Sunday, January 22, 2012

Clothes Makes The Man, But Mini-Pads Makes The Woman

Thursday morning held a lot of promise for me. I had lined up my first interview and had the potential to make some really good contacts within the high school sports community.Wanting to look snazzy and semi-professional, I opted for khakis and a sweater instead of the usual yoga pants and sarcasm-laced t-shirt.

Dropped The Kiddo off at school at 8:25 and realized I had to be at my meeting at 8:30. Strike One. Crap.  My first instinct was to call and reschedule the appointment, feigning car troubles.  Then I realized .5 seconds later that launching a paper and being the Regional Manger meant that I had to pull on the big girl panties and do it, even at the cost of running a few minutes late and looking like a fool (at least in my eyes).

After all, I was meeting with the head of the athletic department and it wouldn't be fair to waste his time just because I was freaking myself out.  Seriously, everyone runs late.  The Kiddo's school is 4 minutes down the road from the high school.  As I drove sped towards the school chanting 'calm the fuck down' to myself and mentally giving the bird to several drivers, I hopped out of the car and strode into the main building with false confidence and poise that impressed me.

The receptionist gave me a glance usually one reserves for trash in the gutter and told me to sign in.  Fortunately the coach appeared and ushered me to a side room before I started shooting dirty looks back at Ms-Cranky-Mc-Answer-The-Damn-Phone-Pants.

So I sit down, pretending to be poised and calm, when I actually wanted to piss myself.  I think I said "I appreciate your time" 5 times before I flipped open my notebook.  The noise in the hallway was going to make conversation difficult so I leaned back in my chair to nonchalantly close the door.  Except, I almost wrenched my arm of out my socket.  The door was held in place by an industrial strength magnet.  Strike Two.

No big deal. I mentally adjusted myself and flashed a broad smile as the director stood up to close the door while I rubbed my now strained shoulder.  I reached into my brand new purse and fished around for my pen and my cell phone because I had planned on recording the interview.  My memory isn't worth two licks at times, so I wanted to play it on the safe side, lest I forget a crucial piece of information.

I grabbed my phone and dropped it on the table.  Oh, and I managed to flip a mini pad onto the table at the same time.

Strike Three.

Mini-Pad meet Table.  Table meet Mini-Pad.

I glanced up quickly and our eyes met.  Without missing a beat, I swiped the pad back into the purse, gave my most charming grin, and proceeded on without any additional hitches. 

10 minutes later I was out the door and laughing all the way home.  I might not have the grace and poise of Ann Curry, but I'm a scrappy little fighter.  I might not know what the hell I am doing, but I sure will try.