The Art of Negotiation

This blog is dedicated to the Art Gallery Hiring Lady, whom I had the immense pleasure of interviewing with last week.  If I'm not mistaking, and I'm not, you were going to call me back last Friday, with a time and date for my second interview.    Strangely, I have been to Sprint twice in the last 48 hours, and it appears that my phone is working properly. On a side note, I also found out that I am not due for an upgrade until January as I gave my first iphone upgrade to my daughter H, who had her new iphone all of two days before dropping it on the floor.  There is a huge scratch across the front now, rendering it virtually unusable, while my 1989 crackberry continues to function, though it sounds like you are speaking to me while gargling mud.  The point is, the reason I have not heard from you cannot be blamed on faulty equipment.

I have replayed the interview over and over in my head and frankly, I cannot see why you didn't hire me on the spot.  You asked me what I thought my qualifications were for this job and I told you: 1.  I took an art history class once in college,   2.  I wrote a paper on Mary Cassatt in high school and 3.  I don't have to be home to cook dinner anymore so I can work late occasionally. And yes, I know I said occasionally, but really, do you want me to burn out so quickly that I no longer love standing on my feet all day, offering clients my advice and expertise, only to be told they are just looking as they meander through with a nonfat iced latte?   I mean seriously, a person needs some down time.

Really, AGHL, I am at a loss here.  Did you or did you not tell me you loved my shoes? Did I, or did I not, listen to you blather on and on about your two boys ages 8 and 10.  Guess what, remember that part when I said boys are so much easier than girls?  I LIED!  HA, just wait until they discover Jack Daniels, and Marlboros and combine those two elements with their free period at school.  Oh yeah, you heard me.  Be prepared for the fact that there WILL be parties happening on your porch, once you are sound asleep in an ambien fog.  COUNT ON IT.  Oh and P.S?   Their blonde hair will get darker as they get older, and between you and I, you may want to think of playing down the boyscout uniform photos. In my day, wearing that uniform was just another way of saying: "Hey everybody!  Come kick my ass!"
Just saying....

Okay, I am sorry I laughed out loud when I asked about the mummies lying all over the place,  and you told me they were from an exhibit on sex slaves.  I thought you were kidding.   But honestly, how do you compare those big piles of bandages to little Asian girls with stilettos? I was perplexed.  That's all.  Sure I see it now, mummies and sex slaves.  Of course, it makes perfect sense.  I get it AGHL, I really do.  I am so totally on board with that.

I do not want to threaten AGHL, but I want you to hear this from me.  The day is going to come when I am a published author and will no longer be buying my art from the Target sale rack.  And, when the  people from Elle Decor magazine come over to film me in my beautiful home, they are going to ask me where I acquired all my valuable/breath taking art.  And it will NOT BE from the M****** M****** Gallery AGHL.  Then your boss will say to you, "Hey, didn't you have the chance to hire her?" and you will have to own up to your mistake of epic proportions.  You will be fired and your two sons will have to go back to public school, where they will definitely get their asses kicked for the bowl cuts they sport.

Let's make this easy for both of us.  My crackberry is charged up and waiting for your call.








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