Spending time with some of my old friends this weekend, I was reminded of some of our funniest stories. We’re a group of reformed crazy girls, but back in the day we had very uh, creative ways of getting into trouble. But not the kind of trouble you’d think.

My friend Leigh moved to New York City because she got an amazing opportunity to intern for a famous music magazine. But, because it was an internship, she had to get a paying job as well so she could afford to live. And, because it is New York City, she had to get two paying jobs. She got a job at a lovely upscale home store, but it wasn’t quite enough. She heard about a new upscale bar opening, so she attended their open cattle call for bartenders.

She walked in, and it was full of all those “beautiful people” types – you know what I mean, the wanna-be actors and models. Don’t get me wrong, Leigh is gorgeous. But she found herself getting nervous while she waited for her interview. When she was called back, all her post-college bartending experience went out of her head, and when she was asked why she wanted to work at this posh club she said, “because I’m new in town, and I love people.” With a British accent. Leigh, it should be noted, is from Arkansas. She didn’t plan to talk that way, she just panicked. It worked. She was different, she was hired.

Leigh lived the double life for a while. The problem was that she would run into people who knew her as “British Leigh” when she was with people who knew her as “Southern Leigh” and vice versa. Luckily, her job at the music mag went really well, and she was soon offered a paying job, allowing her to quit her extra gigs.

Leigh’s story about lying to get a job reminded me of a time I lied to get out of a job. I finished my senior year of college a semester early, but I tried (mostly unsuccessfully) to keep my non-student status under wraps because I still lived in student housing. Being somewhat responsible, I had gotten myself a part-time job that I thought would help me with my dream to work in the record industry. I worked at the Virgin Megastore. Of course, I didn’t get put in the MUSIC section – I was placed in movies. Whatever. It was one of the worst jobs I ever had. The other guys I worked with (yeah, I was the only chick) literally talked about ways to commit suicide. I worked there a month before I put in my two weeks notice. Looking back, I can’t believe I lasted that long.

A week after I put in my notice, my college basketball team made it to the Sweet Sixteen in the NCAA tournament. Caring more about college pride and less about basketball, I really really wanted to watch the game with my friends at the campus bar (what, your college didn’t have a campus bar? Mine had TWO!). My friends, being bad bad influences, convinced me to call in sick. They reminded me how much I hated the job, how slimy I felt after spending time with the suicide cult, and how much fun I would have watching the game at Traddy’s with them.

So I called in sick. But because I hadn’t learned to keep it simple, I went into my closet (I have no idea why) and I called in with APPENDICITIS. Yeah, just your typical, MAJOR SURGERY REQUIRED illness. So dumb. I went to the bar and watched the game with my friends, and we had a blast. There was a local news channel there filming all the students going crazy. I hid my face every time the camera turned my way. Because, you know, I was supposedly sick with appendicitis.

At some point during the game, my cell phone was stolen. Frigging karma.

No one bothered to tell me that appendicitis takes A MONTH to recover from. So on Monday, TWO DAYS after I’d called in sick, I went back to work. Needless to say, they were all stunned I was there. One of the suicide cult members said to me, “Wow, I had appendicitis when I was 12 and I was out of school for a month.” Realizing I was caught, I said, “Well…I’m very tough.”


I know that Leigh and I aren’t the only ones who have told tall tales to get or get out of a job. So spill it!!

P.S. I’m guest posting for Gemini Girl today. Go on over and say hi!