All I could think about was running.
Looking across the desk at my boss, Jamie, I listened as he asked the question I’d been fearing for more two months.
“WHY DO YOU WANT TO SELL WOMEN’S UNDERWEAR?”
He glared at me, and I shifted my weight, trying to figure out what to say.
I hadn’t expected this to happen when I walked into his office that morning. As a fitness assistant at my university’s student life center, I’d been on my way to drop off some gym visitation statistics in his mailbox. He usually didn’t come in that early, and if he did, it was almost impossible for him to know anything about my applying for a job at Victoria’s Secret. How could he? I had barely told anyone about it. Just my roommate, Josh, and the hiring manager at the store, Janice—neither of whom had direct contact with people who could disown me.
Unless, I thought, Janice had called my references.
Like any good company, Victoria’s Secret had warned me they would do this, multiple times; and like any good idiot, I’d proceeded to ignore them. First, they mentioned it on the application, specifically asking for references from two supervisors and one peer. They then made it painstakingly clear that they would not only contact these people, but possibly a slew of others–including “family members, business associates, financial sources, friends, neighbors, and others with whom I am associated”–in order to get a clear picture of my character. (Unless I lived in the states of Maryland or Connecticut, they could have also required me to take a polygraph test.)
And still, I sat at the dining room table of my townhouse, reading it over and thinking, Nah, they won’t actually call those people.
Even during the job interview, as I listened to the hiring manager say something along the lines of, “So, next step, we’re going to call those people,” I only nodded my head, thinking, Oh come on. This is retail. You don’t get paid enough to do that.
Yet looking at Jamie, who was slowly growing more red in the face by the second, I began wondering if perhaps they do get paid enough to do that. Especially when the applicant is a grown-ish man with the tendency to wear too much cologne.
“WHY DO YOU WANT TO SELL WOMEN’S UNDERWEAR?”
The question played again in my head, and I stared at him, still trying to figure out how to respond. I knew I was going to have to answer this question at some point, but I hadn’t imagined it would come this quickly–or from someone other than my parents. In fact, I’d just resigned to hoping that it would never happen, that I could just coast peacefully along in the world of bras without anyone noticing. On the surface, I’d be the same 23-year-old Chris that everyone knew as the preppy, pre-dental student in his fifth year of undergrad. But in the shadows, in a world that I only knew, I’d be working towards something that felt a lot more like myself. Even if it was as a cashier at Victoria’s Secret.
“What do I mean?” he said. “I mean this woman called me from Victoria’s Secret the other day saying you wanted to work there.”
|
But that was all out the window now. Jamie, by way of Janice the hiring manager, had forced my hand. And, as much as I wanted to sprint out of the room and never return, I couldn’t. If I didn’t answer Jamie now, I would have to eventually. And likely by that point, he’d have other concerned-going-on-horrified coworkers with him. As best as I could tell, I had one of three options: I could tell the truth—about the heartbreak, the rejection, and the nipple buds poking through my shirt; I could lie and say I’d done it on a dare from a friend; or, I could act completely oblivious to what he was talking about in an effort to see just how much he actually knew. If the latter was successful, there was a chance I could get out of it with him feeling like he was mistaken. And if he felt mistaken, there was a chance I could get out of it with my secret life still in place. So, hoping for the best, I went with option three.
“What do you mean, ‘Why do I want to sell women’s underwear’?”
“What do I mean?” he said. “I mean this woman called me from Victoria’s Secret the other day saying you wanted to work there.”
“She did?”
“Yes,” he said. “Was she serious?”
“She said I wanted to work there?”
“Your name is Chris Pilny, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Well that’s what she said. She said, ‘Hi, this is so-and-so from Victoria’s Secret in Green Hills, and I’m calling in regards to Chris Pilny.’ “
“Huh, that’s strange,” I said.
“Yeah, it IS strange,” he said, growing more impatient. But I hadn’t given up yet.
“Well,” I said. “How did she spell ‘Pilny’?”
At this, he shook his head, picking up a baseball off his desk and tossing it in the air.
“Come on, man. Why do you want to sell women’s underwear? Tell me this is a joke.”
It was a very serious mission, and one that I hoped would finally give me the piece of knowledge I’d always sought: How to get girls and keep them interested.
|
Desperately, desperately I wanted this to be the case. If anything, I wanted to tell myself that it was a joke. That I was abandoning my future as an oral maxillofacial surgeon to sell thongs at Victoria’s Secret simply for a laugh. “Some college kids backpack Europe for a year following graduation,” I wanted to say. “But I’m headed to the mall! Ha!”
But it wasn’t a joke. It was a very serious mission, and one that I hoped would finally give me the piece of knowledge I’d always sought: How to get girls and keep them interested. You just can’t really say that to your boss when he’s glaring at you from behind his desk. Especially when he’s watched you, over the course of four years, meet all your college girlfriends while working for him, and inform the entire staff that the only transferrable skill you’ve earned from the job is “flirting with undergrads.” He would have called me on bullshit immediately.
