July 17th

Tuesday

I walk into the office, and Leslie tells me that not everyone is here for the interview. Everyone? Yes, everyone, meaning the director of the school and the owners. I waited fifteen minutes, sweating through my silky gray button down, and was finally called into a conference room. This was big time. Five suits sat around an oval mahogany table, each armed with a copy of my resume. They took turns asking me questions, then summed it up by asking me to observe the children for a few days. They mentioned buzzwords like "background check", "salary" and "references". I was dizzy with excitement. They're going to fucking hire me, I just know it.

I was sooo nervous. Interviews make me a wreck. When I came home, I stripped off my stuffy business clothes, slipped into an old Hard Rock Cafe T-shirt and shorts and wolfed down some Special K and then had some low fat chocolate ice cream. I always have the same pattern when I get nervous-- gastrointestinal pains, sweaty, clammy palms, then finally a slight headache and a huge appetite when it's all over. There must be some name for this. I feel like, "whew, I can eat again" when I accomplish something nervewracking. When I'm nervous, I can't get anything down. On the other hand, when I'm depressed, I eat all fucking day.

So, if I get this job, I can put my car and condo plan into effect. I can be a real grown up and get my own gas and pay for my own insurance and finally be respected. I'll have a reason to wake up before noon and a reason to go to bed before 1 am.

My parents keep asking me, Are you sure this is what you really want to do? Well, no, of course not. Teach kids for the rest of my life? Shit, no. I need some structure to my life, a 9 to 5 kinda life where I have responsibility. And since I can't get an editing job, I have to settle for this. I'm in no position to be choosey. If I do indeed get this job, I have to start reading my Writer's Market book again and start sending off freelance work. Besides, Leslie, the director of the school, said they have a thirteen month contract, so in a year I can look elsewhere for a real writing job. Working with kids is kinda cool-- I wouldn't have applied if I didn't want it. I applied cause I'm actually qualified, and I'm not qualified for anything else. And did I mention the pay-- $22-$24,000? That's nothing. A college graduate earning twelve bucks an hour? What the fuck is that about? But whatever. It still means a car in three months.