Wednesday, February 21, 2007

If only the job interview was at a cancer center...

Many people, when they have a bad week, turn to the sweet, comforting embrace of alcohol to make themselves feel better. While I see nothing objectively wrong with curling up with your good friends Jack and Johnny, I have a thing about not drinking when I'm sad. Because of this character flaw, I usually treat a bad day with a double dose of SVU and VH1 Celebreality programming.

Sometimes, though not nearly as often as one would hope, something better comes along. Perhaps a friend is visiting, or one of your favorite bands is coming to town and you think to yourself, "you know, this week was pretty shitty, but motherfucking Paradise City (The G&R tribute band that is so awesome that Axl Rose's feelings of comparative inadequecy is the real reason for Chinese Democracy's interminable delay) is playing in Jersey, so nothing else matters."

Yesterday, I had an experience that surpassed even hearing "Paradise City" performed by a man who has devoted his life to keeping the flaccid 80s Cock Rock movement alive: I got a phone call from Elizabeth.

Now, this wasn't a typical Elizabeth phone call in that she didn't once mention how I was going to die alone or how nobody could ever love me. Those phone calls are so common they are hardly worth mentioning and definitely not worth writing about. This time she had news.

Apparently, Justin Timberlake is coming to Richmond and a local radio station was giving away tickets, as they do. Since these tickets are a pretty hot commodity, the station, Q94, figured people would do just about anything to get them. They were right. Our friend Rachel shaved her head bald for Justin Timberlake tickets. But that's not the best part. The best part? She had a job interview that afternoon. For a job she really wanted. But wait--that's still not the best part. The BEST best part is that it was a second interview. So these people have definitely met her before and have definitely seen her with hair.

Now if this wouldn't inject some brightness into a dark, miserable week, then you should just fall asleep on some train tracks, because you're already dead inside.

Rachel (far right) and Rachel (third from left)

The only thing left to say is "thank you."

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