exercise!

But, then, it turned out it wasn't for me.
Husband & I have decided that only 1 parent, can be at work at a time.
It makes no sense to make more money, if we have to turn around & pay for childcare.
*Sigh*

At this point, I can no longer feel my feet. So I wait, at least, until I am outside to take of the horrible shoes, & shuffle back to the parking garage, still finding no obvious way to get my person into it.
I did manage for the most part to get out of the garage with the car, without much of a conundrum.
Our parking garage is so old, it is cash only.
Yep, I never carry cash.
The lovely old man in the booth, wasn't sure what to do with me, especially when I cried.
So, he was nice enough to just let me out. Which I guess he would have had to do anyway, so I could go to the bank? Or, maybe I would have been trapped for life?

As a final hurrah, because today is payday, & I couldn't get to the store this morning, *(see above),
Husband & I decided to meet for lunch at a local, respectable, family establishment.
I got there first, & decided to wait outside the door- it's a pretty nice day.
Thanks  to the Hookery shoes, some older, & I mean OLDER gentlemen, upon exiting the restaurant, offered my shoes a ride,
 for money.
What?

I mean, yes, I am out & about trying to get a job, but we aren't there yet.
My pants don't usually fall down so easily.