The lesson is there’s no substitute for natural love and enthusiasm. Whatever it is that draws your passion, when you can turn it into your profession, you’ve solved one of life’s greatest riddles. (“Love what you do” pops up a lot in these pages for a reason. Although it’s not the advice I’d give to the stars of Teen Mom.)
What we’re really talking about here is fandom. And the beauty of being a fan is that the enthusiasm is infectious. For example, I have a passing fancy for Broadway. I don’t know much about it, but I grew up with my parents listening to cast albums, so that world always interests me. And when I get in my car and turn on the satellite Broadway channel and Seth Rudetsky comes on the air, man, I’m hooked. I’m belting out show tunes while driving (which, thanks to cell phones, doesn’t make me look all that crazy anymore). And for no other reason than because this guy Seth lives, breathes, and would eat Broadway if it came in edible form. You can’t stop listening to him. He’s not only knowledgeable about the smallest facts in a way a true fan is, but he’s exhilarated just talking about it. When someone loves something that much, you can’t help but be smitten with it, too.
Similarly, I don’t consider myself a big fan of the gossip world. I know that Brad and Angelina are still together, but it’s not like I can name their kids (they have more than one, right?). Still, I have become addicted to the first fifteen minutes of The Wendy Williams Show, when she does her “Hot Topics” segment. Again, it’s solely because this is a woman who is consumed. If she were on death row and was offered either a last meal or a chance to yak about the Kardashians, she’d gladly starve so she could yenta it up about the first family of reality TV. I give Wendy Williams a lot of props—when you can make a fan out of someone who registered zero on the interest meter, that’s an energy of electric proportion you’re putting out there.
Which is another reason I love talking to other funny people so much. I can talk for hours to a stand-up comic or comedy writer whom I’ve never met, because I’m still endlessly fascinated by the art form. I don’t think a day will ever come when I’m “filled up” talking about comedy. Which is one way that I know I made the right decision to pursue stand-up back when I was a college junior and passed the audition at the Comic Strip. This work is where my heart and passion live. I know now that going back to school in Binghamton was never an option. I’d found my life’s calling. (Besides, you try braving the winters in upstate New York.)
When I was a kid, I was obsessed with Soupy Sales, he of “Do the Mouse”/pie-in-the-face fame. (Kids, check him out on YouTube.) I thought he was the funniest person I’d ever seen, and I would run home from school to catch his show on channel 5. I constantly wrote fan letters to Soupy and plotzed (remember, this was Long Island) when an autographed postcard from him arrived in our mailbox. I Scotch-taped it to the headboard of my bed until granting it permanent residence in my Peanuts scrapbook.
At some point I read in a fan magazine that Soupy liked to eat at a little Italian joint called Minetta Tavern, on MacDougal Street in Greenwich Village. The article even had pictures of him dining there with his family. And I remember asking my parents if we could go to Minetta Tavern, convinced that when we did, Soupy would be there, too, and I could meet him in person. Well, you don’t have to be a genius to figure out that when my parents did take me to eat there, Soupy was a no-show. But I still left that restaurant happy as a clam (an idiom that, given the usual fate of clams in Italian restaurants, seems somewhat less than accurate). The reason, of course, was simple: I was in the place that Soupy went to. We sat at a table where, maybe, Soupy once sat. Ordered from the same menu. I felt close to my idol, and even in that abstract way, it meant everything to me.
This story has so much resonance for me this many years later for another reason. As a kid, I never thought about how amazing it was that my parents actually took me to Minetta Tavern. Especially because it would have been so easy for them to toss the idea away with any number of rationales.
Mom: “Sweetie, the odds of you running into Soupy Sales on a random night are just meshugenah!”
Dad: “The schlep into the city? And then with those Manhattan restaurant prices?”
But they didn’t say those things. We got on the train, we schlepped, and my dad paid the inflated New York dinner prices. Because loving me as they did, my parents didn’t mind pursuing my pipe dream for a night in the service of supporting my bigger dream—being somehow connected to comedy.
