depression session

Astounded by the day's event. Let me indulge yas.

You see, I thought I was simply going to an interview for a job that I didn't think I would want, but sweet lord and taylor, was I in for a surprise. After this afternoon, I would rather shoot myself in the face than have that job, but let's just say it's not exactly an offer on the table.

Said table was a "round" one at which the interview, attended by seven applicants and one satan, would take place. The latter of these attendees was conducting the "interview" in the dining room of her 5th Ave apt.--situated on the eastern side of Central Park. Yea, puttin' on the ritz, but her apartment looked like it was decorated by a blind used-car salesman who buys his decor at rural canadian dentist's offices.

To make a traumatic and long story short, the thing lasted over three hours, and consisted mostly of the she-beast talking about her "amazing" life, handing out morsels of philosophy cleverly buried in poker metaphors, and providing me with a platform to humiliate myself.

To elaborate on that final point, early in the meetin' she insinuated that I was "bluffing"--something "not allowed at [her] table"--because I couldn't tell her exactly where a certain function of Microsoft Word was located on the program's toolbar, after telling her that I knew what the function was.

Variating on this theme of embarrassment, the glorious coda of the afternoon came in the final ten minutes when she asked if anyone spoke other languages. The guy to my right says, "I speak French fluently."

"Oh, great! Anyone else? Anyone? Really? No one?" quoth the devil.

I finally spoke up saying that I took French classes throughout most of my education, and have a good understanding of the langue, though I'm not conversationally fluent.

"Ok-" pointing at the two of us "-you two have a conversation in French."

Everyone there stared at me, and no matter what I said, she was set on us having a conversation. And after a feeble attempt at the challenge I said, "I'm really sorry, [laughing] I said I couldn't speak French like this." (then one of the more awkward silences of my life)

after which le lucifer a dit: "mmmhmm. I learned French before English, so I'm pretty hard to fool."

Of course I felt great about myself and my ability to get a job after being brought to this new lowly low by a woman with millions of dollars, but no sense of tact or taste. Oh, and did I mentions this whole thing lasted more than three hours?

Expect some more stories about drunken, poor decision making from this guy.