If you’ve been following my blog you know that today I had a job interview to be an “ice cream server.” So I dragged my ass to “The Lite Choice” on the Upper West Side (despite the fact that it was raining and I’m just getting over a cold) in hopes that I could acquire the sort of mindless job normally entrusted to a 15-year old. There I was greeted by the manager, a Russian woman with tattooed-on eyebrows who was dressed like a stripper. She took me into a back room where she and a hulking man interviewed me. It seemed like they kind of dug me and then they started telling me more about the job, namely that one was expected to work more than 40 hours a week for 9-dollars an hour and no benefits.
“No Benefits?!!” I asked.
“We’re a small company,” the man said.
MY ASS. There are like ten “Lite Choices” allover this fucking city. Disgusted, I picked up my things and walked out. Cheap bastards.
But, alas, was very happy I did because at that instant, the manager from American Apparel called to offer me an interview. I had filled out an application wherein I claimed I was the most uncool person alive and apparently this tactic worked. The interview is tomorrow so I’m gonna have to scare up some questionable leg-wear between now and then.
Currently, am reworking the ending of Art Star at the suggestion of my agent who I met with today. Am so bad at endings.