I rode the elevator up to the 54th floor of the handsomely decorated offices. I had a meeting with the editor-in-chief!
I was ushered into a huge office and a lovely man wearing spectacles, suspenders, and a bow tie greeted me. He was really lovely.
He asked me a few questions and I answered them to the best of my ability. I don't recall the exact inquiries but I do remember using my hands quite a bit in my answers. I tend to get a bit animated, especially when I'm nervous.
And I was nervous. I had borrowed an expensive suit from my mother, a conservative skirt that hit below the knee with a matching jacket that was buttoned. Mom and I placed one of her broaches at the chest bone to secure the jacket properly.
Underneath I wore an old bra that probably didn't fit real well.
As my animated self divulged my career path to date, the dear man in the bow tie stared directly in my eyes.
I remember thinking, "Boy, he really makes good eye contact!"
Finally, the poor man looked at me and had to say, "You might want to look down."
I glanced down at my jacket which had come undone and I found myself sitting in the editor of MONEY MAGAZINE'S office with my boobs hanging out! The bra was really not very good.
I finished the interview as best I could and stepped out of the office. As soon as I was safely secured in the confines of the elevator I broke out into fits of hysterical laughter.
And NO I did not get the job. The thank you note I had to write was difficult. But even my 27-year-old boobs didn't impress him enough to hire me at MONEY.
I don't think I have laughed that hard at myself in a long time. I need to start doing more of that. Laughing that is, not showing off my boobs.