Little Triumphs

I had the third of four interviews today for a position at a nonprofit organization that services the Latino community. I woke up at 9:30am, quite nervous about all of the things that I need to plan for the day before me and because the commute there takes about an hour and fifteen minutes. I was also very self conscious because of the cloths that I was planning to wear and that fact that recent worries have caused a pubescent-like outbreak of acne on most of my forehead and I really wanted to make a good impression. On top of that I felt a little intimidated by the other applicants because unlike me, I assume that they all have money for fresh haircuts, nice ties, shoes, etc. It did not help that I had the opportunity to see one of the other interviewees who looked a lot older then I (even though he only has 2 years on me) and always looks really sharp in his suits. I would have like to have worn one, but I have no suits that fit me because my arms and back have out grown most of my tops and my waist is a lot smaller. The last suit I tried on, I ripped down the back when I tried to tie my shoes and I was unable to lift my arms higher then about 6 or 7 inches. The worst part yet was that after my interview, I would have to go directly to work and sweat for nine hours, not to mention the pimples on my forehead made out to look like an early 20’s chump without the needed experience to qualify for the job title of Education and Outreach Director. After chasing my tail around for an hour, I armed myself with a fistful of quarters and headed out. I did not begin to reclaim calmness, until I was about thirty minuets away from the interview site. Despite all of my worries of arriving late, I actually got out of the train with 45min to spare and wondered how it was that I got here so quickly in comparison to my last few trips here.

The first of my interviews, on Tuesday, was completely in Spanish because the agency wanted to make sure that I was in fact proficient enough in Spanish to work in a professional bilingual setting. Considering that all of my formal education has been in this country, and that I have never had the need to use anything other then vernacular in my day to day dealings with the Hispanic community, I did very well. My second interview was easier even though it was with the Assistant Executive Director, primarily because it was a one-on-one and in my preferred language of expression.

When I arrived the other two applicants were already waiting for their turn before the firing squad. There was a very pretty girl who seemed perplexed and uninterested in looking anyone in the eye, as well as Mr. Sharp-Suits with his ever present smirk of confidence. I was especially nervous about today’s interview because it was a panel interview, consisting of about twelve individuals, all of which I would work with in some capacity and many of which would be supervised by the applicant who gets the position. I discouraged sweaty palms and fidgeting, by helping a really cute Dominican abuelita (grandma) in translating a stack of dog-eared rubber banded correspondence that she gingerly handed to me one letter at a time. She was a blessing for helping the otherwise eternal minutes pass by quickly and not allowing me to worry or doubt myself up to a minute before I was called in. She walked away thanking me, not knowing that it was I who was thankful of our chance encounter.

I was to be the last interview and I figured that since this was normally the staffs lunch time they would by now be hungry, restless and heaven forbid, irritable. I timed the other interviews to get a sense of how long the grueling process would perhaps take. The first girl was 23 min and the guy in the suit and hot tie, 19.

To make a long story short, I was in there 45 min and walked out feeling extremely proud of my self, not only because the extra 25min was perhaps a sign of well thought out thorough responses on my part, nor because I didn’t stutter or crack my voice in the face of the nerve wrecking situation but because I felt that I genuinely made a connection with the staff and felt that I would probably genuinely enjoy coming to work in such an environment on a day to day. One of the girls came out after I was done and said, “Off the record, you were really great in there.”

I walked out of there so happy that I hardly noticed the pain that my dress shoes caused my feet. I had an extra 5 dollars this morning that a friend blessed me with and walked over to a Grays Papaya like restaurant and had a two hotdog and drink lunch special that cost me just under three dollars. This being my first afforded lunch in about two weeks I was quite ecstatic at the bites and sips of fatty carb-licious hot dogs and sugary mango drink that were finding their way down my belly. I didn’t even worry about being down to three dollars for the rest of the day, two of which I knew were budgeted for my train ride back home.

The train ride to work was quite long and I saw the air conditioned time as a great opportunity to catch up on a few chapters of Harry Potter, a burning three pound reminder of a book that was beckoning me all morning long to read on. A musician walked in at the 125th street subway station with two congas and played beautifully for us. He was amazing and I felt as if he were communicating to us via his drums. I imagined my African ancestors bobbing their heads in a rhythmic unison of approval. Not many people gave him money and so I parted with one of my quarters as a thankful gesture and silent means of conveying that I too knew that things can get hard and that even a quarter can change one’s day.

Work was not thrilling, but much easier to deal with then these last few months. Primarily, because I stopped bussing tables and two people quit, meaning that I now will have more hours, I am now the new Assistant to the Pastry Chef and lastly, because dickhead chef hate-a-lot no longer works there. Best of all is that I get to eat at least one good meal there at no cost which is helpful beyond words during these frivolous times and when I am the desert man for the day, I get to request an extra meal towards the end of the night without any objections from the other chefs. I have also developed a tight friendship with the Pastry Chef, who looks out for me a lot. I not sure if she knows how much it means to me when she orders food and shares it with me just in time to settle my growling stomach for a few hours, never knowing that that is all I will probably be able to eat for another 15 hours on difficult days. She’s the bomb and I know that the universe will pay her back in kind.

I left work super-duper happy because I made an extra $5.00 in tips and regained my earlier given away quarter in an instantaneous karmatic twenty fold. The only bad thing about it was that the automated Metrocard vending machine that night was not excepting dollar bills and in the process of asking New Yorkers for a dollars worth of change which, if I may add, is not an easy thing to do primarily because most people don’t even want to acknowledge you and would rather pass you by and pretend that you were talking to someone else in that otherwise empty city street block. After a trial and error period of about fifteen minutes, I found my needed quarters and began my hour long ride home, with Harry and magical friends, where I would enjoy a few hours to my self before my thirteen hour long work day begins tomorrow. But hey, I am 5 dollars richer, full in the belly, got home safe, got a small assortment of chores out of the way and even found time to write.

Not bad at all.