Thursday, January 24, 2013

Um, uh-oh
I have no idea what I did yesterday. It is all a blur. I had plenty of time to get ready for part two of my interview at the fancy, fancy gym. This was good because it took me six times to get the stockings on. Now I remember why I never wear them: one false twist of the fabric and instead of a covering for your legs you get a handy dandy tourniquet. Then I had to face the heels. I knew I couldn't make it to the car over all of the cobblestones wearing them so once we got to the car (in the rain, of course) I put one foot up on the dashboard at a time and prayed while I slowly inched up the zippers of my boots. I was wearing the same short dress, but I changed the belt and took off the jacket so that I only had short sleeves, even though it was freezing. I left my bag and my umbrella in the car and I tied the belt of my mini trench behind my back because if I was going to stink it up and the interview, I wanted at least not to trip or drop stuff repeatedly.

 I met Giacomo from the day before and he took me to the cafe' again, but this time I had a sip of water because I was too scared to pee all morning because of having to lower those stockings and by this point my tongue was sticking to the roof of my mouth. I did dazzle him with my wit, but I did remember to ask how his appointment at the university had gone yesterday and then we went to meet with the owner and big cheese, Sig. Malfatti. I had to pass by a glass cubicle with this model boy from my penultimate gym Olympia who was now a salesman of memberships at the Ego. I waved goofily at him and he ignored me. I told myself it was because I looked so great that he didn't recognize me at all. I didn't believe myself, but it was a nice effort.

The one thing I did prepare was my first sentence to Sig. Malfatti after we exchanged Piaceres which means nice to meet you. I said I learned from Giacomo yesterday that we have a lot in common. I knew that if he didn't bite and ask how's that I would say because . . . I am also persistent and, like you, I love a full classroom. When they lit up and chuckled appreciatively I had to pinch myself. This was going really well. I explained how innovative my method was and that I was from New York. He told me I looked thirteen years younger than I am and asked Giacomo why he hadn't found me earlier. GIacomo stammered and explained that I had not accepted their policy of exclusivity last time. He explained that now that I had an offer from another gym I had called to alert them because, even though the season had started and they don't have many spaces open, I wanted to respect their policy. I kept saying these bold things and the more I said them the more I thought I was this alter ego other me. I eased off my trench, I flirted, I challenged, I proposed. They even complimented me on my accent. Here's where the up-oh comes in.

I somehow woke up after 40 minutes and realized that I was wearing very tight panty control stockings over my foot braces hidden in my high heeled boots and that I had no idea what I had said or why I was still in Sig. Malftatti's office. Last time, he just came by to give a glance at me (I was wearing workout clothes) and then left with an unimpressed look on his face. They told me that they would give me a series of tests starting with my providing a lesson or show for all the instructor's at their pizza party. Then I would do some master classes for the students to see if they like me. If all that went well, they would give me five hours a week to start to see how I work. If all that goes well, next year my metamorfosi class could, and I quote, explode like a bomb. I could have a piece about my work in their advertisment flyer that gets plastered all over the city. I could work thirty hours a week and earn over time their most prized time slots. I gave them the impression that my husband was rich and that I could afford to take me time. This was important because ALLEGEDLY I already have a full schedule of private clients. Sig. Malfatti was so delighted that he walked me out of his office and I was so not myself that I didn't trip or take one misstep. I did that model walk where you cross your feet in front of each other ever so slightly. Then I got back to F in the car and died. Or that person who did this interview died. I am just here scared out of my mind.

Next week they want me to start taking other instructor's classes. Other instructor's enjoy this as much as a colonoscopy unless they are sadistic and make the visiting instructor suffer and do impossible things. Out of the four classes, two would be impossible for me because they are yoga and step both of which always injure me. I am going to have to find a way to skip those and try bare core (I think the e was supposed to be silent) and aloha. I have no idea what they are. I am terrified of the Stepford wives dressing room where the women make your junior high locker room look like child's play. What happens when I don't have my hair done and my nails done and my skin is all broken out and I have to go there (which is far from my house) every day? But wouldn't it be cool, if it somehow worked out?

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