492. The Interview

Now that Short will be starting kindergarten in September, I have taken it upon myself to look for full-time employment. I started thinking about all the wonderful jobs I have done in the past, and I also thought about my interests: writing, travel, joking around, baking cookies, photography, reading magazines with House or Beautiful in the title, rearranging furniture, staying in hotels, shopping, and eating at gourmet restaurants. Also. I like anything creative. Anything like museums, art, and theater. So I decided to write all my interests down on an 11 x 14 legal pad, and it immediately became clear the type of establishment I should be working in:

A bank.

I went right down to all the banks within a three mile radius and applied. When I filled out the applications and got to the spot where it said, “Which position?” I wrote in:  any. But between you and me, Bank President would be good.

The first bank (coincidentally, named “First Bank of Crazy Town”) called me back right away. They thought I would be a good fit for the teller job. I have been a teller before, so it was not too much of a stretch.

However, it has been a very very veeeeeeeeeeeeeeeery long time since I have interviewed for anything. I was a bit taken aback at some of the (obviously illegal) questions they were asking. Things like, “What did you like about your last job?” (duh, discount, I am so not answering that question), “Where do you see yourself in five years?” (living on the beach in Hawaii after I become the star of my own reality series: MOV’s World), “Why do you want this job?” (very inappropriate, I thought—I mean, it's none of their business!!!!), and “Can you please put back all the free lollipops we just saw you put in your purse?” (strawberry swirl! I know! how could I resist?).

Here I thought I might have to do some bankish things, things like count, or demonstrate pretending to count, or looking over a (fake) check and scrutinizing it like it might be fake, or jangling important keys around, or trying to talk all garbled-like on the drive-thru teller window microphone: no. They did not ask me to do any of those things.

Instead, the main interview guy just kept looking over my resume and saying things like, “Huh. So you were really never fired from any of your previous jobs?”

The next 15 interviews went about the same. Yesterday, I got home and stared at the phone, willing it to ring. That bank guy at First Bank had not said that he would call, but he had not ripped up my resume in front of me like so many of the others had. Not only did the phone not ring, but there were no new emails awaiting me to let me know of my glorious new career as Bank President awaiting me. Sigh.

The Husband just got home from work a few minutes ago. He was going through a stack of mail, and he came across something addressed to me. Something official-looking. From a bank. I snatched it out of his hands so I could be one sheet of paper closer to my dream.

“Dear MOV,” the letter began innocently enough, “We regret to inform you that you bounced a check for $17.22 to the high-end kitchen store. The check was returned unpaid, because you have no overdraft protection. Please pay this amount, plus fees of $82 immediately. Thank you for banking with us, we appreciate your loyalty. Sincerely, Crazy Town National Bank.”

That was the strangest job offer I ever received.

MOV