April 14, 2006
“So I don’t have a lot of time this afternoon, but Julia let me know that you might be interested in working with us. What about fashion interests you most?”
Closing my eyes and exhaling quietly, I leaned my head back on the couch and twisted my finger around the string of my hoodie. As I searched the inside of my eyelids for any thoughts I might have filed away there on “the social importance of couture,” it occurred to me that I might not get this job. Phone interviews, at that time in my life… I wasn’t good at them.
So far that spring, I had slept through one, taken one hungover from California while on Spring Break and a third I had failed to even schedule. Now it was Easter weekend, and with only two months until I graduated college and moved to an apartment in New York that I had already signed a lease for, my desperation was beginning to bubble to the surface.
“Hm, well, fashion. I think it’s such an interesting industry because it’s so… fast moving, or, I mean, it changes so quickly. I’ve always wanted to be a part of such a fast-paced industry. And it really reflects the fast pace of current events as well. In the world. And around us. I mean. I just think fashion is so exciting, and I’ve always thought it would be so interesting to work in the industry, um….”
“Yes, definitely, thank you! Well look, I’ve got to run, and we are just swamped this month. If we have another opening in a couple of months, I’ll try to call you.”
Yep! Fair enough. I finished the dregs of my hot chocolate and officially pinned my very last hope to my Monday morning interview with a small technology PR firm in Manhattan.
Cut to three months later
I got the job! And that’s where I worked from July 2006 – April 2008. Although I have to extend sincere thanks to my employers for hiring me despite my fairly naked resume; training and promoting me despite my age; letting me order lunch from the expensive sandwich place for my last lunch meeting and paying for an extravagant goodbye happy hour, I also must admit: unemployment has been no less than GLORIOUS.
My last day was on Friday, April 4, and when I woke up on Saturday to sunshine and 60 degree weather, I finally realized that I am really, seriously, actually, for real leaving my job, my city and my apartment, and that it will really, seriously, actually, for real be COMPLETELY AWESOME.
Which brings me to the second part of Phase 1: my apartment. My apartment is on the second floor of an old row-home in Brooklyn near the park, and my landlady is a retired art teacher in her 60s who summers in Woodstock and takes teaching fellowships in places like rural Virginia in the winter. I looooove my apartment, and I looooove my landlady. I have huge windows that look out over an adorably neglected garden, my neighbors say hello and let me in when I get locked out, plus I have enough room for all my books, a TV, a dining room table and a full sized couch. Even worse, my landlady brings me flowers from the garden when they bloom, and once when I gave her Christmas cookies she gave me a set of cookie tins in return. How can I tell this woman that I’m leaving?
I finally bit the bullet today with a short note attached to my rent check. So far so good! She left me a sweet message and the realtor will begin showing the apartment this week. Guess I should clean up the wine bottles/maybe do some laundry for once? At the very least I should probably take care of this situation: