Going on these OCI interviews sort of feels like going on a blind date that I know is going to be a disaster, or at the very least, a waste of time. It’s like someone who winks at you on Match.com, and you think hey, so what if she is a member of the NRA, and I didn’t even know lesbians could join the Log Cabin Club. But you go anyway. Not because you are desperate (well, maybe a little) but because you have this stupid, foolish hope that maybe you will show up and it will be magic. In the back of your mind, you are guarding yourself against the inevitable hit to your self-esteem that is coming your way.
In some ways, getting 4 interviews is the worse thing that could happen. My chances are slim, but yet, I still have to prepare, I still have to show up. It’s on my mind the whole week. I cut my hair for these goddamn people! I got a French manicure! But I am wearing a pantsuit, and not a skirt like the CDO suggested. If Hillary can run for president in a pantsuit, I think I should be able to go to work in one.