Beyond · High · Maintenance

I get up super early today to go the gym before my interview and then to work. This is my Tuesday trainer - we work on aerobics [boxing - yes, for REAL!], posture, massages - she now meets me at my car to take out the walker. We are working on correct posture for standing. This is actually helping me be able to rely more on my legs while practicing walking. How strange is that? I don't understand it either, but I'll go with it. I'm still bent over but not as hunched over as before. Let's face it things are going well.

Anyway, I get to the gym, put my chair together, get out of the car, roll up to the sidewalk outside the back of the gym, and I wait. No trainer. I call her cell phone. No answer. I'm starting to feel neglected - so I leave her a message saying that I'll be in the car waiting. I go back to the car, take the chair apart, schlep it into the car, change into a different shirt, slowly put on my makeup, decide I really dislike the only eye liner I have with me [why will an eyeliner work really well on my hand and NOT on my eyelids? Is is only me?], end up with really lovely navy blue lines on my hand and thumb, scramble to find something with which I can wipe the mess off, wipe it off, and decide I've waited long enough - Halli is definitely not coming. I leave for the interview.

The department of cultural affairs is completely across town - but I have about an hour and a half, no problem: it only takes an hour to go from point A to point B in Los Angeles. It's true, try it sometime. It doesn't matter if you have to be somewhere around the block or thirty miles away, both trips will take the exact same hour.

It took me an hour. Go figure. Enough time to drive twice around the block to try and find some of that "AMPLE STREET PARKING" Arleta, the receptionist assured me they had - yeah, right! Finally I decide this isn't worth it and go into the garage. I take the ticket. I park in a handicap space and put up the placard - yeah, I remembered all on my own. I put on my jacket, open the door, assemble the chair, get out and hear something drop on the ground. I look down and sure enough it is one of my earrings. Wonderful, I lost another backing. By now I'm thinking it's around 9:30 and my interview is at 9:40. I pick up the earring and pull out the other one. I check for the garage ticket - and cannot find it anywhere.

My dear friend Lizlet will recall a similar ticket fiasco at LAX. When your therapist tells you that you are disorganized, perhaps it is time to listen and do something about!

Anyway, I beg the attendant for a new ticket and go on my way. I am in plenty of time. And as a matter of fact, they are running late. I recognize the gentleman as he comes out - he was before me at the first interview. NBD [no big deal]. He is dressed in a nice black suit - I'll get to why I mention this later].

They call me in - the interview goes. There are two gentlemen asking alternating questions. I feel like I am at a tennis match. I try to remember to address both of them while answering the questions. It isn't rocket science - it's curating exhibitions. An entirely opposite side of the brain. I am able to answer all the questions. I make them laugh a few times. I am liking the question, "What do you do if you short funds to cover the budget for an exhibition?" I looked pensively for a moment and said, "Oh, wait, you must work for the Skirball too!" That made them both laugh - I'm sure that's why both men broke into peals of laughter with the bald [or is it hair follically challenged], black suit before me. When it comes down to it - what other choice do we have in life. I tried to be concise, use proper buzz words, and not let the fact that my eye liner SUCKED big time bother me at all. I did try to give them writing samples - but they refused, saying they could not accept anything from the candidates. Okay, not understanding how you can hire someone to be a curator and not want to know how they write. Fine. We exchange niceties and I leave.

Now I get to the part about the properly dressed bald, black suit. I also am dressed in black - black stretchies, black doc martens, black socks, a black nehru type jacket over a red tank top that is not visible because the jacket is closed. My hair is twisted on the sides and pulled back into an Israeli barrette that I purchased in January/February 1992 when I was in Israel with my mother [Janet and Hicki were going to school there - which is why we went to visit them]. It cost 10 shekles. Why do I remember this? All the fun earrings and hair things I purchased cost 10 shekles each. But I'm not talking about my Israel trip right now. Sorry that I digressed. Okay, what I'm trying to say that both of us were dressed appropriately for an interview.

As I exit the room, I see the next candidate sitting on the couch in the reception area. She is in a casual purple/white skirt with a very casual soft pull over [no, it's a cardigan!] different-shade-of-purple top. Her hair is short but not really neat. She looks to be late thirties/early forties. Who told her this is an appropriate outfit to wear for an interview? Wait, I'm feeling an outbreak of "The Man in the Lemon Yellow Suit" coming on... Great, I'm jinxing it - she will get the job! I just saw her briefly and really got a bad first impression. I will remember the blond purple lady when I go for job interviews from now on.

I go to work - and find my original parking ticket - I'd put it in my bra so that I wouldn't forget where it was. Lovely. Don't need to even go there.

Work was the usual "fun." Yes, I even attended the lovely town hall meeting. We had to meet someone new and have a discussion with them about their family's immigration experience. I spent my time with Claudia - who works as an assistant in the President's Office. She told me that she moved here a few years ago from Germany with her husband. She has absolutely NO accent what-so-ever! We exchanged stories and told a little bit about each other. That part was nice. For a change it wasn't excruciating to sit there and listen to more mission spouting and touting. I hate listening to shit like, "We welcome EVERYONE." yeah, except employees with extensive medical problems! Can't go there either. There aren't enough words in the world that could begin to explain the Skirball's warped sense of "Jewish Values."

So, I drive home - it's Tuesday, very little traffic, except for the 10 East. Are we surprised? I get to Andrea, call her and alert her to the fact that I am here. She's coming down. Meanwhile, I check my messages - wanting to know if Halli called to explain - apologize - hello? Nothing. So I call Colin because he had left me a message because he loves me and we chat until Andrea gets there. Of course we chat for two minutes about Colin and then I get pissed about Halli not calling and her dissing me now for a SECOND time. I think I just needed to blow it off or it would have gnawed away at me all night. Fine, I bitch and then I'm okay. We talk about another of Andrea's regular patients, Rose. Remind me, I'll blather about Rose another time. She's a trip.

So we get home and do the usual stuff we need to for the evening - and I get into bed. Andrea goes to fill up my large water bottles and I decide to check my phone messages. Sure enough there is a message from 5:45pm from Halli. I'm waiting to hear her excuse... "Oh, Fran, I'm so sorry. I can't believe I did this to you again. My father died on Friday. I tried to get everything squared away before I left for San Francisco - and I just forgot to leave you a message..." It went on. She said she'd call me tonight when she got back into town.

Is it possible to go from being pissed to feeling like a royal bitch in under ten seconds. Ohmigod, I felt so horrible for her. I know exactly what she is going through. Exactly. I felt like the prick who called me an hour after I got home from my father's funeral to ask me if I was taking vacation or time off without pay.

Halli did call me at 8pm and we spoke. Everything is fine between us and we are on for next Tuesday at 7:30am as always.

Jewish Guilt, thy name is Frances.