I'm pretty sure it was my new outfit. And the recent highlights. Because it couldn't have been my wild, journalistic abilities and impressive professionalism that landed me a job less than a week after leaving the old one.
But alas, I am employed. By an actual a job. A job that pays money, and doesn't render my journalism degree worthless. I'm a reporter again. At a newspaper, which we will call from this point on The Newspaper.
CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?
You realize this means I can have an apartment now. With a bedroom door. And my very own Internet access. Oh, my God. I need to sit down. Oh, wait. I am.
On Day Two of Unemployment, I was given the heads up about a job opening at The Newspaper. Not just any newspaper, but my hometown newspaper. Nevermind that it's half the size of my old town, and about half the salary (exaggeration), because it's a newspaper.
And a j-o-b. And I can still see my name in print, which is excellent for my ego.
I went in earlier this week to meet with the editor at a moment's notice. I showed up in the jeans, t-shirt and running shoes I threw on that morning. I know how to make an impression.
But apparently I'm impressive enough to get called back for a second interview. I made it a point to look fashionable today, so I actually showered. Put on a little perfume. New clothes.
And what do you know? It worked.
"Look, I'm just going to get to the point," he says from across the desk. "I want you to work here."
OK, then! See you Monday!
And so I start my new job. On Monday. Take that, unemployment.