Although maybe you can; it's just a matter of deciding what home is.
I did my last bit for CalSports last night. After the Stealth were eliminated from the playoffs, I told George that I wasn't going to sign a new contract to cover the Dragons, and gave two weeks' notice on the scorecasts. He was kind of surprised, but he could also see it's been something I've wanted to do for a while. He threw me a great going-away party last night, and had enough respect for me that he didn't spend a lot of time trying to convince me to stay.
Rick didn't take it quite so well. He couldn't believe I'd make that kind of move without consulting him. On a certain level, he does have a point; if you have a career where an agent makes sense, he needs to be in the loop on your career choices. Still, I said, the fact that he said "consulting" rather than "informing" was part of the reason I didn't. There'd be no point.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means..." We were at a restaurant, and I probably did some awkward thing then - reaching for my glass, deciding I didn't want to use that as a delaying technique for what I had to say, deciding I really was thirsty... "It means that this isn't that kind of career move. It's not about wanting to change jobs because I'm not getting paid enough, or the cheerleader thing made me feel uncomfortable, or I've got another option. I just don't want to do TV sports any more. If I'd consulted you, you'd have tried to talk me out of it, because to do otherwise would be arguing against your own interests."
He said that wasn't completely true; this would be a challenge, but we could work together on the next phase of my career. That's when I told him that I wasn't just quitting this job, but his agency. There were a bunch of reasons; it felt weird to have that kind of working relationship with someone I'd slept with, I wanted to write and his agency was more set up for in front of the camera talent (and media where there was a camera!). Besides, I was going to be leaving California--
"Without telling your boyfriend?"
"Come on, Rick, we haven't been that in... I don't know if we were ever that. We were just convenient and safe; it was easier having someone we could talk to about everything. But you don't need that any more. You've... assimilated, I guess. You like the life you're in. I'm probably all that's keeping you from packing up shop and moving to Los Angeles to take it to the next level. And don't think I don't know about the pretty young things you've been seeing on the side."
"You could..."
"I don't want to! I don't want to live where I have a chance of running into the jerk calling himself Arthur Milligan on the street, let alone at work, even if I'll miss my home town. I don't want to spend years trying to fake knowledge of lacrosse or really concentrate on learning that, or just being a pretty face that reads sports scores. I want to research, and learn, and create."
"And you'll be doing that...?"
"Back in Boston. I've got a friend there, and know some in New York, and... Well, you may be content with what the Inn made you, and figure your time worrying about it is at an end, but I want to know more. I need to know more, and I'm going to have to be near it to do that."
It went downhill after that; I think in a while he'll accept that this is best, but that was pretty much like being fired for him, and nobody likes that.
I do think everyone should try quitting their job at least once in their life, though - the next two weeks can be some of the most enjoyable you can imagine, if you still get along with your co-workers, because none of the annoying crap touches you. You can really look at and think about what you're doing objectively.
And if you're in my position - which you're probably not - there is something quite liberating about selling everything you inherited from the person whose appearance you took. All the bulky exercise equipment, furniture, books, movies (I'm keeping some of the electronics) - gone. I'd sell the car, too, but I figured I'd wait and see how useful it is back in Boston before going that far. I've had Lyn scouting out apartments for me, and I've got a few job interviews lined up. It's going to be exciting.
I am tempted to stay here, but it's not what I want and really need right now. And it will be great to see Lyn regularly again, especially after not having seen her for a year.
-Art/Penny
Showing posts with label Rick. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Rick. Show all posts
Friday, May 23, 2008
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
Arthur/Penny: If you think I'm providing a link, you're nuts.
I should have known this was going to happen, but I didn't. I've got half a mind to fire "Rick", quite honestly, even though he's got a small point when he says that he's only been working as an agent for less than a year and thus couldn't be expected to anticipate this. My initial instinct is to call bullshit, because he's sort of been anticipating this ever since we wound up in these lives, but I probably won't.
It just goes to show how ignorant I can be that I didn't have any idea what was going on until Tuesday. I had decided not to go to bed at all Monday night, since I was going to watch the A's game at 3am (7pm Tokyo time) and getting just three or four hours of sleep is pretty useless. I put in some late-night time on the treadmill before the game started, then got out the laptop so that I could do some re-writing and surfing done while mostly paying attention to the TV.
I wasn't surprised to see Lyn on at the same time. She IMed me first, asking if if I was up late or early. "Late," I typed. "You?"
"Early. Got a lunch shift. I probably wouldn't be up at all, but Matt's watching it at the station and wants to chat with me so it would like we're in the same room."
"Aw. That's sickening."
"Hey, someday you'll meet the right guy and you'll be doing stuff like that too."
"I don't know if I'm ever going to be that much of a girl."
