a tribulation

You know, there are some experiences that you go through that are just horrific. Usually you try to block them out as best as you can. But there are a few that you actually try to hold on to. The ones that didn’t kill you and actually made you stronger. Here’s one of my recent experiences:

I was looking for a job and found a posting for one online for a paid internship at a book publishing house. Back then, I was considering going into publishing, because it looked cool in Bridget Jones, and it’s a tough field, but journalism’s honestly probably tougher right now with all the newspapers downsizing fo'realz. It was an ideal internship. And it was paid.

Of course since it was such an awesome opportunity, I knew my chances of getting it, as a freshman in college with very minimum experience, was slim to none. I’ve had my writing published before, I worked in an office for about a year—I wasn’t totally unqualified, but I knew I was under qualified.

I arrive at the interview on time, in my best “hire me!” clothes. The problem is that I completely lack confidence. I am surprised they even want to interview me, and I just know from the moment I walk into the office that I am in way over my head. Luckily, I’d been on enough interviews before where I can stay pretty calm, and I already have most of my standard interview answers down pat, so I don’t fall apart completely.

I meet the woman who I would be working under. I am actually getting a little panicky. At the time, I was still working at Forever 21, and by crazy random happenstance, my interviewer had been shopping there last night. And she remembered me. Yikes. The thoughts running through my head? “Fuck! I was kind of lazy last night. Definitely not my A game. Was a friendly enough? I should have been friendlier. Did I smile enough? Fuck! Ok, maybe it’s a good thing. She’ll remember me better now. Is that a good thing? I don’t think I was friendly enough.”

The interview continues and she asks me why I want to get into publishing. I don’t know anything about publishing. I am forced to BS a totally rambling answer. I meet the boss. I forget his name instantly. We talk about books. I’ve actually read one of his favorite books! I do not mention that it was for school. (The book was Killer Angels, and I did not lie when I said I enjoyed it, at least.) He tells me about the office, what he does, what I’d do. I try to ask intelligent questions. He’s impressed by my resume, but I can tell that I’m too green to be an ideal candidate. I do not exude the confidence I want to because I’m still pretty scared shitless.

The boss finishes talking and asks if I have anything else to give him. “Huh?” I want to say. Instead I shrug and smile and say no. Not sure if that’s a better response. What else would I give him?! It’s now a little awkward. I thank him and he walks me to the elevator. We small talk, I thank him again, get into the elevator, and leave. Exhausted. On the car ride back, I wonder if I should have given him an article I wrote. I had a copy in my bag.

Writing my thank you letter back in my room, I still think maybe I should have given him a copy of my article. Something to make me more memorable. My cover letter was honestly not that great—I mostly copied a template. I did not emphasize my good qualities enough in it. I decide to include a copy of my article with my thank you letter. Is that a faux pas? I don’t know. Oh well. I kiss the seal and send it. My Peter Pan stamp sure was cute, but maybe it’s not businessy enough? After sending it off, I want to curl up and die in embarrassment.

A few days later I get an email telling me that I did not get the job. I am a little relieved.

It was a pretty weird, frightening experience. In the end, though, I was glad that I did it. Eventually, I would have had to do something like that. But probably not until, like, junior year right? I guess I can reassure myself with the fact that I was, despite my experience, too young for the job. A year ago, I wouldn’t have even bothered sending in my resume. But now… well, I hold onto this memory as a “Yes you can!” encouraging moment, and the worse thing I can do is never try. Failure doesn’t feel half as bad as regret.