The One About My First Job Interview. Ever.

Yes, ever.
I was never interviewed for the job I have as a DJ. I sort of got. . . drafted. See, what happened was, Jiddu called to ask me if I would like a job and I told him: *uh. . . okay, gimme.* So he picks me up at school after class and drives me someplace where he sits me down on a high stool in front of the boss, puts headphones over my head, shoves a microphone to my face and tells me: *this is an FM station and I need for you to introduce the next song in five, four, three, two. . . * Just like that! Needless to say, I panicked. To this day, I have no idea what I blabbered on about, live over the airwaves that night. But I guess I did okay because then the boss shakes my hand and tells me, *you start tomorrow at eleven.*
Okay. So like I said, I was never interviewed for my first job. So this afternoon, there I was at Ralfs Café, no interview experience whatsoever, sitting in line with all the other applicants who just happened to be the whos who of the Cagayan party scene, trying to convince Paula that we were gonna do okay, when really, I wasnt even sure what I was doing there in the first place. This time, it was a theater mate from my Vagina Monologue days who called me up, a fellow deejay, Foxy Roxy. The conversation started innocently enough, she wanted to know if I was free the following afternoon, I told her yes, she asked if I could meet her at Ralfs by three, I said okay. It turned out they were holding a screening for a job as a Marlboro Girl. *Whats a Marlboro Girl?* I asked the applicant beside me, a gorgeous girl who looked as if she just stepped out of the cover of Cosmo Magazine. *Its like a Tequila Body Shots Girl. But a lot more glamorous , theyre kinda like the girls in that movie Coyote Ugly,* she whispers back. I had no idea what manner of creature a Tequila Body Shots Girl was, and I wasnt sure if I wanted to know what an ugly coyote looks like, so I had no recourse but to nod my head sagely as if I understood, and hoped a Marlboro Girl wouldnt have something to do with dressing up as a coyote. I was up next, and the interview went something like this:

Impeccably Manicured Chinese Dude: So Lez, have you ever modeled before?

ME (trying to decide if I should flash a simpering smile or if I should do that intimidating game face thing that I do): Whuh? Uh. . . no. (Me: thinks *should I tell him Im sorry for never having modeled before? Nah, thatd be stupid. Better not.*)

Impeccably Manicured Chinese Dude: Do you party a lot, Lez? Would you consider yourself a party girl?

ME: I study hard and party harder, thank you very much.

Impeccably Manicured Chinese Dude: How would you react if you get harassed in a bar?

ME: I have emotional jet lag, so Id probably store the incident in my delayed response area. Id walk away and after an hour or two, Id decide I should really have slapped the guy, and so Id go back to where hes sitting to slap him, only he wont be there anymore because by then hed have left an hour ago.

IMCD (laughs): Well now thats a very honest answer. Do you have a boyfriend? How is he likely to react if you get harassed in a bar?

ME (lying through my teeth): I dont have a boyfriend.

IMCD: So I wont have to worry about some big hulking guy suddenly showing up and swinging his fists at the clientele?

ME (lying through my teeth some more): No.

IMCD: Lez, do you mind me asking? Whats your waistline? And can you please stand up and twirl for me?

ME (what the. . . twirl?): Im twenty two inches around the waist (twirls)

IMCD: Will you pose please? Ill have Heidi take a picture of you. Are you sure youve never modeled before?

ME (again with the modeling? Why does he keep asking me that? I would know that I havent, wouldnt I?): Im quite sure. *poses* (Heidi clicks away)

Later that afternoon, IMCD introduced himself to the lot of us. It turned out he was the big boss of the advertising department for Philip Morris/Marlboro. He went on to explain that a Marlboro Girl will *represent their product in bars.* By that he meant, the girls will be made to bar-hop, wearing sexy outfits (Im talking leather pants here) with a teeny Marlboro logo on them, and it is their job to *mingle, and make themselves visible.* The rate was at P3000.00 a night, there are to be security guards surrounding the girls at all times, they are to be picked up by the company van to report to the make up artist, and then on to dinner (paid for by the company), and work begins by 10:00 p.m. So basically, what it all came down to was, a Marlboro Girl is someone who gets paid to party. Kewl, this was my dream job right here. I WANTED THIS JOB. But of course I had to contend with the stiff competition. Being that one of the qualifications is that one had to be a party animal, it would figure that most of the girls there, were weekend mainstays at clubs, so apparently, this was THEIR dream job too. I felt an alien emotion stirring at the pit of my stomach. I was (gasp, could it be?). . . intimidated. By all indications, it didnt matter if I was smart, or witty, or that I could talk circles around IMCD, all that was important here was that one had a pretty face, nice hair, statuesque body, and can at least speak coño English. How could I possibly compete with that?
But of course as with everything else I sink my claws into (nyaha), I got the job. Me and two others: Mae and Yoc. Mae tells us shes an underwear model for Avon, Yoc replies, she was last years Miss Cagayan. And then they both turn to me with expectant faces, and I tell them I. . . am a Law student.
And that was that.