"Hey, a year and a half ago, you couldn't imagine dressing up as a schoolgirl, but you make a damn hot cheerleader!"
I tensed up a little behind my keyboard, but typed that I chickened out.
"Liar! It's on YouTube." Link. Link. Link. Link.
I took a moment to follow the links Lyn sent me, becoming more mortified with each one, especially some of the comments on them. The fact that they appeared to have been typed by illiterates didn't do much to camouflage their crudity.
"Oh my god... I don't know what's worse, that these things exist or that you must have gone looking for them! Please tell me that your secret admirer sent them to you or something!"
"Hey, you can't expect a girl not to be curious after that cliffhanger. But come on, you pulled it off, you were classy. Those people would make comments like that if they found pictures of their mothers online!"
I found that less than reassuring, and changed the subject to stuff like Matt being "the right guy" or why she was still working at Headlights. And the game. I'm afraid I jinxed the A's during the ninth, saying I was about ready to go to bed just before the Red Sox tied it up. Lyn taunted me for that.
I was doing the scorecast the next night, and told George about these clips, saying I'd really appreciate it if the network could lean on Google to take the clips down - that was copyrighted CalSports footage, after all! He said he'd see what he could do. I wound up staying up all night at the studio - the weird hours for the games in Japan meant that instead of just shooting a bit that could be edited into the program for the morning repeats, we stayed up and watched the game, rewriting copy so that we'd be able to just shoot a new bit when the game finally ended at six.
It was a busy weekend - a Saturday game in Edmonton - so I didn't get a chance to see whether the videos were taken down. They were not, and it was almost like George forgot that I'd even wanted that. I came in yesterday to do a scorecast and he was giving me the good news about how ratings for the games were up 40% this weekend. The higher-ups at the network were really pleased, he said, and were probably going to talk to Rick about offering me a full-time contract.
I was a bit sarcastic, I think - something about whether or not they'd be reconfiguring the set so that the audience could see my belly button during the show, or whether cleavage would be enough. That raised some eyebrows, so George took me aside, saying that this was a good thing - maybe some of the people that tuned in to look at me would get into lacrosse, or I'd be able to work on more prominent assignments - this was a good thing!
I said I guess, if you just wanted to call games and read scores. I'd worn the outfit to call attention to the story, and it didn't sound like it was going to lead to more stories, which was what I really wanted to do. George said he could see my enthusiasm for it, but that's not the way it usually worked in television - they tend to do work with the local papers, and the promotion path goes toward more on-screen time.
I did the broadcast, but decided to go in to talk to Rick today. He said he was just about to call; Maxim had contacted him again about getting me for a pictorial. I pointed out that I'd said no the last time, and he said that the stuff on the internet seemed to indicate that I might have loosened up about that.
No, I said, I hadn't, and I would really like him to start talking me up for more creative/reporting work, because I don't know how much more I'm going to want to work for CalSports after my Stealth commitment is up. He says he thinks that would be a big mistake, and I said, yeah, maybe for Nell, but I'm not her, and I'd like to live something resembling my life as much as hers.
-Art/Penny
It just goes to show how ignorant I can be that I didn't have any idea what was going on until Tuesday. I had decided not to go to bed at all Monday night, since I was going to watch the A's game at 3am (7pm Tokyo time) and getting just three or four hours of sleep is pretty useless. I put in some late-night time on the treadmill before the game started, then got out the laptop so that I could do some re-writing and surfing done while mostly paying attention to the TV.
I wasn't surprised to see Lyn on at the same time. She IMed me first, asking if if I was up late or early. "Late," I typed. "You?"
"Early. Got a lunch shift. I probably wouldn't be up at all, but Matt's watching it at the station and wants to chat with me so it would like we're in the same room."
"Aw. That's sickening."
"Hey, someday you'll meet the right guy and you'll be doing stuff like that too."
"I don't know if I'm ever going to be that much of a girl."
"Hey, a year and a half ago, you couldn't imagine dressing up as a schoolgirl, but you make a damn hot cheerleader!"
I tensed up a little behind my keyboard, but typed that I chickened out.
"Liar! It's on YouTube." Link. Link. Link. Link.
I took a moment to follow the links Lyn sent me, becoming more mortified with each one, especially some of the comments on them. The fact that they appeared to have been typed by illiterates didn't do much to camouflage their crudity.
"Oh my god... I don't know what's worse, that these things exist or that you must have gone looking for them! Please tell me that your secret admirer sent them to you or something!"
"Hey, you can't expect a girl not to be curious after that cliffhanger. But come on, you pulled it off, you were classy. Those people would make comments like that if they found pictures of their mothers online!"