I’m reminded of all this now that I have my own young son with my partner, Lori. And when he displays a particular passion for something, I hope to give him his own Minetta Tavern experience, chasing whatever crazy fan desire he comes up with. Trust me, I’ll just be so jazzed that he’s fired up about something. Even if it’s baseball. (Seriously. I mean, who knows … but this kid does have some arm. Plus, he’s from Latin America, and that can’t hurt.)
So find the one thing that demands your attention, your own personal Soupy Sales. What is the topic for which the discussion never ends? The subject that could keep a conversation going on a train from New York to Florida, if you met a stranger interested in the same thing? The answer is a good indicator of what career to aim for. (And if you’re a parent, have your antennae out to pick up this kind of interest in your kids.)
When you’re a fan of the industry you’re in, that enthusiasm will inevitably bring you a Barry Levinson moment, when passion for your profession helps you stand out among rivals. And occasionally, you might get a decent Italian meal in Greenwich Village out of it, too.
Soupy’s postcard to me. Check out the 4-cent stamp!
CHAPTER 4
SO I STOLE SODA FROM AARON SPELLING
In 1987, I was riding a good wave. My stand-up was getting a lot of notice, and my agent asked me to come out from New York to meet with some folks in Los Angeles. I was especially psyched when I heard that one of the execs who wanted to meet with me was the head of Aaron Spelling’s production company. At the time, Aaron Spelling was the king of TV, with a ton of shows on the air, among them Dynasty, The Love Boat, and Hotel, and he hoped to branch out into comedy.
So I went over to Aaron Spelling’s office with my manager at the time, Tom, and we had a meeting with Spelling’s great development guy. This exec was a big fan, had seen a bunch of my late-night spots on Letterman, and was excited about the possibility of working together. Tom and I left very pleased—I had a good foot in a very important door.
As we were on our way out, I was feeling really thirsty. We passed a huge refrigerator, tucked into the recess of a hallway. I told Tom I was going to open the fridge to see if there were some drinks inside. Tom immediately cautioned me about doing this.
“Carol, you don’t know whose refrigerator that is,” he said.
“Tom, I think you’re being a little nuts here. It’s not like I’m taking something out of a fridge in somebody’s office.”
“Still, I don’t think you should do it.”
Thinking Tom was being overly cautious, I opened the refrigerator door, which revealed it was stacked top to bottom with cold sodas. Mind you, no Tupperware labeled “Betty’s Egg Salad,” nothing partially eaten. No newspaper cartoons or funny magnets stuck to the door, either. I grabbed a Diet Coke and we headed out.
The next day when I was back in New York, I got a frantic call from my agent:
“What the hell happened over at Aaron Spelling’s office?!?” Maybe I should have taken a Sprite.
So on the face of it, taking a can of soda from an anonymous refrigerator doesn’t seem like the biggest deal breaker. But why take the chance? Something I often tell myself—and anyone else who needs to hear it—is “control what you can and forget about the rest.” Avoid a potential problem that’s in your power to avoid, no matter how insignificant it may seem. You never know which iceberg—or ice-cold soda—will be the one that capsizes you.
Whatever your profession, we’re living in an incredibly competitive time, especially when it come
s to hiring. During an interview, you should picture two hundred other candidates competing for the same job, a hundred of whom are younger and hungrier than you are. (Which for some readers will mean going up against twelve-year-olds, but trust me, they’re out there.) The other hundred are older and more experienced than you. Plus, throw in a few who went to school with the boss’s kid, who know the boss’s chiropractor, or who have some other personal connection. I’m not saying this to spook you, only to motivate you to do everything you can to make your best impression.
Over the years, I’ve gone on a lot of interviews, known a lot of job hunters, and done plenty of hiring myself. And again and again, I’ve found there are small mistakes people make when looking for a job, mistakes that are incredibly dumb and completely avoidable (did I mention my visit to Aaron Spelling’s office?). So here’s my Big List of Duh, the stuff that all job seekers, at any level, should know like the back of their resumes. As obvious as some of these may seem, there are plenty of people who commit these crimes against hirability. But now you never will!
