WWOD? As it turns out, I may not know. According to Kitty Kelley, she has invented half of her persona. Yes, I am saddened, too. I may opt to remain in denial; I haven’t decided yet. But the Oprah controversy reminded me of a piece I wrote a while back, before I attempted to clean up my language. I had planned to include it in Subourbon Wife, but it didn’t make the cut. So, without further adieu, I give you this:
When I was a senior in college, there was a bar in Tuscaloosa that would give you a free beer for every rejection letter you received from prospective employers. By the time I graduated, I’d accumulated 42 letters and was able to treat my friends to a night out. It’s a very nice thing of that bar to do. It says something like, “We know you’re a loser. Come drink with us. You won’t be judged here.” How understanding and friendly of them. I don’t think they counted on someone like me showing up with a stack of papers, but I earned every one of those rejections. I interviewed with just about every company that recruited on campus that spring, and it was hell.
The hands-down worst interview I ever had was with a corporate recruiter for a large, publicly traded company. I won’t tell you which one, but I will say that they take “grease out of your way.” The interviewer had a list of twenty or so questions he asked, and none of them seemed to have a point. One question was, “Would you rather be a pencil or a pen?” What the fuck? If I say pen, I might seem too bold. But if I say pencil, will I look like I’m careful, or like I can’t make a decision?
Another was, “If you and I played tennis, and you were the better player, would you beat me or let me win?” I think I answered that I would win two and let him win one. The entire interview went like that – bullshit answers to bullshit questions. I remember being so nervous I was sweating right through my blouse. At the conclusion of the interview, the recruiter thanked me and told me the company would not be hiring that year but would hold my resume and interview notes for the future. I wanted to punch him. No kidding, I am not a violent person, but I could have smacked that guy. Did he think getting dressed up and going to interview with him was my idea of a fun afternoon? I didn’t need a job the next year; I needed a job when I graduated in the next month or two! I hated him. Anyway, apparently Fate hated him, too. It was only a year later that I was conducting the on-campus interviews for my company, and guess who was there? Mr. “We’re Not Hiring” himself. When he struck up a conversation during one of our breaks, I told him I hated him and why. I spared nothing for the sake of professional courtesy. And he actually apologized. He said he got bored interviewing college kids when he knew the company wasn’t hiring, so he asked all those crazy questions just to entertain himself. But he said he felt bad that I was so nervous and he had wrecked my confidence. He was actually nice about the whole thing. And you know what? He asked me out. I shit you not — the guy apologized and then asked me out. And you know what else? I said NO. HAHAHA; take that, asshat! (Being forgiving has never been a virtue of mine).
All of my interviews weren’t that bad. After a while, I kind of fell into the groove and learned to fit the same 3 stories into any questions the interviewer asked. I don’t remember the two stories that were true, but of course I remember the one I made up. It had to do with my needing to be somewhere and realizing my car had a flat tire. In this fictional scenario, I wound up changing the tire myself. Because I had studied instructions on how to change a tire, I was able to recite all of the steps and everything. After I added a few details, I really think it was believable, thereby demonstrating how I could work under pressure, remain calm in a stressful situation, think critically, and adopt an enthusiastic “Whatever it takes!” work ethic. Who wouldn’t hire me, right? Who were these visionless 42 companies who turned down such a resourceful and hard-working young woman?
The interviews weren’t all bad. Some of them actually went pretty well. I remember one in particular where a middle-aged guy interviewed me for a retail buyer position. One of his questions was, “Who is someone you admire and why?” The first person who came to my mind was Oprah Winfrey (this was back before she was so famous as to not need a last name), so I used the angle of her rags to riches story, becoming successful in the face of adversity, etc. It was the first time I saw the interviewer perk up. “Do you know”, he asked, “that you are the first candidate I’ve interviewed who didn’t say the person they most admired was one of their parents?”
“My parents?! Oh God, NO!” I said, shrieking with laughter, and almost falling out of the swivel chair before catching myself and trying to regain some measure of poise.
