The Work Horse Cometh

So, get this: I had an interview this morning. Now don't laugh at me when you hear who the interview was with. I know you're going to laugh, so don't laugh. OK? No laughing! I mean it. I interviewed for an exec assistant gig with this guy.

You laughed, didn't you?

I saw him at church on Sunday and told him my current predicament and he offered to consider my resume for a job as his highly-payed personal assistant. I waffled for two days. I mean, come on, how seriously could I take an offer from a guy who was trying to describe our married life together the first (and last) time we met up? But the time ate at me and my conscious nagged, 'You'd have a job offer to show other employers. You'll have a competitive wage offer to set the standard by. AND you'll have a blog post worthy of reading!' So I steeled myself and went. Ready to bolt at the least display of creepiness. He showed up with a neck brace on. I laughed. Out loud. The pain from his neck injury (car accident) subdued his usual enthusiasm and I thought, gratefully, 'At least he won't be able to attack me, because of the pain in his neck.'

But he didn't attack at all. We sat in his office and talked about the job, about life, about love, about real estate, about God. It was, altogether, a fairly pleasant conversation. A lot nicer than the first wherein I was credited with male genitalia.

I still don't want to work for him. I told him the commute was prohibitive (which it is) and I wasn't motivated by the salary or sales commissions (which I'm not). I thanked him and casually told him about my part time job. "Visa work?" he bellowed, "Hold on!" He picked up his earpiece and stuffed it in his ear lobe which was resting on the large white foam collar around his neck. "Vanesh, where are you? Get over here fast. I found someone who can help with your visa problem." My eyes went wide. I don't remember telling him I was an expert in visa work. He pulls out the earpiece and says, "He'll be here in five minutes, but should've been here at nine. I'll show you around." We walked through the office - nice office - and to the front reception area. I am expressing my disinclination for the job when I rememebr another friend who I think would suit. "Do you have his number?" asks Rick, the Director with a neck brace. "Sure. I'll call him now." I call my friend, he says 'thanks but no thanks' and meanwhile Vanesh shows up and I am herded into a conference room and sat down. Rick leaves us with one of those, "you want anything to drink" moves. Vanesh then pours out his I-140 sob story and I feel like one of those characters in a mistaken identity comedy where a garbage man is mistaken for a cardinal so I just listen. I take the parts of what he says that make sense and say them back to him and admit ignorance on the rest. He seems satisfied with my conclusion so I am allowed to leave. I run from the building and take a deep breath.

I am now at my one and only part time job, wasting precious company time telling you this story. And as an added note of good cheer, I've been given all the hours I want. Thanks, Irish Boss! You came through for me!