I found that less than reassuring, and changed the subject to stuff like Matt being "the right guy" or why she was still working at Headlights. And the game. I'm afraid I jinxed the A's during the ninth, saying I was about ready to go to bed just before the Red Sox tied it up. Lyn taunted me for that.
I was doing the scorecast the next night, and told George about these clips, saying I'd really appreciate it if the network could lean on Google to take the clips down - that was copyrighted CalSports footage, after all! He said he'd see what he could do. I wound up staying up all night at the studio - the weird hours for the games in Japan meant that instead of just shooting a bit that could be edited into the program for the morning repeats, we stayed up and watched the game, rewriting copy so that we'd be able to just shoot a new bit when the game finally ended at six.
It was a busy weekend - a Saturday game in Edmonton - so I didn't get a chance to see whether the videos were taken down. They were not, and it was almost like George forgot that I'd even wanted that. I came in yesterday to do a scorecast and he was giving me the good news about how ratings for the games were up 40% this weekend. The higher-ups at the network were really pleased, he said, and were probably going to talk to Rick about offering me a full-time contract.
I was a bit sarcastic, I think - something about whether or not they'd be reconfiguring the set so that the audience could see my belly button during the show, or whether cleavage would be enough. That raised some eyebrows, so George took me aside, saying that this was a good thing - maybe some of the people that tuned in to look at me would get into lacrosse, or I'd be able to work on more prominent assignments - this was a good thing!
I said I guess, if you just wanted to call games and read scores. I'd worn the outfit to call attention to the story, and it didn't sound like it was going to lead to more stories, which was what I really wanted to do. George said he could see my enthusiasm for it, but that's not the way it usually worked in television - they tend to do work with the local papers, and the promotion path goes toward more on-screen time.
I did the broadcast, but decided to go in to talk to Rick today. He said he was just about to call; Maxim had contacted him again about getting me for a pictorial. I pointed out that I'd said no the last time, and he said that the stuff on the internet seemed to indicate that I might have loosened up about that.
No, I said, I hadn't, and I would really like him to start talking me up for more creative/reporting work, because I don't know how much more I'm going to want to work for CalSports after my Stealth commitment is up. He says he thinks that would be a big mistake, and I said, yeah, maybe for Nell, but I'm not her, and I'd like to live something resembling my life as much as hers.
-Art/Penny
Friday, March 21, 2008
Arthur/Penny: You have GOT to be kidding me.
I try not to be a total hypocrite about objectifying women. I have, after all, done my share of it in the past; I was, after all, a man. So when I meet a guy and he has a conversation with my chest, I tend to let it go. It is a bit uncomfortable for me, but getting upset about it tends to be counterproductive - not only are you focusing his attention on your breasts even more than it already was, but he's now less at-ease (which can be useful) and sometimes comes away from it thinking of you as a bitch (which is seldom useful). I've learned some tricks about it over the past year (it wasn't a big deal when living Liz's life, because she's a bit flat-chested and I was often standing next to Lyn and her eye-magnets). If you're sitting, stand, or vice versa; it changes the guy's eyeline and most men will realize that they've been impolite and make an effort afterward. Keep a scarf of wrap in your purse or desk draw for days when it's bugging you. That sort of thing.
Similarly, I don't act snippy when some girl is using what she got to her best advantage; I've enjoyed the benefits of that far too much in the past and, to be frank, still do, a little. Twenty-five-plus years of being trained to appreciate the female form doesn't just go away because something else is now supposed to excite you on a chemical level. I may have a little more insight on what a girl is going to get male attention, but I haven't found that makes me appreciate it less.
This is a roundabout way of trying to get you to believe me when I write that I did not resent the idea of spending the week filming bits about the "Spy Girls", the Stealth's dance team, to use as a feature story on the pregame segment of Saturday's game and during the recap programs, along with inserts during the game coverage.
It's been an interesting week. George was technically the producer, and he was good at making sure all the technical stuff was in place, but he gave me a pretty free hand with the interviews, arranged to do some new pick-up stuff based on what the girls said, and I'll be spending a good chunk of tomorrow with him in the editing room. It's a lot like writing a commissioned article, just with a lot of extra steps and different media; it came pretty naturally.
I liked the girls, too; I found out that many of them see this as a stepping-stone to a job with the Raiders or 49ers, or looking for modeling or television work. Some of them are just doing it part-time, because it's something the enjoyed in high school or because their nine to fives make them feel drab or uninteresting. I wound up giving a lot of Drew/Rick's business cards out to the first group, and I sympathized somewhat with the latter; I know what it's like to want something different from the life you're leading.