I think my mother was a bit insulted when I related the story to her later on. But come on, who can compete with Oprah? She always has the right thing to say, does the right thing, wears the right thing. That’s why she’s a bajillionaire. She seems right in every situation. That’s why, when I am unable to make a decision on my own, I ask myself, “What would Oprah do?” And then the answer comes to me; I swear it works.
Example 1: Should I lie here in bed, unable to sleep? Or get up? WWOD? Read that book I’ve been meaning to get to!
Example 2: Should I yell at M for leaving the door wide open? Or just close it and calmly remind him that we don’t live in a barn? WWOD? I think she would probably go for the latter. But Steadman probably doesn’t leave the doors open, and even if he does, she can afford to air condition the outdoors. So I go for option #3, which is to shut the door and lock him out. (Just because I consider Oprah’s opinion doesn’t mean that I always take her advice.) That’ll teach him! And I won’t even have to nag.
It’s not so much that I mind being a nag – I don’t. It’s just that it takes a lot of effort, and I’m kind of lazy. Whereas I used to have lectures for every scenario, I’ve become tired of delivering them. Haranguing my husband isn’t as fun as it looks; it takes a certain amount of dedication that I’m not sure I have anymore. Besides, since G was born, we’ve tried to stop swearing. Since M isn’t a quick speller, I’ll be on to something else by the time I realize he is still back at “B-A-S…”
“Bastard, you idiot!” I have to whisper to him.
I thought about compiling my speeches into a book called, If I’ve Told You Once, I’ve Told You A Thousand Times. That way, if he forgets to call when he’s running late, I can just tell him to flip to Speech #144: I Thought You Were Dead on the Side of the Road and save myself the trouble of reciting it again. To be fair, it should probably be one of those books that you can flip upside down and read the other way with his speeches in it. He doesn’t have as many as I do, but I could probably stand to dog-ear Speech #4: The Red Light Means You Need Gas!!!
M can’t stand to be nagged and he often takes the position that he won’t do a chore simply because I have nagged him about it. It is really a difficult position for me. I never know if he has actually forgotten to do the chore, or if we’re in a stand-off. Like right now, we have one light bulb working in our bathroom out of a possible 8. I know that having 8 working bulbs at any given time would be too much to ask, so I’m trying to set reasonable goals. But really, is 5 too much to ask? I haven’t said a word about it because I’m afraid he’ll accuse me of nagging and then it will never get fixed. But no way am I changing those bulbs myself. Light bulb changing falls distinctively into the “man job” category (what with having to haul the ladder up the stairs and all) and I’m not doing it. If he thinks I’m going to blink first, he’s got another thing coming. As long as my eye liner goes somewhere near my eyes, I’m okay. Even if that last bulb blows, I can feel out my eyeballs in the dark. He, however, has to put a razor to his face. Let’s see him try to shave in the dark!
In the days when I was younger and cuter, I wouldn’t have put up with this kind of thing. I made sure he knew exactly where he stood in my book. If he complained on garbage day I’d tell him, “There are 100 guys who would just LOVE to take out my trash! You should thank God every day that I chose you!” I guess I overused that line because eventually he would say morosely, “I know, I know. You can name 100 guys who want to unclog your toilet.” I finally stopped that line of lecturing when he asked me for the names of these guys. I don’t know if he was going to call and tell them my grass needed mowing or what.
Really, my husband knows me well enough to know when I’m just bitching about something. He typically ignores me, which is fine with me as long as he can tell when I’m serious. He realizes that his primary purpose is twofold:
- to remind me, if ever I should say that I want to grow my hair long “like Jennifer Anniston’s”, that my hair is stringy and thin and will never, ever look like Jennifer Anniston’s so I shouldn’t put myself through the pain of trying to grow it out (again).
- To stop me, by physical force if needed, from trying to learn to knit or crochet ever again. There have been too many episodes of tangled yarn for me to count, and last time it took me 2 hours to get it untangled from my hair. It is NOT “easy as 1-2-3”; I don’t give a damn what the package says.
If he can handle this, I am willing to overlook any shortcomings he may have. And I think Oprah would approve.
NOTE: I wrote this a couple of years ago and we still only have 3 bathroom light bulbs. No, I am not kidding!
