rejection letters and levees

Sitting on the seat of my trusty Trek 800, a seat so old and trusty the foam insulation was all gone and now all my butt felt was iron, I wondered where to go next.

New Orleans was the town I’d been dreaming of living in for most of my adult life, now, here I was living there and not enjoying it much.

It wasn’t the town. I couldn’t get enough of it. The sights, the people, the hot and humid days. I loved all of that. I just wasn’t happy.

Then, as a 27 year old, I didn’t think about the whys too much. I didn’t want to go there. So, instead, I buried myself in riding my bike around town. Taking in as much of it as I could because I knew I wouldn’t be there very long.

On this day I was down at the levee at the intersection of Carrollton and St. Charles. Just about a mile from where I was living – in my girlfriend’s apartment. I had just eaten a meal at Cooter Brown’s and paid for it with my Capital One credit card. I burned that credit card for fuel all throughout my New Orleans period, as I came to call it in my head. But, the limit was almost reached, which meant the shit was going to start hitting the fan. Big time. I’d been avoiding my bills from the day I moved there, which was almost six months ago. I was scared to open them. I had no income except selling stuff I found at thrift stores on e-bay. That was usually enough to go out and drink a few beers when my girlfriend got off of work.

It’s funny, I was there for months, but I don’t remember much about it, except for riding my bike and a couple of interviews for jobs. One of them in Houma, the other in Hammond. I’d never applied for a job up to that point and not got it. So, when I got the interview in Houma, I was confident. It was a little further away from the city than I wanted, but it was also really close to the gulf and certainly would be a fun place to live for a while.

I walked in to the place and liked it. The editor at the time was a bit of a tough guy, but he seemed a decent chap. We sat down and talked for about 45 minutes. He grilled me on why I wanted to be there, and I told him the truth – “my girlfriend worked at the paper in New Orleans, and we wanted to be together.” I have no idea if this was the “right” answer, but it was the truth.

After meeting a bunch of other folk, they had me design a page. I think I did OK. Then, the editor asked me to write a column. I sort of panicked. I had not really thought about that, so my brain was blank. I’d been driving around on my bike and drinking too much, not paying attention to sports.

So, I sat down and read over the wire. Barry Sanders had just retired. Suddenly and out of nowhere. So, I wrote a column about that. Just pulled it out of my ass. I had no facts, no real opinion on the matte, but I did it anyway. I don’t even remember which side of it I was on.

After that we shook hands and he told me he’d be in touch.

I left feeling confident.

A little while later, don’t remember exactly how long it was, he called me. “Sorry, Randy, but we’re going with another candidate,” he said. I remember feeling numb. Nothing else. It was shock. I’d never been rejected for a job before. Internships at the Washington Post or the LA Times? Yes. But a job at a small newspaper? Never.

I thanked him for his consideration and told him to keep me in mind in the future if anything else came up. He said he would. We hung up.

Man, that feeling sucked.

A month or more later, I saw an ad for the job in Hammond. Another small town outside of NOLA. This one was further away from home and to the north.

I drove to the town and felt strange. It was a sad place. Not a lot going for it.

The interview with the sports editor went awesomely. I can say that I do interview well, even though I’m incredibly nervous every time. To this day, I’ve interviewed for 25 jobs face to face with editors. I’ve gotten offers from 22 of them. And I’m not counting the paper in Florida that offered me a job, only to take it back when the guy leaving decided to stay. Sometimes I imagine shooting that guy in the kneecaps and asking him why he fucked up my life? But, I don’t even know who the guy was, and more importantly, I don’t own a gun.

After our interview, we went to lunch with the managing editor. She really seemed to like me. Like my writing that I showed. They offered me the job soon after. I thought on it for a day. And much to my surprise, I turned it down.

I sometimes wish I hadn’t. But I know some things would have turned out the same anyway. But, I might have lived there longer. And who knows, I might still be in New Orleans?

This stuff all came flooding back to me yesterday when I received another form letter. It was a rejection slip from another job in Raleigh. I have a stack now. Just like the stack I had from internships back in 1998. Now, 14 years later, I’ve got a stack of them for jobs. Jobs that I am perfectly qualified for, but don’t seem to have the “it” that gets me one of them.

It’s hard, but I’ll keep fighting. I’m tired of running away. I want to run towards.