I was surprised by the intensity of some of them, though. Most of the cheerleaders I knew in high school were pretty cool people, but as Annabeth (not her real name) pointed out, there was likely at least one queen bitch among the cheerleaders I knew, and those were the ones that had ambitions to ride their looks, by and large, so there could be a lot of backbiting going on when I wasn't looking. It's like anything else - you may have been the best at something in school, but then you get fed into a situation where you're not just competing with the lesser lights who happened to live in the same town, but a whole ton of people who were the best around where they were.
Anyway, it was a lot of fun, the closest thing to actual journalism I've done while at CalSports, and sort of makes up for not getting chosen for the Tokyo trip.
Until this morning, when George tells me that one of the other producers had the idea that, since we were doing a theme of highlighting the dance squad this week, wouldn't it be neat if I wore the dance squad's outfit tomorrow? Sure, the camera doesn't point inside the booth that often, but it might be fun during pre and post!
I was not amused, to say the least. It is one thing to not mind when someone is checking you out, or understand the impulse, but asking me to do that is something else altogether. This felt like something I could actually be proud of, and they want me to make my body the focus of it? Not cool.
Still... George and "Rick" (Drew doesn't use his own name much these days) both say it would be good for me to be play up my attractiveness a little, demonstrate I'm a little more willing to use it. So I'll probably dress in the stupid cheerleader costume tomorrow night.
I've got no idea what Nell's father is going to think of this. At least my mother isn't around to see it.
-Art/Penny
Similarly, I don't act snippy when some girl is using what she got to her best advantage; I've enjoyed the benefits of that far too much in the past and, to be frank, still do, a little. Twenty-five-plus years of being trained to appreciate the female form doesn't just go away because something else is now supposed to excite you on a chemical level. I may have a little more insight on what a girl is going to get male attention, but I haven't found that makes me appreciate it less.
This is a roundabout way of trying to get you to believe me when I write that I did not resent the idea of spending the week filming bits about the "Spy Girls", the Stealth's dance team, to use as a feature story on the pregame segment of Saturday's game and during the recap programs, along with inserts during the game coverage.
It's been an interesting week. George was technically the producer, and he was good at making sure all the technical stuff was in place, but he gave me a pretty free hand with the interviews, arranged to do some new pick-up stuff based on what the girls said, and I'll be spending a good chunk of tomorrow with him in the editing room. It's a lot like writing a commissioned article, just with a lot of extra steps and different media; it came pretty naturally.
I liked the girls, too; I found out that many of them see this as a stepping-stone to a job with the Raiders or 49ers, or looking for modeling or television work. Some of them are just doing it part-time, because it's something the enjoyed in high school or because their nine to fives make them feel drab or uninteresting. I wound up giving a lot of Drew/Rick's business cards out to the first group, and I sympathized somewhat with the latter; I know what it's like to want something different from the life you're leading.
I was surprised by the intensity of some of them, though. Most of the cheerleaders I knew in high school were pretty cool people, but as Annabeth (not her real name) pointed out, there was likely at least one queen bitch among the cheerleaders I knew, and those were the ones that had ambitions to ride their looks, by and large, so there could be a lot of backbiting going on when I wasn't looking. It's like anything else - you may have been the best at something in school, but then you get fed into a situation where you're not just competing with the lesser lights who happened to live in the same town, but a whole ton of people who were the best around where they were.
Anyway, it was a lot of fun, the closest thing to actual journalism I've done while at CalSports, and sort of makes up for not getting chosen for the Tokyo trip.
Until this morning, when George tells me that one of the other producers had the idea that, since we were doing a theme of highlighting the dance squad this week, wouldn't it be neat if I wore the dance squad's outfit tomorrow? Sure, the camera doesn't point inside the booth that often, but it might be fun during pre and post!
I was not amused, to say the least. It is one thing to not mind when someone is checking you out, or understand the impulse, but asking me to do that is something else altogether. This felt like something I could actually be proud of, and they want me to make my body the focus of it? Not cool.
Still... George and "Rick" (Drew doesn't use his own name much these days) both say it would be good for me to be play up my attractiveness a little, demonstrate I'm a little more willing to use it. So I'll probably dress in the stupid cheerleader costume tomorrow night.
I've got no idea what Nell's father is going to think of this. At least my mother isn't around to see it.
-Art/Penny
Monday, June 11, 2007
Ashlyn--Welcome to Headlights!
Liz is back
Last Thursday, without any fanfare, the original Liz returned to Boston. I didn’t find out until the following day—and then it was by email. Liz’s email was short and sweet:
Thank you for what you and Arthur have done for me these past months. I am back in my life, back with Ray, and I am sorting everything out. I want to see you and talk to you—but not now. I want to spend a little time not thinking about what I went through…and seeing you would only remind me.
