I possess a B.A. from a university. I have several years of professional experience, and a list of references to back me. I thought I was doing well. But after spending hour after hour, night after night sending my resume out into the vast vacuum that is the internet, with no response, I started to go a little loopy. It was 2 o’clock in the morning, I was vulnerable, I’d had a few glasses of wine, and I lost my inhibitions. I responded to a “job offer” that popped up in my inbox. I showed up for the interview still skeptical, but after meeting with the head of the company I started to believe it was legit. They were a marketing and event planning company, and they raised money for several causes that helped children. It would be a “fun” job, she explained, that is “feel-good” and “fulfilling.”  It sounded great. This should have been my first cue to run. But my mind swirled around late-night internet searches and retail jobs with horrendous hours, so I was in. I would show up Monday and head out into the “field” with two other girls to an “event” that would give me “hands on training.” Fabulous!

I arrive in business-casual attire–slacks and a pair of heels, with a collared shirt. My trainers greet me, and immediately take note of my shoes. “Oh,” says one. “I hope you brought sneakers.” Yes, because that’s what I always bring my first day at a new job. And thanks for the heads up. We get in the car to head to our big “event.” The driver was very bubbly, too bubbly for 9 a.m. Girl #2 was mellow, albeit very nice. Everything is going fine until we pull out onto the highway and the bubbly one quickly accelerates both her car and her speech to 85 m.p.h. Out of nowhere, she produces a pen and piece of paper and places it in the center of her steering wheel. “So tell me about yourself!”

Let’s see…I can tell you that this is the one time I REALLY should have listened to my mother and never gotten into a car with a stranger, and that I’m really sorry I ate those eggs for breakfast. I hang on tight and do all I can to keep them down. Twenty minutes later we exit the highway, and through one eye I spot a Lowe’s Home Improvement. Surely we have stopped to ask for directions? I suggest to Ms. Bubbles that we better hurry, or else we will be late to the big event. Instead, she parks and instructs me to help “set up.”  I hop out and notice the other girl pulling items from the trunk: a folding table, some t-shirts, a few water bottles and some lunch carriers. Oh. Dear. Lord. This is “hands-on training”? Am I about to become one of those people that I run from?

Before I can say anything, Ms. Bubbles begins to harass her first costumers: some burly looking men needing some building materials. “I think someone needs a t-shirt!” she chirps. The men give her half a glance and keep on walking. “Almost had ‘em,” she says. Here comes an elderly couple. “Come on over and check out these water bottles! You can help the children!” They keep on trucking. I was mortified.

Twenty minutes later Mrs. Bubbles tells me I need to “be aggressive.”

“You know, this really isn’t my thing…” is my reply.

She shoots me a hard glance. “You don’t want to help children?”

Um, last time I checked, helping was donating, not pushing t-shirts onto innocent shoppers. But I back off. I decide I’ll be responsible and suck up my lapse in judgment for a day, and just run like hell the minute I got out of her car and never look back. I am no quitter. I will finish what I started. Ten minutes later I was in the Lowe’s bathroom, dialing my husband. “Pleeeeease come get me!”

“I can’t! I’m in meetings all morning. Wait, you’re where? Doing what?” He stopped laughing and hit the road.

I went back outside and played it cool, and waited for about forty more minutes. I felt guilty for second, but then Mrs. Bubbles tried to lure children in with her nifty lunchsack and it was over for me. Finally, I saw his car pull up. He slowed down and I made a run for it–he never even came to a full stop.

“What do you think you’re doing?” yelled Ms. Bubbles. “Don’t you want to help the children? You are a horrible person!”

Am I? I slammed the door and we were off.

~ Alessandra Salvatore

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