So, realizing that option three wasn’t working, and that option one was out of the question, I resorted to option two: lie, saying I was taking the job on a dare.
Again, he shook his head.
“Yeah, but…what if you actually get the job? Would you actually work at Vickie’s?”
“I mean, I might,” I told him. “It is a recession, and it is a job. And I am an English major. I don’t know. Might as well?”
He chuckled.
“I guess, man. Whatever. Just, uh, keep me posted about it.”
“I will.”
“Oh, and if you apply for a job at the Hustler store next week, don’t put me down as a reference, ok?”
“I won’t.”
“Good,” he said. “Thanks.”
“Anything else?” I asked.
“Nope. Just don’t end up in prison, OK? I don’t want to know what they’d do to you in there for sniffing panties.”
“Got it,” I said. “Won’t sniff any panties. Thanks.”
And with that, I turned around and walked out of the room, back to my post in the fitness center, and the life where everyone still knew me as the preppy, pre-dental Chris.
—
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“Janice” sounds like a pretty hot name…I bet she has some smokin’ assets to work with…
You’re the worst writer and the biggest douchebag I’ve seen in a very long time.
In your opinion. It’s not a universal statement. Perhaps he wouldn’t have learned anything about women. But he also may have. And maybe it just seemed like a good attempt to try and answer that question. It’s really not for you to judge him personally when you don’t know the entire package. Based on what you wrote, I also have an opinion of who you are Meg. But I’d reserve that for further info on your whole beingness.
Ok, to any of you naysayers like Meg, if you’ll give this guy a chance, you’ll love him! I’ve read and heard him tell much of this story and it is well worth your time to keep reading his column. If you can find it in yourself not to take things too seriously, you will find yourself truly laughing out loud as you read his writings. Christopher’s life is truly filled with real life comedy and he has a great style of articulating these stories. I recall one of his great stories about the big lie he pulled off on… Read more »
Thanks Joe!!
Be yourself and be like Jesus at the same time; wait for her and you will find a woman and keep her.
“But it wasn’t a joke. It was a very serious mission, and one that I hoped would finally give me the piece of knowledge I’d always sought: How to get girls and keep them interested.”
I’m not sure you can learn anything about women be selling them underwear.
“But it wasn’t a joke. It was a very serious mission, and one that I hoped would finally give me the piece of knowledge I’d always sought”
I’m not sure you can learn what you need to know about women by selling them underwear.
You still didnt answer the question…
“Why do you want to sell womans underwear?”
It’s coming! This is essentially a first chapter. Next week’s column will begin explaining the why. Thanks for paying attention, though!
I’m sure this is exactly why they screen applicants (especially men) so carefully! All employers seek references. And what would you tell your colleagues if your application was successful?
While I believe in the best apicant for the job, this this is one time where sexism is relevant.
Honestly, I feel just fine with a male working at la senza here in canada. He was polite and pprofessional.
So your fear was that outsiders judge your desire to do whatever you want. And you avoided what you want to do, because of your belief about what they think. Hmmm. I get it. When you’re older, you may have a different viewpoint. Or not. But I’ve come to realize I have my life to live. Really beginning to finish it out. I have no interest in giving a rat’s patootie how you think of how I should choose to live it out.
That’s totally what it was. And I 100% agree with you! Glad you picked up on it!
Thumbs up, Chris. It’s the recognition of what you fear to get to choose again. You just got a little ahead of the game. Good for you.
Now come on, you have to care what other people think. At least a little. If you don’t care what anyone thinks about what you’re doing, and just do it anyway, you will turn into a psychopath, like Hitler.
Boom. Godwin’s in 20 seconds. ^_^
Just because you don’t care what other people think doesn’t mean you will do bad things. I’m pretty sure Hitler cared what people thought, at least when he was young. You are young, I hope you free yourself of others opinions, unless of course that means you’ll set forth to extinguish a race of people or other bad things, if that is the case then please worry deeply what others think.
And btw Greg, Hitler was NOT a psychopath. In fact he was deeply patriotic, he just was convinced that by creating a super race of humans that it would be best in the long run for all mankind. It and he was a product of his times. Margaret Sanger was of the same mindset. Today many laud her as the progenitor of Planned Parenthood. A euphemism for eugenics. But today THAT form of eugenics is not only perfectly acceptable, but marched for by millions in the street.
Btw a psychopath is not someone who doesn’t worry what others think, it is someone out of touch with reality. And I don’t know who Godwin is.
Why do I have to care even a little about what others think? And how does that turn me into a Hitler, Greg? Those two are non sequitur. If I’m not hurting anybody else, nor infringing on their lives in the least, the fact is if I care even a little bit about what they think, that means they are in fact infringing on MY life, and therefore THEY become a Hitler.
How can someone know whether their actions are hurting someone else if they don’t care what others think?
To know in the first place they would have to pay attention to what other people think of their actions.