Liz
Something about Liz’s email pissed me off. Maybe it’s because I felt so left out from what was going on—After Art being in Liz’s life for so long, I felt I got to know her and Ray. When I really stop and think about it—maybe I just miss Art, and somehow I blame Liz for not being Art. I know, not rational. Maybe being a redhead all this time is finally getting to me. ;)
Smile, and make eye contact
I used to be a work-a-holic. In my previous life, I liked my job as a computer animator and visual effects guy. Sure, I worked insane hours and my personal life was pretty non-existent—but I felt a lot of pride in what I did for a living. I hope to do that kind of work again someday, once I get out from under some of my money woes and I can buy a computer good enough to do that kind of work.
I used to define myself by my work. Whenever I would meet someone new, and they would ask me about myself, I would always tell them about what I did for a living—it was the most interesting thing about me.
Which is why interviewing for a job at Headlights was so difficult for me. I once did work that was creative, technically challenging and geeky in a cool sort of way. All the job at Headlights really requires is that my boobs look good in the tank top. I feel I’ve let myself down.
Before my interview on Friday I called my new friend Heather. She’s worked some of the radio station promotion gigs with me, she works at Headlights, and she’s putting a good word in for me with Rick the manager. She was nice enough to meet me for coffee and let me pick her brain a little.
We decided to meet at the Starbucks inside the CambridgeSide Mall. I have been avoiding Starbucks lately; it’s a deceptively expensive habit to have--$4 for a grande chai adds up quickly if you go many times a week. I decided to let myself live a little since this was a ‘business’ meeting, and I was just beginning to savor my chai when Heather walked in. Heather, like all the girls who work the radio promotion gigs with me, is hot. She has beautiful chestnut eyes and hair, and a curvy and fit body. She gives me a hug like she’s known me all my life; Heather is just friendly that way.
“I’m so excited you are going to interview!” She says enthusiastically.
I knew from previous Starbucks excursions that Heather was also a chai person, and I had gotten her one as well, she gratefully accepted it.
“Thanks for putting in a good word for me. I’m a little nervous about the interview…I was hoping to get some pointers.” I say.
“There’s nothing to be nervous about. Being a Headlights girl is all about being fun and flirty. So smile a lot and make lots of eye contact. Once you get the job—I just know you will—they’ll put you through two weeks of training where they push “smile and make eye contact” constantly. If you can show you can do that in the interview you’ll be ahead of the game. “
“Cool. I can do that.” I say.
“Don’t worry about dressing up to much for the interview, but do spend time on your hair and make-up. All they really care about is how you look in the outfit, and they’ll ask you to try one on to see how you look in it. They will say you don’t have to try it on in the interview process, but if you want the job you’ll do it. Oh, take a pair of the whitest running shoes you have with you. They have spare uniforms, but not spare trainers. “
I took out a piece of paper and wrote down a reminder to bring running shoes to the interview. Heather laughed at me.
“I can’t believe your taking notes. You need to relax, being a Headlights girl is easy. If you are going to be that serious about this, then add ‘suntan’ pantyhose and white socks to your list. You’ll look like the real thing. “ She took a sip of her chai. “Putting on the outfit for the first time is a little nerve-wracking. I remember. Just fight your way through it, be confident, and try to have a good time with it. Oh! And one last thing—go out and buy a hula-hoop and practice using it.”
“You’re kidding.” I give her an incredulous look.
“I’m not. During my interview they had me put on the outfit and do the hula-hoop thing. Rick told me if I was able to do two hoops at the same time the job was mine on the spot. Unfortunately, I hadn’t played with a hula-hoop since I was a kid, so I couldn’t quite pull it off.”
Hula-hoops. What am I getting myself into?
Two days later I’m standing in front of my local Headlights restaurant. My interview was for 10 am, and I was early. The doors were locked, so I knocked and within moments a giant muscular man with bronze skin opened the door. He had short, slicked back black hair and brown eyes that reminded me of Heathers.
“Rick?” I ask.
He shook his head no and stuck out his hand for a handshake. “I’m Jorge. You must be Ashlyn.”
I nodded and gave him a big smile—I thought I might as well get into ‘game face’.
“Rick’s in his office.” He held the door open to me, inviting me inside. As I entered the building I looked up at Jorge—he was so big it was intimidating, I felt like a child standing next to an adult. I followed him through the main dining room toward a hallway that led to the kitchen. The dining room was empty with the exception of the bar area--we pass a Headlights girl who was already there behind the bar, stocking up for day. She gave a friendly wave.
“That’s Jo; she’s one of the bartenders.” Jorge says motioning to the woman stocking the bar. “She makes this drink called a Cherry Vodka Limeade. It’s kind of a girly drink, but it is soooo good.”
We made through the kitchen we had a few people preparing for the lunch crowd. The kitchen was all metal shelves, appliances, and cookware—everything looked spotless.
