One From the Archives

My pal was a little bummed today because she thought she had blown a job interview. I believe she referred to it as "The worst interview possible. A complete shit-show." I object. I have had a doozy of an interview. I'm sure all you die hard Miss Austin fans have read this one before, but this is for you, sister. Chin up. Check this shit:

What is the worst thing that can happen on a job interview?

I would say the person who is interviewing you thinks it's a date, that's a pretty bad interview.

While I was living in NYC last year I had a friend hook me up with a possible job opportunity. This dude works for well known company so I was excited I scored an interview with them (notice I blacked out his entire face?! He could take down the Miss Austin empire if I'm not careful). He asks me to meet him at his favorite restaurant because he was having a business dinner and we can chat after. Great. I sit down, he looks at me and says,
 "Do you know where you are?"
"Uhhh, yes, The Village."
"No, do you know where you are sitting?"
Confusion.
"Look around, do you notice anything about this place?" Shit. I'm thinking, wow, he's already testing me. I explain my take on the aesthetics of the restaurant.
He says, "No, look at all the photos on the wall." There restaurant was covered with photos of celebrities who have been there.
Then he says, "Look at the photo above our booth."
Oh, God, no.
This motherfucker was pointing out a photo of himself because the booth we are sitting at is HIS booth. Gross. He waves the waiter over, orders champagne and strawberries (gross, again), a bottle of vodka (I'm getting raped tonight) and some cigars (crying inside). I immediately try to switch gears to professional questions about the company, the available position, etc. He cuts me off.
"What is your favorite song?" You have got to be kidding me.
"Who is your favorite group?" Stop.
"What is your favorite type of watch?" What does that even mean?!! And, yes he really asked that.
At this point he waves the waiter over and motions to him. The waiter brings over a sharpie.  He takes his framed photo off the wall and hands it to me to sign.
"Everyone I bring here has to sign my photo." I get the drunk giggles. By this time, I have almost polished off the bottle of champagne realizing that a job prospect is a laughing matter at this point. All I have now is good material.
"I really don't feel comfortable signing."
"Oh, come on, it's fun." Me, stoned face. I grab the sharpie, color his eyes in and write my name like a 3rd grader. He is not amused.
He reaches in his pocket for something. I am thinking, what next? Please be good. He pulls out some Carmex and starts slathering it on his lips. Giggles, again. I notice a interesting shimmer on the top of his lip. Oh, it's a herpe. I hadn't noticed it before because it was so dark but the lip gloss made it suddenly more vivid.
After the herpe sighting, I thanked him for the great buzz, took a cigar on my way out and used his driver to get home.

Unfortunately (or fortunately), this is a true story. I didn't get that job with a certain "music" television station, mainly because it was never an actual interview. See, your interview couldn't have been that bad. What really pisses me off is my name is next a herpe above some shitty booth.