The Job Interview

Hi, again. Last time, I gave you a brief overview of the best (and worst) parts of being a personal assistant. And now it’s time to peek into that life. So hang on to your reading glasses… it will be a bumpy ride.

The former assistant had warned me about the job (after he had to rent a helicopter for said boss to impress a date and the helicopter took too long to get to the desired destination, making him late for dinner; needless to say, the boss was not too happy and gave the assistant the “choice” between being fired or resigning), but what did I know? I was fresh out of college and couldn’t find an industry job to save my life, so why wouldn’t I take it? Plus, I am very detail-oriented, so I would never make that helicopter mistake, I muse to myself as I drive to the interview.

The interview is pretty short – the boss, a TV/film director, asks if I know how to answer phones (who doesn’t; I think being female helped me out here, too, as girls use the phone more than guys, right?). He also asks how my driving record is, as I would be running a lot of “errands” for him and his family. Luckily, I excel in both of these requirements and excitedly say I would love to answer his phones and run his errands (I should be an actress, I sound so convincing). He says he likes my enthusiasm and that I start the next day.

My tasks will differ day-to-day, the boss tells me – anything from giving him notes on scripts to buying him toothpaste. I am to meet him either at his home office, or on set of whatever TV show or movie he is filming, and he will give me a list of tasks to do – some by the end of the day, some by the end of the week.

My first day goes pretty well: I make some calls, go to the grocery store, and “guard” (i.e., hang out in) his trailer. Pretty easy. “What was the old assistant talking about?” I wonder. Plus, when the boss is shooting, I barely even have to see him – and who wouldn’t want a boss like that? All is going pretty well… until about 5 p.m. I get a frantic call from the set: “Avery! Where are you?” “In your trailer,” I say. I don’t know where else he’d expect me to be; I had told him when I’d gotten back from buying his peppermint Colgate. “What are you doing?” he wonders. “Reviewing the ‘To Do’ list,” I respond. This was partially true. The “To Do” list was in front of me, but so were bottles of red and pink nail polish; I couldn’t decide which to use. Luckily, he decided for me. “We’re working late–” he says. “Okay,” I tell him. “Don’t interrupt,” he snaps. “Sorry,” I mutter. Maybe the old assistant was right about the boss’ “occasional” mood swings, I think. “Anyway, we’re shooting late. I need you to do me a favor.” “Sure. Anything,” I say. Anything?! I say to myself. “I can’t make my SAA meeting tonight. I need you to go for me.” Hmm… SAA, I wonder. What could that mean? “Society for American Archaeology”? (I have a friend in it; maybe she’ll be there?) Or “South African Airways”? (I hear they’re a great airline, but why a meeting so late at night? And is the boss planning a trip to Africa that I don’t know about? I’ve always wanted to go…)… Okay, I give up. Any guesses, readers…? If you guessed “Sex Addicts Anonymous,” you win.

The boss tells me the address and says, “And tell them I’m down to masturbating just fourteen times a day.” Fourteen?!?!, I want to scream. Instead, I calmly say, “Fourteen. Got it,” as I write it down (why am I writing this down?!) and wonder where he does all of this masturbating – what if I am sitting on the very couch where he does it? I gasp and stand up, examining the back of my jeans (stainless – phew!), then frantically look around to see what other places could be his targets, so to speak. Uh – what am I doing? I don’t want to know this. In an effort to not look around, I close my eyes — until he interrupts. “Oh – also tell them I haven’t participated in any voyeuristic activity on set this week,” he adds as I hear someone in the background yell, “We’ve gotta get this shot now, Boss.” (“Shot”? – if they only knew.) He hangs up. I don’t know which is worse: knowing that my new boss (of less than nine hours, by the way) is a sex addict – or that I have to go talk about his sex issues for him.

So I’d like you to help me decide… I am a nice girl from the Midwest. Should I go to the meeting? Or call him back and say I know I am his personal assistant and everything, but this is a little too personal? (Next time, I will tell you what I did and the consequences of my decision.)