“You should see this place right at lunch—it’s crazy busy in here then.” Jorge says.
Finally we make it to Rick’s office—I knew that to be the case because the door had a sign saying just that: Rick’s Office.
Rick turned out be a good looking guy in his late thirties. He looked a bit like Jorge—except Rick was more ‘normal’ sized than Jorge.
“Are you guys related?” I asked as Jorge walked away.
Rick smiled and shook his head yes. “Jorge is my little brother.”
“Little?”
“How about younger?”
I made sure to laugh at his joke. He comes over and carefully shakes my hand and motions to a chair across from his desk. Rick’s desk is a mess, and he digs around on it for a moment before he discovers the papers he is look for.
“Ah, here we go. Ashlyn Shelly.” He stops and gives me a once over. “Heather has said good things about you.”
The interview was pretty standard for the first ten to fifteen minutes; Heather had suggested I come clean about my experiences at my last job—even the fact that I was fired. Rick seemed to take the news in stride. “I believe in fresh starts here.” He tells me.
Eventually the conservation takes a more Headlights tone. Rick takes out a form and hands it to me to read. It was an ‘acknowledgement form’. I basically said that the job requires I wear the Headlights girl uniform, I was required to interact and entertain the guests, and that the Headlights concept was based on ‘Female sex appeal’.
“Are you comfortable signing that?” Rick asked.
Smiling, and making eye contact I say “Absolutely.” He hands me a pen and I sign.
Rick smiles back at me and clasps his hands together, pleased. “Excellent. How do you feel about trying the uniform on?”
I ended up changing in the women’s restroom. The uniform consisted of a white tank top with an image of a smiling car with the word ‘Headlights’ written in prominent letters displayed on the front, some brightly colored shorts, and a tan ticket pouch. I had brought a backpack with me with the items I needed to finish out the uniform and make me authentic looking: the pantyhose, socks and shoes. I got out of my clothes and into the outfit. Within minutes I was looking back into the mirror at a Headlights girl--my boobs did look good in the tank top, the scoop neck revealed a ton of cleavage. My first thought was “wow, I look hot” followed quickly by “wow, I look like a total idiot”.
I touched up my makeup and hair, adjust my boobs, take a deep breath, and stepped out into the restaurant. I had to walk through the dining room to get back to Rick’s office. It was close to eleven now, and people were starting to show up. I passed several guys on my way back—they checked me out, I gave them a big smile. A Headlights girl saw me and gave me a thumbs up. “Looking good!” she called out to me.
I step back into Rick’s office and he gives me a big smile. “You look great!”
He then proceeds to look me over closely—very closely. It kind of made me tense.
“Sorry. I have to check for tattoos. Tattoos are not allowed to show outside of the uniform.”
“I don’t have any.”
“Perfect. I have one more thing I would like you to do.” We walked back out to the dining room and Rick grabs one of the many hula-hoops leaning on one wall. I knew what was coming. I take the hoop and in moments had it spinning around myself.
“If you can do two, you’ve got the job.” He tells me.
I was so prepared, I had practiced for hours. Without stopping, I stick my hand out. “Hand me a hoop.”
Rick hands me a hoop, and several other Headlights girls have gathered to watch. They began to clap in encouragement. I give the second hoop a spin and while it was awkward at first, I got it under control and got both gyrating around me.
Everyone clapped.
“This is Ashlyn; she’s our new Headlights girl.” Rick announces to the group.
“Way to go Ashlyn!”
I never stopped with the hoops. I decided if I was going to do this job, I was going to do it on my own terms—that meant I was going to be a professional, I’m going to be the best Headlights girl I could be. “I’m not done yet. Hand me another hoop.” Like I said, I had practiced for hours.
One of the girls handed me a third hoop. A chant of “ASHLYN” started up. I think even the customers were into it at this point. Just like the second hoop, I struggled with it a first—I very nearly lost it, but was able to pull it off. A cheer goes up.
I eventually lose control of the hoops and they fall. Everyone is laughing, clapping. I pick the hoops up and turn to Rick. “So, if I couldn’t do the double hoops, would I have still gotten the job?”
He grins at me. “I decided to hire you before you even got into the outfit. The hula-hoop thing is just an initiation we do here. Heather was pissed she wasn’t going to be here to see you do it. What until she hears you did three!” He pats me on the back. “Welcome to Headlights!”
Heather was right, Headlights is going to be a fun place to work—interesting—but fun.
--Ashlyn
Last Thursday, without any fanfare, the original Liz returned to Boston. I didn’t find out until the following day—and then it was by email. Liz’s email was short and sweet:
Thank you for what you and Arthur have done for me these past months. I am back in my life, back with Ray, and I am sorting everything out. I want to see you and talk to you—but not now. I want to spend a little time not thinking about what I went through…and seeing you would only remind me.
