By the time I was 23, I had graduated from college, gotten married, given birth to my son, Alex, and divorced Alex’s Dad, whose name was Joe McGinnity, otherwise known as Crazy Joe. Why? Because Joe was another military man with Looney Tune marbles for brains*…
But I fell in love again, of course. And this time, what I experienced was awe-inspiring, provocative and ultimately life-changing as well as, nonetheless, dreary, very cold and overwhelming, even repulsive at times. However, let’s be clear, my love at the time – went by the name of New York City.
I became blindly enthralled with every single facet of the city during my first roller coaster jaunt to Manhattan with Morgan** in my sophomore year of college, circa 1985.
The 20-40-storied sky skrapers were otherworldly to me, and knowing there was SO much LIFE and art and opportunity bustling about the city was the most intoxicating feeling I’d ever known.
For most of you, dear readers, my characterization of NYC’s splendor is commonplace, wallpaper you stroll past every day…with a yawn. But can you really look at the photo below and say there is NO GOD? 
VIEW FROM INSIDE COLUMBUS CIRCLE MALL overlooking central park
That said, I grew up in a cozy, suburban house where the temperature fluttered around a balmy 85 degrees in winter, 70s in summer. Tolbert, however, one of my classmates, lived in a drafty, unfinished hovel.
The exterior walls of Tolbert’s house were comprised of black tar paper on drywall and plastic sheeting across their windows in lieu of glass. In other words, the equivalent of notebook paper and ratty garbage bags separated him and his family from the elements.
While my life was Oz in comparison to Tolbert’s, is it any wonder I was so TAKEN with New York?
ANYWHO, five months after graduation, I packed up and took off for Brooklyn in my Datsun B-210 hatchback, with my beautiful blue-eyed three-year-old nestled into his car seat.
A week later, my FIRST job interview at a literary agency occurred on a beautiful day in 1989 on a dazzling spring day in Brooklyn under a cloudless, primary blue expanse. I was the happiest I’d been in more than a year…until…I climbed aboard the Marcy Avenue train and…
I surfaced in lower Manhattan (near West 27th) into a rippling wall of rather cold RAIN. And I, without an umbrella. Where IS Rihanna when you need her? Oh, wait…she wasn’t born yet (LOL)…
I interviewed for an admin position at Pratt & Pratt, Inc., a relatively prestigious agency. But the look of shock and pity on the elegant interviewer’s face was nearly unbearable. Kelly, a senior agent btw, was very kind, however. She immediately rushed into their little kitchenette in her lovely suit from Saks and brought me a dish towel and a HOT cup of coffee. I tried to dam the torpedo of rainwater spiraling down my face and arms from my unkempt clumps of knotty brown hair, to no avail.
I had on a brand new navy blue suit of the Donna Karan persuasion, and I had decided to attend the interview despite my scruffy appearance, for fear of being black-balled. I didn’t know the INS and OUTS of the literary world, and I had this ludicrous notion that if I cancelled at the last minute, Kelly and her league of publishing comrades would think I was a flake. Yeah, I know…like they had the TIME nor interest in bad-mouthing an interviewee they’d never met…
Stop laughing and remember…I was only 23 and from WV, and I’d never had one of those REAL jobs that didn’t involve salting French fries or serving beer.
I had dreamed of READING BOOKS for a living since the moment I finished my first Little House on the Prairie tome in the third grade. However, as I sat there listening to the DRIP, DRIP, DRIP of rain splattering from my sleeves onto their pristine tile floor while awkwardly trying to extol my limited dossier, I knew the dream was DEAD.
Just kidding. Of course, one interview didn’t KILL my goal. It was embarrassing, but I knew the odds of getting the FIRST job I interviewed for in the first place was as likely as waking up as a LIZARD …and I actually walked out of the interview smiling – even though I knew Kelly and company were guffawing loudly over the hilljack in a suit that had its own SPRINKLER system.
