Now, since darling money is a conceited bitch who only benefits a few hard working people and totally ignores us useless, limp dick whiners; we are left with no other choice but to get out there and put in the hours. Blech!
So one fine wednesday, I put on my best skirt, a striped top, 2 braids (apparently a very unprofessional way to do your hair) and my red Che bag, and went for an interview at a magazine publication. This publication is located in the South end of our beautiful fish smelling city. And those who know me, will figure out what the next few lines are going to be about. Traveling from Goregaon to South Bombay is NOT bloody funny. And the trains are for people who get turned on by molestation...or well, those who like to impersonate sardines in a can. Though one good thing about the ladies compartment on the train is that, you can totally remove all your pent up frustration on the lady next to you who just elbowed you in the ribs by mistake. But otherwise, even if I was penniless, I'd rather marry Borat (ughhghgh) than take the train everyday of my life. (Please Note: I have already, unconsciously, decided that I'm not going to take up the job) But, I did it, for the sake of the interview.
After the hellos and nice to meet yous, I'm given a test. I had to research images for an article on Thailand. I take about an hour to complete the test, simply because I'm already planning a trip to Thailand; my penniless state completely forgotten. After finishing the test I find out that the editor and art director, whom I'm supposed to meet, are busy in a meeting. So after informing the current photo researcher, I make my way down to have a little smoke break. Of course I ask my Cute Ass in Tight Pants friend; who also happens to work in the same building for another magazine, to give me some company. After a nice ten minutes, Cute Ass in Tight Pants and I return to the offices and we decide to get some coffee from the machine. Suddenly I see the scary Art Director glaring at me. Of course, I was chastised for going off for a smoke when the Editor was waiting for me. Well come on now, you were in a BLOODY MEETING!!! But I guess, anyone else really serious about a job would probably sit their ass down quietly and stay there till they got the damn job. No?! (Please Note once again: Not here for a job, just here to prove that I'm making an 'effort' to find a job)
The Editor finally met me. Almost laughed at me when I said I was looking to work here at least 6 months. That poor lady was under the impression that I would work there for 3 years (hahaha) or a year AT LEAST! But kudos to her, because she caught on pretty fast, when she pointed out at my C.V and said " Yeah I can see you're a short stint person. Three day workshop... HA HA HA". I was fuming. I wanted to say... "Yo Beeyatch, I CONDUCTED a 3 day workshop...NOT ATTENDED!" (snap a finger) Well in the end she said that I'm supposed to make up my mind and then get back to them. I guess my mind was made up when she said 3 years. If the scary Art Director wasn't blocking my way I would've fled from there right then and there.
After the disaster, Cute Ass in Tight Pants and I went for coffee to the Kala Ghoda cafe. He enlightened me- on how to dress for interviews, how to speak in interviews, how to praise your own arse wart confidently during interviews and most importantly how to make a C.V. Enlightening though it was, I'm afraid I didn't imbibe much of that because my attentions were wholly focussed on the delicious ham sandwich I was devouring at that moment. Though one thing I gathered, was that I definitely failed in all the above categories.
On my way home; once again on the train, I thought about my Euro trip in June plan that was slipping away further and further. I was beginning to get depressed. A list of eligible bachelors popped up in my head...HOLY CRAP Am I actually thinking of a marriage of convenience (an arranged marriage, in other words). But since my Saucy Minxie conscience runs this freak show, I snapped out of that terrifying line of thought pretty soon. The ipod starts to play 'Ocean breathes Salty' and my worries are carried away by that faithful fish smelling Bombay breeze.
As I lay in bed that night; just before I fell into my little dream world, I saw a life sized 1000 rupee bill wearing a tutu, wagging her finger at me and singing:
Well I guess you're a lazy fool
I could never be the right kind of girl for you
I could never be your woman.
I could never be your woman
I could never be your woman.
"Well, damn! Pricey Bitch!", I mumble sleepily....
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