Liz
Something about Liz’s email pissed me off. Maybe it’s because I felt so left out from what was going on—After Art being in Liz’s life for so long, I felt I got to know her and Ray. When I really stop and think about it—maybe I just miss Art, and somehow I blame Liz for not being Art. I know, not rational. Maybe being a redhead all this time is finally getting to me. ;)
Smile, and make eye contact
I used to be a work-a-holic. In my previous life, I liked my job as a computer animator and visual effects guy. Sure, I worked insane hours and my personal life was pretty non-existent—but I felt a lot of pride in what I did for a living. I hope to do that kind of work again someday, once I get out from under some of my money woes and I can buy a computer good enough to do that kind of work.
I used to define myself by my work. Whenever I would meet someone new, and they would ask me about myself, I would always tell them about what I did for a living—it was the most interesting thing about me.
Which is why interviewing for a job at Headlights was so difficult for me. I once did work that was creative, technically challenging and geeky in a cool sort of way. All the job at Headlights really requires is that my boobs look good in the tank top. I feel I’ve let myself down.
Before my interview on Friday I called my new friend Heather. She’s worked some of the radio station promotion gigs with me, she works at Headlights, and she’s putting a good word in for me with Rick the manager. She was nice enough to meet me for coffee and let me pick her brain a little.
We decided to meet at the Starbucks inside the CambridgeSide Mall. I have been avoiding Starbucks lately; it’s a deceptively expensive habit to have--$4 for a grande chai adds up quickly if you go many times a week. I decided to let myself live a little since this was a ‘business’ meeting, and I was just beginning to savor my chai when Heather walked in. Heather, like all the girls who work the radio promotion gigs with me, is hot. She has beautiful chestnut eyes and hair, and a curvy and fit body. She gives me a hug like she’s known me all my life; Heather is just friendly that way.
“I’m so excited you are going to interview!” She says enthusiastically.
I knew from previous Starbucks excursions that Heather was also a chai person, and I had gotten her one as well, she gratefully accepted it.
“Thanks for putting in a good word for me. I’m a little nervous about the interview…I was hoping to get some pointers.” I say.
“There’s nothing to be nervous about. Being a Headlights girl is all about being fun and flirty. So smile a lot and make lots of eye contact. Once you get the job—I just know you will—they’ll put you through two weeks of training where they push “smile and make eye contact” constantly. If you can show you can do that in the interview you’ll be ahead of the game. “
“Cool. I can do that.” I say.
“Don’t worry about dressing up to much for the interview, but do spend time on your hair and make-up. All they really care about is how you look in the outfit, and they’ll ask you to try one on to see how you look in it. They will say you don’t have to try it on in the interview process, but if you want the job you’ll do it. Oh, take a pair of the whitest running shoes you have with you. They have spare uniforms, but not spare trainers. “
I took out a piece of paper and wrote down a reminder to bring running shoes to the interview. Heather laughed at me.
“I can’t believe your taking notes. You need to relax, being a Headlights girl is easy. If you are going to be that serious about this, then add ‘suntan’ pantyhose and white socks to your list. You’ll look like the real thing. “ She took a sip of her chai. “Putting on the outfit for the first time is a little nerve-wracking. I remember. Just fight your way through it, be confident, and try to have a good time with it. Oh! And one last thing—go out and buy a hula-hoop and practice using it.”
“You’re kidding.” I give her an incredulous look.
“I’m not. During my interview they had me put on the outfit and do the hula-hoop thing. Rick told me if I was able to do two hoops at the same time the job was mine on the spot. Unfortunately, I hadn’t played with a hula-hoop since I was a kid, so I couldn’t quite pull it off.”
Hula-hoops. What am I getting myself into?
Two days later I’m standing in front of my local Headlights restaurant. My interview was for 10 am, and I was early. The doors were locked, so I knocked and within moments a giant muscular man with bronze skin opened the door. He had short, slicked back black hair and brown eyes that reminded me of Heathers.
“Rick?” I ask.
He shook his head no and stuck out his hand for a handshake. “I’m Jorge. You must be Ashlyn.”
I nodded and gave him a big smile—I thought I might as well get into ‘game face’.
“Rick’s in his office.” He held the door open to me, inviting me inside. As I entered the building I looked up at Jorge—he was so big it was intimidating, I felt like a child standing next to an adult. I followed him through the main dining room toward a hallway that led to the kitchen. The dining room was empty with the exception of the bar area--we pass a Headlights girl who was already there behind the bar, stocking up for day. She gave a friendly wave.
