Pace

Pace , pace, pace. All this pacing would be easier if I picked up some of the shit on the floor, but I don't. By now, I can walk this route blindfolded.

Two steps forward, lead with the right.
Third step, lift the right foot to avoid guitar pedal.
Fourth step, lift left slightly to avoid guitar cable.
Fifth step is tricky-swing and lift right leg-there's a beer bottle right behind the pedal and it's a forty.
Six, Seven , turn around on Eight.

Simple.

Why all this pacing? Waiting for the phone to ring, of course.
Waiting for a woman.
To call about a job. An interview, to be precise. By way of word-of-mouth reference I got a call from another Company as a potential candidate for a cush job.
So I'm waiting for the if and when.

It's a lot like pre-date anxiety, but much worse.
At least when you're gettin' the date jitters, you can reassure yourself that your companion is probably just as nervous as you- at an interview, you don't hold any of the cards. You are being judged by a person who is completely indifferent to you. Not objective-just indifferent.

The friends who annoyingly advise you to "just be yourself" before a date, never give you that same advice before a job interview.

I hate the way our society requires one to have multiple personas-almost forcing multiple personality disorder on us all. What happens when the false faces start over-lapping? Who can tell? They do it all the time, but we never notice. We hope no one else does either.

Don't get me wrong-I can and will bullshit my way through an job inquisition and the job itself.
But on a date? The crazy shows up and drives away all but the other crazies.

**BRING**

Hello? Oh. Well, sure, I understand.

The new job has to wash her hair.