Imagine my excitement when I saw our local neighborhood publication was looking for an editorial assistant. Here is my shot to pursue a serious writing career, and make a real name for myself. I immediately emailed the publisher and asked for an interview. He called me not long after and hired me right over the phone! I can only assume he is familiar with my work, and wants to grab me up before other publications get wind of the fact that I am currently available. And by available, I mean I spend several grueling hours each week writing my blog, while simultaneously surfing facebook trying to find old boyfriends from high school.
We made an appointment the following week to meet in person, and discuss my actual duties. I am assuming he will want me to cover the more important beats, like the local city government and what's happening with our taxes and stuff like that. I will probably also be covering the style section, maybe meeting with head stylists of Nordstrom, and Saks, just checking in on the latest style trends and reporting back to my readers. It is a huge responsibility, but one I feel ready and qualified for.
The day of our meeting arrived. I wanted to look professional, so I pulled out the Ann Taylor Loft suit I wore in June 2011, that day I tried to be a realtor. Certainly, I wanted him to see that I had just the look needed for approaching government officials and style icons. That afternoon, we sat across from each other in Starbucks and made small talk. Then he said,
"Well, I'm really happy you are joining our staff. I am putting you in charge of our two most important sections..."
I knew it. Of course he was thrilled to have a well trained journalist join his team. Pulling me in will definitely knock him up a notch or two with his publishing company.
"You will be covering, "OUR NEIGHBORHOOD KIDS" and "OUR PRECIOUS PETS" sections. Welcome aboard!"
WTF? Me dealing with kids? INTERVIEWING them? "So tell me Amanda, what inspired you to try out for soccer? Oh, what? Your friend Emily asked you to so you could share rides? Well, that is fascinating. Do go on." UGH. What could they possibly have to say that I have any interest in? Plus where am I supposed to find kids? Unless they are hanging out at the martini bar on Beach Drive, I don't really plan on running into any.
Better yet, imagine the award winning articles I will come up with after interviewing people's cats. "So, Mr. Sniffles do you like living in the neighborhood? Swipe your paw once for yes and twice for no. And that's Sniffles with two F's?"
In any case, I guess I'm okay with working my way up and putting in my time. I am learning the ropes and finding my way in the publishing world. It took me a while to get the whole downloading photos thing down. Trust me when I tell you, the New York Times spent less time and energy getting the final photos of Bin Laden then I did on downloading the Prescott twins.
So I am off to my next assignment. Apparently there is a woman a few streets over who has a family of black labs all named after the Cheers' characters. This was revealed to me by an unnamed source, of which I cannot reveal.
I'm on it.
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