About three weeks ago Uncle Bill put me in touch with a friend of his that does marketing for GM. I called the guy, per his request. He immediately told me he was interested in meeting me and asked if I would be available the following Wednesday to come to the office. I checked my nonexistent schedule and told him I would be delighted. He promised to call on Tuesday to firm up the details.
Just as he promised, Phillipe, as we will call him, rang me on Tuesday afternoon. I was walking to get a late lunch with Nicole, who was in town for the Knicks game. He asked if I was still available to go to the office and I answered yes, without even pretending to check my appointment book. He asked me to meet him at the East Village Meat Market between 7:45 and 8 am. I repeated his instructions aloud, to help me remember, said goodbye, thanked him, and put my telephone back in my pocket. I quickly wrote a note for myself with the time and location.
The next morning I woke up over an hour before my alarm, thrilled to have the opportunity for an interview. I showered, dressed professionally, ate breakfast and headed out the door. I planned to walk to our meeting place. According to Google Maps it would take me less than 30 minutes, but I left just after 7. With heels and nerves, I wasn't sure how long the trip would take, and I definitely didn't want to be late. I arrived at the corner of 9th and 2nd to find that the meat market wasn't on the corner. I had assumed it would be, thinking Phillipe would simply be driving by, and pick me up. I stood in front of the meat market, noticing it was open, and waited.
About ten minutes later a small black Buick parked across the street from me and Phillipe got out of the car. We shook hands and I followed him into the meat market. What?
Phillipe shook hands with the men behind the counter who immediately realized what they had forgotten. In his thick Polish accent the owner said, "Oh no! I forgot! I saw the girl standing out front, and I forgot what I was supposed to be doing!" Phillipe answered, "you sat there checking out the girl I'm interviewing and forgot my meat? Okay, okay, but please hurry. I need to get this to Frank."
Seriously, what had I gotten myself into? An early morning run to the meat market? Being checked out my the Polish meat man? Were heels too much for this interview?
Phillipe turned to me, apologized and asked if I smoked, he was going to go outside for a cigarette. I politely declined, but immediately regretted it. For the first time in my life I had the urge to smoke. I wanted a cigarette to take the edge off. That's what they are said to do, right?
I waited in the meat market, watching the Polish men slice unidentifiable meat after unidentifiable meat. Phillipe came back in and began barking orders.
"Oh, come on! We are going to need more than that."
"Don't hold back on me."
"That's not enough!"
"Half a pound?! No way! Give me at least two pounds!"
There was definite sarcasm in his voice, which gave me hope, but what was so special about this meat?
Then came the sausages.
Racks and racks of sausages were picked through before Phillipe committed to the perfect sausages.
Phillipe asked me for help with the bread, but quickly decided on whole grain, sourdough and olive loaves on his own. Phillipe eyed the doughnuts in the corner and asked if I wanted one. I could tell it was oozing with something fruity and said "no thank you." He tried to get one for me, but with the smell of meat and cigarettes, I couldn't even imagine trying to eat a doughnut. I declined again. The owner threw a free babka into one of the bags.
As each cut of meat was punched into the manual register, the bags were filled and double bagged. When the total rang $367 Phillipe quickly turned over his American Express. The Polish man looked at the card, and told him that they couldn't accept it- only Visa or MasterCard. Phillipe sarcastically criticized him, telling him he was too cheap to pay the fees, but found another credit card. Within seconds we were out the door, with our bags of meat and about 12 feet of sausages.
We put the meat in the trunk, jumped in the car and raced to New Jersey.
On the trip to New Jersey Phillipe explained the meat. Thank goodness!
The company has a very good relationship with Consumer Reports, and about every six months they bring them lunch. The East Village Meat Market is known to have the best Polish meats in the city, and the people at Consumer Reports love it.
Okay, I was feeling a little bit better. I was beginning to think this "small office" I was headed to was filled with Fred Flinstone- types, prepared to chow down on the massive piece of ham on the bone that was sitting in the trunk, without using silverware.
We arrived at the office, popped the trunk, and did the trade-off, putting the nearly $400 worth of meat in the next trunk. Frank walked out of the office, looking disheveled. His belt was twisted, his pants were falling down a little, and his shirt was wrinkled, but he was nice. He shook my hand, got into his car and headed to Consumer Reports for a feast.
Phillipe and I went into the office. He and Evan are the two owners of the company, and the only ones in the office. The two recently purchased the company from Frank, but as far as I could see, Frank is still around. Phillipe took out his doughnut and babka, sharing with Evan, and offering me some again. Evan then offered me orange juice.
I sat there with my orange juice, the two of them with Polish baked goods, and we talked about work. Within minutes, they were making copies of my license, and I was hired.
I am now a part- time driver. I bring cars to and from various journalists and reporters throughout the northeast, with hopes of working my way up the ranks of the car industry. My first day on the job I was able to drive the brand new Buick Verano!
As a girl that LOVES cars, this could work for me! Thanks, Uncle Bill!
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