This huge pile of clothes is moving back and forth between my bed and the floor, deal

Friday I had the most absurd interview in the history of the world. For the sake of keeping this totally out-of-wack institution unnamed I will call it IndividualArt.Com.

And before I get into the guts of what went down I'd like to discuss my sister for a moment. Anne always says that I remind her of Larry David. Usually I'm like, "yeah my life is a sitcom, whatever." But this experience at IndividualArt.com solidifies her observation that I should just quit life and start writing my memoirs now.

Okay, so last week I found Individualart.com's listing on Craigslist.com. They're looking for an intern a few days a week to do basically everything - they're an internet start up. I figured, I've done EVERYTHING, so I can definitely handle "everything." So, I send a resume, they call, we set up an interview. Money.

The day comes. I get up, I make my hair as big as humanly possible, I put on my most respectable yet un-stuffy interview outfit and I hit the train for the city. Now, those of you who don't know me probably aren't aware of that fact that I am anally retentive, freakishly punctual, and basically type-a about everything. Its just part of my charm.

Anyway, with this in mind, I'm set up to be in the city one hour before the interview - just in case I get lost, the train gets derailed, there's a freak snow storm - whatever. I'm ready.

So I get to 5th and 31st about twenty minutes before my interview. The door is locked. Okay, they're not in yet. I'll have a smoke. Oh, I'm out of cigarettes. I'll stand here like an asshole for half an hour leafing through my file-o-fax. awesome.

Now its ten of eleven. I'm getting nervous. I call the office - answering machine. "Hi, this is Allyson, I have an appointment at 11 and I think I'm locked out, can someone please call me back?" etc.

At 11 o'clock some over educated ex hipster with a useless degree (aka me in two years) calls back, "Uhm Allyson, Yeah, I guess I should have told you thats not really where the office is...."
Uh, What? Not REALLY where it is? Well where is it REALLY?! Now I'm running through Manhattan, trying to change into my heels and find where this office REALLY is (hopefully it exist on EARTH) and make in there five minutes ago.

I find the joint. The doorman looks at me knowingly, as if to say, "Late? How could you!?" I get upstairs and the office is set up like a studio with desks everywhere. Everywhere I turn is some kid from Vassar with a degree in French and black horn rimmed glasses. Everyone fell out of an Urban Outfitters catalog and everyone was, of course, snotty and cranky in an indie rock kind of way. I was want to say, "Listen, stain-on-your-100 dollar-sweater-from-american-apparel, back up off me, I'm from south jersey." But I refrained.

They make me wait. Finally, Ms. Couldn't be less interested in you if i HAD to be, begins the interview - which went exactly like this

"So you got a little lost, eh? Guess I should have given you the right directions. So, Religious studies, what's that all about? Oh, you have some development experience, thats nice. Some one will call you on monday."

I made it to Penn Station in time to get on the 11:37 train. I hate my life and needless to say, no one called on monday.