On the other hand, though I didn’t have enough experience for Pratt & Pratt, Kelly actually gave me the name of two well-known firms, who might be looking, and she said I could MENTION her name. So, either she wanted to dump my Elle Mae ass upon someone as a cruel joke, or she was being sincere. I wasn’t sure…until -
“And it’s rare meeting someone who was in the Latin Club, and-” Kelly said, smiling.
“Excuse me?” I asked, stifling a bull-horn-sized laugh.
“Very few people can PASS one semester of Latin, much less, make it through FOUR years with a B average.”
Okay, now we’ve parlayed from Mars/OZ to the Twilight ZONE.
“I see, thanks,” I murmured still not sure whether she was making fun of me or not. “I always thought it was dorky,” I said laughing. “But I thought dorky experience was better than only one other extra-curricular activity on my resume,” I explained, referring to my brief stint as a majorette in ninth grade.
“And I really like your grit, your determination,” she said, smiling again.
By the look on my face, she KNEW, I was baffled.
“Most people would NEVER come to an interview, well, with a hair out of place, much less soaking wet!”
Totally stumped, I said, “Well, thanks, I guess.”
“What I mean is, you’ve got spunk, which might come in handy when you’re trying to push your editor to sign the likes of J.K. Rowling after 20 agencies had already passed, and that’s more important than looking like you’re prepped for a spread in Vogue. You know what I mean?”
I nodded, and she continued, “People in publishing are ALWAYS looking for people who REALLY care about literature. I’ve interviewed a lot of recent grads who just want to have Pratt & Pratt on their resume. They have no interest in books at all.”
I nodded. Now, that made sense.
Therefore, though I’d braved the interview, albeit feeling like an idiot, I felt all the better knowing that I had just met a kindred spirit who could maybe be a friend later on. Maybe, some day I might run into her at a literary function, and we’ll both laugh til we’re all teary-eyed about the little country mouse watering the floors of Pratt & Pratt on her first BIG GIRL interview.
Then, if all that weren’t weird enough, about THREE BLOCKS away from Pratt& Pratt, an odd-looking guy in an ill-fitting suit approached me as I waited to cross the street and said, “Are you looking for a job?”
“Excuse me?” I asked, thinking I’d misunderstood him.
“Your conservative suit,” He explained, “You look like you’re on your way to a job interview, that and your folder with your resume in it, right?” he asked smiling and nodding to my leather binder.
“Yes, but,” I immediately assumed this guy was looking for a date, and not the kind you take to dinner first. “I’m sorry, but I’m not looking for THAT kind of work,” I replied, stepping into the stream of afternoon commuters heading for the subway on 31st.
“No, no, I’m a Fifth Avenue man,” the guy said, strolling along beside me.
I immediately burst into laughter. “I’m sorry?”
He looked really confused and somewhat hurt by my reply and said, “No, really I am.” He handed me a business card, which said:
Tom Blazell Recruiter 5th Avenue Personnel 886 Fifth Avenue New York, NY 10023“Um, okay. Nice meeting you,” I said disappearing into the stairwell to the subway. I looked back at him at the top of the stairs where he stood grinning as if I were the biggest MORON ever while shaking his overly large head. Maybe, being a “Fifth Avenue Man” meant something to your average New Yorker, but I wasn’t privy to their list of corporate royalty, and at that moment, I really didn’t care.
Little did I know the FIFTH AVENUE man did, in fact, help me to secure an awesome job, a job on Wall Street, believe it or not…
FOR NEXT TIME…
Ciao… ALL …and have a great weekend!
Over and out from FUCKED UP CENTRAL…
~KS/TenaciousBITCH
*See Blogs 38-40, beginning with THE GREAT ESCAPE…
**See Blogs 36-37 – NYC OR BUST I and II…all about the LOVE Triangle between me, Morgan, and Delilah, his new and not-so-beautiful, squeeze…
