The Waiting Is the Hardest Part

As my doppelganger Tom Petty likes to say, the waiting is the hardest part. While I'm relieved yesterday's interview is over, and not just because I was forced to shimmy across Manhattan like a geisha as my tights were, ironically, too tight, the truly most-anxiety producing part starts now: the wait. Will they make me an offer? If so, will it be a good one? And then, even more agonizing, the debate over whether it's the right fit begins.

So, while I sit on my couch, ears pricked like a German Shepherd, listening for Phil's call, let's review yesterday's events. First: the office itself. The elevator opened into the tightly-packed work space. I'm still thanking God I resisted the urge to tug my tights, with the crotch quickly descending to near-knee level, back into position just as I was deposited directly into the action.

While everyone was friendly and helpful, the actual décor made my attic, long on my to-be-cleaned list, look ready for a spread in Architectural Digest. Apparently the $30 million this tech startup raised has really gone toward technology rather than carpeting, fresh paint or furniture. And though it was on Madison Avenue, the only thing resembling Mad Men was the one interviewer who looked just like a more affable version of Harry Crane. He and the other fellow with whom I met were both genuinely enthusiastic about the work they're doing. Each asked challenging questions, which I thought I'd answered fairly well... until I got home and put them to my husband. His replies were like David Einhorn's to my Britney Spears. Uh-oh.

In addition to ceiling tiles, another thing this joint was missing was the all-enveloping scent of coffee. I equate that aroma with thinking and hard work, even if neither is actually happening. Fortunately, I had arrived early and ventured into a nearby Starbucks to pass the time and use the ladies room pre-interview. (And Lordy, nothing makes me wish I had a penis like using the restroom at a Manhattan Starbucks. I might as well burn the shoes I was wearing, 'nuff said.)

I was there for about an hour and it all seemed pleasant enough. After a 10-minute walk to Penn Station, I felt like I'd really hit the jackpot in that my train home was due to leave four minutes after I boarded it. Thanks to mechanical problems, however, that trip ended up taking two hours-something that will definitely factor into my decision should Phil get in touch.

Until I hear from him, I will attempt to complete all the important stuff I would no longer have time for if I were working. Topping the list is resolving a heated battle with Subway as I seek reimbursement for some sandwiches made on incredibly stale bread I wouldn't even feed to a duck.

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