Sunday, April 4, 2010

Do you live around here often?

posted Tue, 12 Sep 2006

I think I have finally learned to tell the difference between a hit and regular conversation.

I was at the job fair waiting for my friend Patricia, who never showed, by the way. I was standing across from the FedEx booth, watching people, one of my main hobbies. Telling people what to do is another, peeing is yet another. At least if you gauge hobbies by 1) how much you like doing something or 2) how much you actually do something.

SH says of course he didn't notice these shoes. How could he NOT??? Almost everyone else at the party did.

I am watching how people are dressed to find employment. Granted, this job fair is not where people go for the high-level positions – as I learned, much to my dismay. But still – don’t you think being somewhat dressed up would you give an edge over the next applicant, even in a tight job market?

My friend Anita and I just had a conversation about this. “What would you wear if you were looking for a job, even a low-level job?” I asked her.

“Oh, I don’t know. Flip flops. Cut-offs. A holey old t-shirt,” she mused.

“Then you would fit right in at this job fair,” I told her.

And indeed she would. Except the guy wearing shorts had tennies. And the guy wearing flip flops was wearing jeans. One woman wore a pink shirt, dark pants (OK so far), a white denim jacket (strike one), and pink crocs (strikes two and three). But – she was working at the fair. She wasn’t a job seeker, so she doesn’t really count.

One job seeker wore tight jeans splattered with bleach, high heels and a sparkly t-shirt. She had her sunglasses on top of her head and a pierced lip. She was smacking chewing gum.

Perhaps I did stand out a bit in my blue bouclĂ© skirt suit, spectator slingback pumps and briefcase. Such a curse to have the “knows how to dress appropriately” gene.

So I’m waiting, I’m waiting, I’m waiting for Patricia. I’m bored. I’ve noticed men checking me out, or at least I think that’s what they’re doing. I’m never sure. But I think they’re looking at my legs. Maybe it could be that I am one of the few women there who is showing her legs. Most of the other women are wearing pants. Perhaps it is the novelty of visible legs that is attracting their attention.

Then a man walks up to me. “Is this the place where people stand to think?” he asks – something dumb like that.

What am I supposed to say to that? What a stupid question! I just give him a tight smile.

He keeps talking. Have I had any luck at this job fair? What sort of job am I looking for? He pulls out a business card and introduces himself. (I don’t introduce myself back.) He’s an insurance salesman. He’s not hitting on me after all! Whew!

But then he says, “I saw those shoes and that hat from across the room…”

Maybe he’s a gay insurance salesman? They are great shoes and straight men usually don’t notice shoes. SH never noticed my wonderful red pumps the first night we met.

I finally disengage from the conversation, but not without his telling me I can call him anytime to talk about insurance or jobhunting. OK, sure.

When I leave, I see him in the parking lot. “One of these nights, I’m going to have to take you and those shoes out!” he says.

“Oh, I don’t think my boyfriend would like that,” I say cheerily

That was a hit. And a hit can be blown off.

I like it when things are clear.

No comments:

Post a Comment