2/18/98 -- OK, hopefully this'll begin my web days at/with Tripod.  And what a deflating day it was. 
     See, I had a job interview today with Borders.  I get out of class at 4:40, and think I have plenty of time.  So I waltz down in my khakis and Gap shirt to check my e-mail, take a leak, and then wander back to the Campus Express bus stop so I can get a ride down to Lot 32, about a 10 minute walk from Borders.  I get there at 5:00, just to see the previous bus leaving.  No problem, my interview is at 5:30, I got plenty of time.  So I wait.  A crowd gathers. I wait some more, begin checking my watch. 5:05...5:10...5:13...by this time there's a hella big crowd, and the bus finally pulls up.  It takes it a long time to load up, and then it begins it slow journey.  I figure it'll take it forever to get to Lot 32 with all the stop signs, traffic lights, and traffic, so I hop off at the Uberroth building at 5:22 and I haul ass.  I hauled ass in the Sketchers that cut into the back of my ankle, my khakis, and my Gap shirt.  I am so glad I took up running recently -- I get there at 5:32, barely out of breath, sweating just a tad, not a gelled hair out of place.  
     My interview went like a .  The actual interview went OK -- I impressed the general manager with my sports knowledge, gave curt but (I thought) good answers, and didn't stutter much.  I'm pretty sure I talked waaaay too fast, but I was still feeling OK about it UNTIL the tests -- they gave me tests!!! Two of em', actually. On the first, I had to write in the genre of writing next to each author listed (not easy -- who the hell is H.A. Rey?), and on the second part I had to write in the correct author next to each listed book.  The second quiz is what I was banging my head over -- we had a list of 25 or so books.  We had to correct the title misspellings, if any, and then list them all in alphabetical order by placing a the appropriate numeral next to each title.  Well, I get to 17 and then realize that I left out A Connecticut Yankee in King Author's Court.  Keep, in mind, they gave me a pen, so there was mass crossing out of answers.  Zoinks.  A dumbshit I am. 
     Today was also comic day, usually my favorite day of the week, but my failure at the alphabetizing exercise, compounded with the lack of quality comics out today (just two) took away from the usual feeling of satisfaction and elation I normally get.  Pffffft.  Coulda been a better day.  Nothing deflates me more than rejection.  OK, maybe being castrated.  It's not like they didn't say I didn't get the job -- they said they contact my references, but then again, the interviewer guy also didn't look at the alphebetizing excercise.  I know because I watched his eyes and prayed he wouldn't so that I could leave not feeling like a dumbshit.  But I feel like one anyway. 
     This is when I need a girlfriend -- someone to cuddle me and make me feel all better about me.  Or, if I'm a latent woman-beater, I could smack her around?  Hmm...the former seems far more appealing than the latter.  Damn, I'm babbling, I gotta call Ray.
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