“That’s Jo; she’s one of the bartenders.” Jorge says motioning to the woman stocking the bar. “She makes this drink called a Cherry Vodka Limeade. It’s kind of a girly drink, but it is soooo good.”
We made through the kitchen we had a few people preparing for the lunch crowd. The kitchen was all metal shelves, appliances, and cookware—everything looked spotless.
“You should see this place right at lunch—it’s crazy busy in here then.” Jorge says.
Finally we make it to Rick’s office—I knew that to be the case because the door had a sign saying just that: Rick’s Office.
Rick turned out be a good looking guy in his late thirties. He looked a bit like Jorge—except Rick was more ‘normal’ sized than Jorge.
“Are you guys related?” I asked as Jorge walked away.
Rick smiled and shook his head yes. “Jorge is my little brother.”
“Little?”
“How about younger?”
I made sure to laugh at his joke. He comes over and carefully shakes my hand and motions to a chair across from his desk. Rick’s desk is a mess, and he digs around on it for a moment before he discovers the papers he is look for.
“Ah, here we go. Ashlyn Shelly.” He stops and gives me a once over. “Heather has said good things about you.”
The interview was pretty standard for the first ten to fifteen minutes; Heather had suggested I come clean about my experiences at my last job—even the fact that I was fired. Rick seemed to take the news in stride. “I believe in fresh starts here.” He tells me.
Eventually the conservation takes a more Headlights tone. Rick takes out a form and hands it to me to read. It was an ‘acknowledgement form’. I basically said that the job requires I wear the Headlights girl uniform, I was required to interact and entertain the guests, and that the Headlights concept was based on ‘Female sex appeal’.
“Are you comfortable signing that?” Rick asked.
Smiling, and making eye contact I say “Absolutely.” He hands me a pen and I sign.
Rick smiles back at me and clasps his hands together, pleased. “Excellent. How do you feel about trying the uniform on?”
I ended up changing in the women’s restroom. The uniform consisted of a white tank top with an image of a smiling car with the word ‘Headlights’ written in prominent letters displayed on the front, some brightly colored shorts, and a tan ticket pouch. I had brought a backpack with me with the items I needed to finish out the uniform and make me authentic looking: the pantyhose, socks and shoes. I got out of my clothes and into the outfit. Within minutes I was looking back into the mirror at a Headlights girl--my boobs did look good in the tank top, the scoop neck revealed a ton of cleavage. My first thought was “wow, I look hot” followed quickly by “wow, I look like a total idiot”.
I touched up my makeup and hair, adjust my boobs, take a deep breath, and stepped out into the restaurant. I had to walk through the dining room to get back to Rick’s office. It was close to eleven now, and people were starting to show up. I passed several guys on my way back—they checked me out, I gave them a big smile. A Headlights girl saw me and gave me a thumbs up. “Looking good!” she called out to me.
I step back into Rick’s office and he gives me a big smile. “You look great!”
He then proceeds to look me over closely—very closely. It kind of made me tense.
“Sorry. I have to check for tattoos. Tattoos are not allowed to show outside of the uniform.”
“I don’t have any.”
“Perfect. I have one more thing I would like you to do.” We walked back out to the dining room and Rick grabs one of the many hula-hoops leaning on one wall. I knew what was coming. I take the hoop and in moments had it spinning around myself.
“If you can do two, you’ve got the job.” He tells me.
I was so prepared, I had practiced for hours. Without stopping, I stick my hand out. “Hand me a hoop.”
Rick hands me a hoop, and several other Headlights girls have gathered to watch. They began to clap in encouragement. I give the second hoop a spin and while it was awkward at first, I got it under control and got both gyrating around me.
Everyone clapped.
“This is Ashlyn; she’s our new Headlights girl.” Rick announces to the group.
“Way to go Ashlyn!”
I never stopped with the hoops. I decided if I was going to do this job, I was going to do it on my own terms—that meant I was going to be a professional, I’m going to be the best Headlights girl I could be. “I’m not done yet. Hand me another hoop.” Like I said, I had practiced for hours.
One of the girls handed me a third hoop. A chant of “ASHLYN” started up. I think even the customers were into it at this point. Just like the second hoop, I struggled with it a first—I very nearly lost it, but was able to pull it off. A cheer goes up.
I eventually lose control of the hoops and they fall. Everyone is laughing, clapping. I pick the hoops up and turn to Rick. “So, if I couldn’t do the double hoops, would I have still gotten the job?”
He grins at me. “I decided to hire you before you even got into the outfit. The hula-hoop thing is just an initiation we do here. Heather was pissed she wasn’t going to be here to see you do it. What until she hears you did three!” He pats me on the back. “Welcome to Headlights!”
Heather was right, Headlights is going to be a fun place to work—interesting—but fun.
--Ashlyn
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