Being Late
This is number one with a bullet, the top vote-getter in the Stupid Job Hunter Hall of Fame. Time management is important—not just with job interviews but with everything related to business. When you’re prompt to a meeting, you’re telling the person that you value them and their time. When you’re not, you’re telling them that they’re just one more thing on your to-do list, like picking up cat food or having your tires rotated. You’re asking this person to hire you, for God’s sake. Give you a steady paycheck. Help feed you. Being late to the interview is like showing up on a blind date and the first words out of your mouth are “So we’re going Dutch tonight, right?” This is the first time you get to show your prospective employer that you can follow instructions and be dependable.
For regular appointments or meetings, I’d say you’ve got five minutes of wiggle room. But as far as job interviews go, there is no grace period. If you’re not ready and available when they call your name, you’re losing big points with every passing minute. For my own interviews, I bring a puzzle or a magazine, get there early, and just chill before they ask for me to come in. If you arrive more than five minutes early, do tell the receptionist who you are and that you realize you’re a little early. That way they don’t wonder “Who’s the strange person doing Sudoku on our couch?” If you’re super early, maybe grab a coffee across the street until it’s ten minutes to meeting time, so you won’t come off as a weird creepy lurker hanging around the waiting area.
Look, I’m well aware there are unavoidable intervening factors in life—a flat tire, a broken-down bus or subway, being stopped for a ticket. In my experience, those really unavoidable reasons happen about one percent of the time. The other ninety-nine percent, lateness boils down to bad planning (“I couldn’t decide which top to wear” or “I wanted to see who won on this Judge Judy episode I was watching”). If that dreaded one percent does happen to you—once, the electric gate of the parking garage in my apartment building wouldn’t open, holding me hostage for two hours—be prepared. Do you know the office number so you can call and tell them you’re trapped in a canyon with your arm pinned under a boulder? Is it better to get in touch with them by text or e-mail? Know this info in advance so you can act before you black out.
As an aside, here’s a little phenomenon I’ve noticed every time I’ve been in hiring mode: a prospective hire comes in late as an unspoken power play. As if to say, “Yeah, I know you’re important and everything, but guess what, I am, too.” And they always feel the need to mention whatever important event kept them from being on time. Don’t be that person. Be the person who wants the job so badly that you followed the one big demand: to arrive at the appointed time. You’re controlling something you can control, your own promptness, the first step to making a good impression.
Questionable Hygiene
Unfortunately, more people need help with this problem than you’d think.
First let me address my male readers, because I think you need special attention when it comes to this subject. I’m going to throw out two facts that you’d think most guys would already know, but not all of them do. So listen up, fellows.
Hygiene Fact One: WHEN YOU HAVE A JOB INTERVIEW, YOU NEED TO TAKE A SHOWER BEFOREHAND. Not a week before, not the night before, but the morning of the interview. And not a quick rinse-off but a real shower, one that includes soap (from a store) and lots of scrubbing. Pretend you just finished running a marathon. Maybe two.
Hygiene Fact Two: IF YOU APPLY AFTERSHAVE OR COLOGNE AFTER SAID SHOWER, YOU MUST USE IT SPARINGLY. It’s not a flea dip, guys. In fact, I’d say toss the cologne completely. Except for a handful of gay guys, I’ve never known a man who smells better with aftershave on. The benefit of a good hearty shower is that you smell naturally clean afterward.
Hey, didn’t mean to freak you out with the caps and italics above. I just want to be sure I get this point across! I can’t tell you how many times I’ve interviewed guys who walked into my office and their funk walked in right after them—so much that I thought I was going to have to offer it its own chair. It’s incredibly distracting. Many times I’m sitting there trying to figure out what exactly is that combo in the funk. Like, “Is that Funyuns mixed with a pack of Newports?” “Can moth balls actually eat a Whopper?”
