Check up from the Neck up

There's nothing like starting a week out with Valentine's Day, which sunk the first exciting day of the week into the mediocrity of a tiresome holiday. My Valentine's highlight ended up being conversation about a sandwich I was eating. Well, at least that's how the conversation started. A woman, clocking in at about 65 years of age, leaned over to me and asked what kind of sandwich I was eating. She caught me by surprise and I didn't quite know what to tell her as this was an Au Bon Pain chicken sandwich. There were some special sandwich features, like chili paste and roasted red peppers, that couldn't be left out of the description. It had an overall visual appeal that would justify an old lady asking me what kind of sandwich I was eating.

I spent a minute or two explaining the how and what of the sandwich, hoping that I had sufficiently described what the Au Bon Pain headquarters had conceived to win the gourmet quick meal market. It so happened, though, that I could have answered her question by saying "there's meat in there. It's a sandwich with meat in it, is what it is," because she wasn't really interested in my sandwich. See, after I stopped talking about the sandwich, she started complementing my hair. Her tactics, from the days of courtship no doubt, were unfamiliar to me, so I couldn't smell her true motives beneath her sandwich commentary. I myself don't come onto people with a meaningless entree. Instead, my preferred approach is to stand up in front of several girls at once and talk to them about basic math for 45 minutes a few times a week. Sometimes I use a chalkboard. Of course, I offer additional help after class.

I took the first exit I could politely find out of the conversation and returned to reading my paper. Her flattery was not unpleasant, but she's much closer to death than I am so I lacked the hormonal energy to keep talking in such a manner. I appreciated the effort, though, and promised myself to remember her little trick, which probably came from an old lady-sized bag of tricks, for picking up on someone in a restaurant. I wish I could find a better trick, though, that doesn't make me look like a broke fatso. The only other thing I can think of is complementing someone's footwear, which probably seems odd. Sadly, I think my lack of creativity in this area has kept my single status safetly guarded for months now.

Yesterday was much more exciting than the other three days. I got ready to apply for a new job within the company and I had dinner with a guy I met while hiking in the Sierras. It goes, though, that these little excitements reveal that the other three days were pretty boring.

The job announcement came over the general company email. I, who am stuck in a real readheaded stepchild of an internship, swiftly responded within 24 hours of its posting. I am not necessarily qualified for this job but I am already on the inside. The position was listed for New York so I could stay in my comfortable studio not far from the newly Christoed Central Park.

Today, in returning from the restroom, I had a little enlightenment. Every return trip from the restroom I would see a nametag on an office door and ignore it each time. Well, today I recognized that the office belongs to none other than to whom I'm applying. Now I'm caught. This person has likely walked by my cubicle numerous times to use the printer and has, by fault of curiosity, looked upon me doing any number of things that hardly resemble work. This is not my fault. I work when people give me work to do and have even stooped to asking four bosses and one guy in Canada to make use of me in any officelike way possible. But, because they're not interested in letting me pull up a chair to their table, they give me a few tasks a week that usually take just a few hours to resolve. Consequently, I look like a slacker and my resume, with all its international trimmings, will likely head for the Windows Recycle Bin. It has been several hours since I sent my resume a whole thirty feet away and I have yet to hear about any interview, talk, or even a Re: Hi, my name is Wells Crandall and I'm writing in response to the job announcement.

The dinner last night was, for someone who often eats while walking or leaning over the kitchen sink, a power-dinner indeed. Hosted at the Carnegie Deli, where one is not allowed, under stipulation of the restaurant, to eat for less than 12.50, me and Mr Pete Banglesdorf enjoyed authentic and well-cooked New York foods. I had a sandwich that cost twenty dollars and was built impossibly high. Pete had a knish, which is some sort of dinner pastry, and a giant piece of apple pie. We talked about our loved ones and what we're doing currently, and it turned out that we're both apparently happy and cancer-free. After having covered that, though, we got into the world of banking and finance, an area of work that I'm going to apply for. Pete broke down the different areas and jobs that once faces in this varied field. We also covered Pete's professional life, which is nothing short of a success. Pete said that he would help me if he could by arranging some interviews at a few places. It was, like the meal he bought me, extremely generous, and I won't forget it after I've been turned down everywhere else. I have to remember, though, that I took this internship on the sole premise that it was offered to me. In other words, there was nothing in my life calling me to work in commercial radio save a fear that my poor looking resume wouldn't get me a better job anywhere else. In order to feel less disappointed about the next job, I'm going to see what I can find for myself.

posted by Wellsmus @ 12:36 PM