Shit! Where are my interview jeans?

Every once in a while I'll interview for a full time job. Based on the fact that my name is still Temp X, you can guess what my success rate is.

"As long as I keep writing..." I remind myself.

When I first moved here, I had an interview to be an office assistant for a semi-successful TV show. Why semi-successful? It does just well enough to avoid cancellation, but if you ask someone walking down the street if they'd ever heard of it, chances are they'd say no. So for my interview I showered, shaved and put on my "Interview Suit." I'd read show scripts, I did my research, knew all the key players. I was primed and ready.

With confidence brimming, I walk into the production office, briefcase in hand and announced my arrival. A few moments later the producer comes in gives me "the look." It's the looks that says "You're not getting the gig. I don't care if you're Ted Turner and Sumner Redstone's lovechild. You're not getting it." As predicted, I didn't get the job. The feedback had nothing to do with anything I said or anything I did. "You were too well dressed for the interview, " I was told. Ahhh, Hollywood.

Today I had an interview with another, more successful show. So I dug up my new "interview suit" - a pair of jeans that are clean but look dirty, a t-shirt with a smiling mouse (not Mickey) and what I refer to as my "Grandpa Sweater." If this outfit doesn't work, maybe I'll just go naked.