2003-05-06

I am annoyed at the world today. I had a job interview with a group of people that are so ugly I�m sure that I�m going to get offered the job. Because I don�t think I can look at them day in and day out.

Ugly people. And that�s being kind.

They are also all foreign. Perhaps it is some form of affirmative action. Get the blonde white guy in here, our ethnicity is showing. The company is mainly staffed by the ugly Europeans. They all have thick accents, too few vowels, and enough cheap gold jewelry to blanket Philly. The woman who greeted me was Russian, and had cheaply bleached hair that was slowly growing out to black. Gothic makeup, a tracksuit, and faux Gucci shoes completed the ensemble. She took me to meet with a Greek woman who it would not take much to imagining her living under a bridge and frightening children. Her office was decorated with horrendous childhood construction paper projects that involved glue, tissue, and no concept of color or design. She was dressed in a lyrca bodysuit that showed off her curves in such a way that I imagined cats walking buy and hissing dramatically at her. The suit had a rhinestone belt and a flowey jacket that was also studded. A younger, fatter version of herself sulked from a gold and silver picture frame on the credenza to my right. We chatted amiably about my former employment and she asked me some standard questions. We were interrupted by a man whose large head stretched out his facial features to resemble and overblown balloon. We exchanged pleasantries as my face began to hurt from all the smiling and jaw clenching. The man joined us, the artifice of the situation obvious to a 4 year old. I reanswered some questions and he asked some others. The woman brayed and cackled at all the right moments, both of them enjoying the captive audience in that pallid little office. The mans shirt collar was stained and frayed, and not in a thrift store kind of way that looks good on models and Eurotrash. I fixated on several small holes just below the droopy collar and locked my face into Vanna White mode. By the time the interview was wrapping up I felt like my face would never be mobile again and I�ll be forced to go through the rest of my natural life with a vacuous Ken Doll expression on my face. I know that I was supposed to ask questions about the job and express an qualify some points of the interview but really, I couldn�t. I just had to get out of there and escape to perhaps the Gap where I could stare at the carefully chosen displays until I gained equilibrium. I left with a headache. The Russian woman saw me out again, her thick accent making our parting unintelligible. I think I�ll go change and get a Starbucks. Sit outside and sip it to calm my jangled senses until I have to go feed the homeless.

Ugly people. And that�s being kind.

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