Dr. Seuss just got served

So it turns out that the guy whose signature is on all our dollar bills is a Dartmouth grad. His name's Hank Paulson, and he's the "Secretary of the Treasury". I emailed him yesterday for an interview (henry.m.paulson.68@alum.dartmouth.org). We chatted this afternoon:

RickyRetardo_08: a/s/l
SpankPaulson_68: ha ha
SpankPaulson_68: how are u today
RickyRetardo_08: Great, thanks! And you?
SpankPaulson_68: oh geez, i'm SWAMPED at work
SpankPaulson_68: seriously tho, i've gotten like 2 hours of sleep
RickyRetardo_08: what, are they making you sign all the newly designed pennies ;)
SpankPaulson_68: haha, no this whole market shit is my department
SpankPaulson_68: so screwed. f u c kkkkkkk
SpankPaulson_68: but what's going on with you?
RickyRetardo_08: oh, i got some green sculpy clay today
RickyRetardo_08: and i'm going to make a little alligator figurine
RickyRetardo_08: while i watch heroes tonight :D
SpankPaulson_68: haha thats awesome
RickyRetardo_08: I know, right? I can make you one too...
SpankPaulson_68: really? yes puh-lease
RickyRetardo_08: sure, I'd just need a little $$ to buy more clay
SpankPaulson_68: no prob, how much
RickyRetardo_08: OH JUST 700 BILLION DOLLARS
RickyRetardo_08: NO STRINGS ATTACHED
SpankPaulson_68: >: (
SpankPaulson_68: fuck you, you have no idea what its like
RickyRetardo_08: ~~~GOTCHA BITCH~~~

glamerica

One road trip and 40+ electronic resumes later (tangible evidence=0), I finally got an interview at the end of August. The managing editor couldn't resist when I showed up pertly dressed in business formal...probably immediately smitten with my sharp wit, raven-like eyes, the homemade "CONFIDENCE = COMPETENCE" pin on my lapel, and love of artisanal cheeses and anal-retentive workflows. AHA! And so I was offered a job.

(This isn't what happened at all. In fact, one of her interview questions was this: "As a stagnating bean sprout in the primordial pool of the entry-level, how do you sooth yourself to sleep at night through the shuddering sobs of self-denigration and hopelessness?" and I cried a little bit when I told her about a camp song that I sometimes sing)

I did get the job. I've finally moved into my Bushwick (or, in realtor speak, "East Williamsburg") sublet. I have a new home, and a new job. My new grocery store is the Food Bazaar and I can afford Top Ramen every other week. Could it be the American Dream?

So it's not exactly glamourous. But then again, isn't it? You get swept up in the Machine with your well-painted mask of apathy, but it's one that mercifully cracks from time to time. Holy bodega, look at us go. I can see all of Manhattan out my window, and I don't hate it.

What's up, thousands?

("applying for entry level," www.toothpastefordinner.com)