PART 2: The Job I Didn't Get

The continuation of the story about the One that got away, and how some jobs are nevertheless like soulmates.

(…cont. from Part 1)

“How old are you?” He asked.

“25.” I said.

He shrugged and squinted his eyes, nodding. “Almost.” 

YES, according to him, a probably 30-year-old (grown-ass) man, I was almost too old to interview for my first editorial job…at 25. And sadly, because I was a public school kid whose parents scraped to help send me to an excellent SUNY school, which was what we could afford—and I am grateful to them—I believed this grown person. That those jobs were for other people…but not for me. 

I went on more interviews and met more people, including several people who chain smoked through the meetings (I didn’t mind). And then one day, The New Yorker called. Again. This time, the job was permanent, and it was working for one of the features editors (who was/is kind of famous).