Hard to Handle (A 1D Story)

Ch. 1 - Job Interview

Chapter 1 - Job Interview

I tugged on the hem of my black interview skirt for the millionth time. It wasn’t even an “interview” skirt – whatever that meant – but more of a clubbing skirt. I didn’t have much experience with job interviews, hence my lack of “business casual” attire (am I the only one who had to Google-Image that term the night before??) I’d graduated from UCLA with my bachelor’s in Psychology that May – which meant that all my job interviews up until this point had pretty much taken place in big sweaters and oxfords. So apologies, Interview Fashion Gods, if I didn’t own the perfect pair of neutral ecru pumps. Interviews were not my thing. Clubbing, on the other hand? That I had a bit more experience with.

I looked around the small PR office again and squirmed in my seat, regretting my wardrobe decision more with each passing minute. There were two other people in the waiting room – a slightly plump Indian woman in her 30’s and a sharp-looking man around my age. Both were wearing identical pantsuits – which I didn’t know whether to take as the woman being too fashion forward that I didn’t understand it or the man being too feminine. Both were possibilities here in LA.

But in comparison, my skirt was starting to seem too short and too uncomfortable and too inappropriate. The job I was applying for was with Pierce & Wendell, the Hollywood PR agency my friend Katie had interned for last summer. She knew I had been unemployed after graduation, unsure of what to do with my Psychology degree, so she had pulled some strings to get me an interview for a temp job at P&W. The entertainment industry had always appealed to me – I was a TMZ addict and reigning trivia champ at O’Reilly’s, the Westwood bar my friends and I frequented. And Katie had spent all of her internship on a project for Joe Jonas’ manager, which required a whole lot of sitting in on meetings with Joe and talking on the phone with Joe and running clothes to Joe’s house. Seemed easy enough.

My eyes darted from the woman to the man, self-consciously. On the surface, it looked as if they were paying me no attention at all… but I knew, from life experience of growing up in LA – that while it looked as if they were busy reading that Cosmo (him) or fiddling with that resume (her) – they were most likely secretly judging me and each other. It’s what we do. I knew that every move I made in discomfort and every bead of sweat forming on my forehead had not gone unnoticed. My heart raced.

“Jennifer Lei?”

I looked up. The receptionist was holding the door open. Oh God.

“Yes?”

“Follow me.”

I stood at once, stiffly and carefully as to avoid my stupid skirt riding up, trying to simultaneously wipe sweat from my brow without lifting my arms too high to expose potential pit stains on my white top or dropping my resume folder. I must’ve looked like a hot mess. As I passed, I saw the man raise his eyebrows surreptitiously at his magazine, as if to say, “Geez.” I knew it! I knew they’d been silently judging me! Well, fuck you and your boat shoes, sir.

The interview room, as it turned out, was conference-table style, with four people sitting and facing one lonely desk – mine. I took a seat and tried to smile and sit as still as I could. At least they can’t see your skirt from here.

“Hi Jennifer,” a lady with spectacles and a kind smile began. “Did you find the place alright?”

“Uh huh!” I nodded and smiled emphatically. Oh God, that was such a fake smile. You’re so fake, Jen. Pull it together. “Yes, I did,” I added, more calmly. Better.

“So Jennifer, you graduated from UCLA this spring?”

“Correct.”

“So that would make you 21?”

“Yes, I'm 21,” I replied. “Though my fringe bangs may make me seem otherwise.” A ripple of laughter went around the desk, and I relaxed a little.

“It says here you graduated with a Psychology degree? I can’t help but wonder – why PR now?”

“Oh. Well. That’s a story,” I began in my usual tone, which apparently must’ve been amusing, because they all laughed again. “I got into Psych because I didn’t really know what I wanted to do. I mean, I knew I liked the entertainment industry, but at that age, you don’t really think of entertainment as a job. I mean, it is – but back then, I didn’t know it was. I just thought I was totally lame for just watching reality TV all the time while my friends had academic interests. But it’s really the same thing.”

“It is,” one woman nodded. “Definitely.”

“So I just picked any major that seemed interesting. Psychology seemed the most laidback… so, I did it. But the problem with not starting out with love for something meant that once I graduated, I had no idea what direction I wanted to go in. So now, 5 weeks after graduation and a lot of soul-searching… I decided to do it. I’m going to do what I want and worry about the consequences later.”

There were smiles across the table. “That’s a wonderful attitude to have,” the first lady said.

The interview continued in its usual way for another 15 minutes or so, until the last woman began her set of questions. “So besides for your ad agency volunteer position in high school,” she asked, glancing at my resume, “What do you think qualifies you to work with celebrities? Because the particular project we are hiring for requires a bit of that.”

I paused. Good question. “Well…” I began, running a tongue across my teeth in thought, “Even though I am definitely not a celebrity…” (more laughs) “I think I can empathize with what they go through. I’ve grown up my whole life here in LA, and over the years, I’ve seen and hung out with a handful of them.”

“Oh really?” the man cut in, looking pleasantly surprised. “Have you?”

“Yeah,” I grinned back, recalling the memories. “Going to UCLA meant movie premieres down the street and friends who knew friends who knew celebrities.”

They all glanced at each other and scribbled down some notes. I took the chance to go on, “So I’ve seen firsthand what they have to go through. I find it interesting today, how social media has so easily connected the world of the celebrity and the fans. The harder part is helping to curb it when necessary. And that sense of anonymity and normalcy, I would think, is the most important thing I would try to do for them – while, simultaneously and ironically, I would try to promote their name as much as possible.” My brain and voice rate began working at top speed, as they tend to do when I get passionate about what I’m talking about. “I’d want the celebrities I work for to like me but also to respect me – but in a way that they feel an obligation to themselves and never to me.”

“That’s important,” the man replied, nodding. He kept nodding in the silence and clasped his hands. “Okay. I think that’s the end of the interview?” He looked around at his colleagues.

“One more question,” the first woman said, looking intently at me. “Do you know who our latest client is, that we’re hiring this temporary position for?”

Is this a trick question? How the hell would I know? “No,” I answered honestly.

“Have you heard of One Direction?”

I paused, relieved. I know them. “Yes. They sing ‘What Makes You Beautiful’,” I smiled. It was one of my new favorite songs on the radio, but that was almost the extent of my knowledge on their discography. I hoped they wouldn’t test me on One Direction songs…

“Yes, they do,” she beamed encouragingly. “Do you like them?”

I desperately racked my brain for the boys’ faces but only ended up with five blurry hairstyles. “Yeah!” I tried to pull off a knowing enthusiasm. “I… like them. I like that they’re bringing back boy band pop. That’s been way overdue, in my opinion.” My brain kicked again. “After suffering through years of crappy hip-hop of the early 2000’s and weird punk pop of the rest of the decade – I’m thrilled that boy bands are finally back. I’ve been sitting here listening to 98 Degrees in secret for ten years and now my music genre of choice will finally be considered ‘in’ again. So… thank you, One Direction!” I pumped a fist in emphasis and gave an awkwardly sheepish grin.

They all beamed back at me this time.

“Thanks, Jennifer,” they stood and each shook my hand. “We’ll be in touch.”