Or sometimes a guy’s gross cologne gets all over my hand when we shake. Nothing worse than stinking and then spreading it. When that happens, I can’t concentrate at all—I’m counting the minutes until the interview is over and I can wash it off, so I don’t smell like I got maced with a bottle of Hai Karate. So, shower! And leave the cologne for your brother and the girl he met on Plenty of Fish.
This cologne thing now segues over to women. Gals, heed the advice I just gave to the men: less is more. You’re trying to get a job, not get hired by an escort service. So go easy on the perfume. Same for the makeup and jewelry. When in doubt, always side with “subtle.”
And ladies, for God’s sake get a manicure before you interview, even if it’s a no-polish one. Nothing worse than looking across a desk and seeing someone’s chewed-up funky-ass nails.
Which leads to the subject of how to dress for a job interview …
What Not to Wear
Unlike the common-sense topic of time management, navigating this one requires a little more thought. I guess my standard advice would be to dress the part. If you’re interviewing in a law office, you’d wear a suit. If you’re interviewing to be a bike messenger, a suit would be weird. So figure out the environment of the place you’re attempting to gain employment at and match it. When in doubt, dress a shade up rather than a shade down. (When I do stand-up, I always aim to dress one degree fancier than the audience. To me, it’s a respect thing. Like, “You’ve taken the time to buy a ticket to come see my little show, so let me dress up a little more than maybe you have.”)
This is an area where I’d like to address women in particular. Five-inch stiletto heels are a great choice, gals, if you’re interviewing to be a stripper. In fact, maybe that’s all you’d need. But it’s not such a good idea for a receptionist at a podiatrist’s office. This may sound weird, but even in an office setting, the person who does the hiring will want to know that you won’t be hampered because you decided to wear stilts on your feet. Which is not to say that you need to interview in a pair of running shoes (clerk at Foot Locker being the obvious exception). Sensible footwear, please.
The same goes with clothes that are too sexy. I’ve seen women come in for interviews who apparently felt it necessary to show off their incredible rack in a low-cut top. Sorry, but putting your best cup forward is a bad choice. You’re at a job interview, not spring break in Cancun. So save the super-sexy outfits for the club and the boob men lining the bar.
Last point: Man or woman, you don’t need to break the bank on interview outfits. Plenty of midpriced stores are more than able to supply you with professional-looking choices (a
lthough who in their right mind would ever shop at a place called Dress Barn?). If there’s one area where you might splurge, I would recommend getting a good haircut. I’ve seen people transform their entire look just by finding a top-notch stylist. There’s no bigger turnoff than someone in a Brooks Brothers suit with a Moe-from-the-Three-Stooges haircut.
Being on time, looking nice, not smelling like the trash bin behind a Korean barbecue joint … that’s a good start, but it’s only a start. There are still plenty of ways to screw up once your meeting gets under way. So keep reading.
Come On In!
“You never get a second chance to make a first impression.” I know that line comes from an old Head & Shoulders commercial, but I wish I’d thought of it. Because it’s true (more so than “Gee Your Hair Smells Terrific”).
To make that great first impression, the first thing to do—even before entering the room—is to make sure your phone is off. Nothing brings an interview to a grinding halt like a Black Eyed Peas ringtone belting out from the middle of nowhere. That would annoy even Fergie.
Next up, watch your handshake. It’s such a bummer when you immediately like someone, then you shake hands and it all falls apart. A problem handshake usually falls into one of two polar-opposite categories: the limp fish or the death grip of Thor. I think this is an area where men have a bit of an advantage—they’ve been more socialized to shake hands. So if you’re a woman and feel a little awkward when you shake, practice with someone until you can reliably deliver a firm but not finger-crushing grip. Develop the habit of looking the person in the eye when you shake, too. It’s a small but important detail. (Note: Avoid fist bumps, high-fives, one-arm man hugs—anything you might have seen when guys greet each other in beer commercials.)
How to Succeed in Business Without Really Crying Page 3