And Then I Lost My Shit and Gave Up

If I was a different person, finding out I didn’t get my dream job might have only emboldened me to try harder.  After all, by this time, the jobs I had applied for were starting to overtake my number of Facebook friends – which is really kind of an alarming realization, on many levels. 

By then, I should have been used to the relentless rejection.  Finding out the hiring panel for my dream job with my dream company (conveniently located in the same city as my dream guy) chose another candidate should probably have left me still capable of standing. 

If I was a REALLY different person, I might have considered this outcome to be a sign from the universe that this job prospect simply wasn’t meant to be.  Better things were just around the corner.  It would all work out in the end. 

Of course, if I were to be that kind of person, I’d probably want to shoot myself in the face, the same way I want to shoot other people spouting off those same platitudes whenever shit goes down or gets real.

So instead, I’m Bambi.  And I cried myself into hiccup spasms for seven days straight and ate nothing but peanut butter using chocolate covered graham crackers as spoons.  I refused to answer the phone.  I didn’t go outside.  I woke up at 3:00 pm with peanut butter in my hair. It was glorious.

Despite having managed to not get hired out of every other job competition I entered, this one disappointment left me absolutely shattered. 

I wanted that job so badly, in my mind, I had already moved cities and house, into a lakefront property I could now afford.  I had already traded in my car for that new convertible with payments now within my reach, and was practicing jaunty ways to put my hair up in case of a windy day while driving. 

I already knew what evenings Alex could spend with me, and rehearsed several calm responses for when his girlfriend inevitably found out and wanted to kick my ass.  I would try for an air of regret, empathy, bravado and defensive posturing.  And then I figured I’d go for her eyes if I had to. 

Even more than that, I wanted the damn job.  I wanted to be good at something again.  I wanted a reason to feel hope again.  To get out of bed.  To shower. 

Not getting that job meant I would never have any of those things.  Ever.  It was my one shot at everything I ever wanted, and I didn’t get it.  Ergo, I would never have anything I want.  Ever.  I realize my logic may be slightly flawed here, but try to follow along.

What made the sucking disappointment that much worse, was the reason why I didn’t get the job.  After about a week or so of hiccupping snot, tears and chocolate flavor, I called my dream employer to find out what I could have done differently in my interview.  Or more specifically, why in the fuck they didn’t pick me. 

You’ll need to be sitting down for this one.

Apparently, they loved me.  They were so impressed by me.  However, given that a large part of the role would be engaging with a high school aged audience, they felt I was too mature of a presence.  Not too old mind you – but too mature.

Umm.   Who did these people think they met??  
 

In fact, for those five people who read this blog, let’s try an experiment.  Regardless of whether you know me well or have never met me, I suspect the results will be the same.  All you have to do is fill in the blanks below with any word of your choosing, based on what you know about me.

Bambi is one of the most _______ people I know.  Whenever I talk to her, she always has a story that demonstrates her incredible capacity for __________.  That one time, when she was still optimistic enough to try online dating and that one guy stole her ___________ and then that other guy wanted her to _______ him with a ___________  that he hid in his laptop bag while eating ice cream…that was kind of ______.  Bambi manages her relationships with guys like ______ and ______with utmost ______ and behaves in a perfectly _______ manner, at all times.  Unless there's a _______ uniform involved, in which case, all bets are off.

Now I ask you – did you complete any of those sentences with the words mature or maturity?  If you did, I’m astonished.  If you didn’t use any one of the following words: ridiculous,bizarre or fucktard, I’m equally shocked, although I suppose fucktard could technically count as two words.   

If you did drop the m-bomb, I suggest you go back and read some of my archived blog postings, because clearly you’re confused.  Either that or you make even worse life choices than I do, in which case, we should really meet for a drink.

And yet, despite my history and what should be common knowledge, I lost out on my dream job because of my maturity.  And so I cried, because at that point, all of my mature responses had been used right up.