In which I am asked to do math

Now, this was not a terrible interview. This little story I'm about to tell was actually part of a very good interview. Really very good indeed. I interviewed to be the research assistant for a famous columnist whom I loooooove. I mean, he's sort of older and grumbly and grouchy and curmudgeonly, but...funny. For example:

[Columnist]: "Listen. I'm going to be straight with you. This wouldn't be like your other jobs. I'm a hermit. I think and I write and I think and I write, and I stay here in my little office most of the time. We're not going to be hanging around the water cooler in the morning chatting about American Idol."

Me: "Well...that's fine."

[Columnist]: "Well it's really not fine. But that's how it is, and I want you to know that up front."

Me: Pause. Silent, trying not to laugh.

[Columnist]: "And I'm not your mentor. OK? Don't ask me to read your stuff."

Me: Still trying not to laugh.

[Columnist]: Starting to smile slightly.

Me: "OK."

[Columnist]: "Moving on."

Anyway...I guess it sounds sort of terrible but it really wasn't. He was a lovely funny curmudgeonly man.

Except when he asked me to solve a math problem.

I am not exaggerating when I say I CANNOT DO MATH. (See previous post). Seriously. Last week I had to ask my friend to add my dinner tip to my total because I COULD NOT FIGURE IT OUT without counting on my fingers and even then I had like a 50/50 shot of getting it right. I distinctly remember my high school calculus teacher asking me to give an answer to a problem and me saying "I don't know why you continue to call on me because WE ALL KNOW I DO NOT KNOW THE ANSWER. EVER."

And then I got detention.

Anyway, back to the interview: we're chatting away about research methods and current events and newspapers and all sorts of nice things.

[Columnist]: "Now, let me ask you something."

Me: "OK."

[Columnist]: "We do a lot of number-crunching here in our research."

Me: "You...you do? Oh...great!"

[Columnist]: "Let's say we figured out that the average American drives about 12,000 miles a year."

Me, nervously: "Alright."

[Columnist]: "And let's say we've also found that the average car gets 25 miles to the gallon."

Me: Oh God I hate numbers wait I've already forgotten the first part oh good gravy he can't ask me to solve a math problem that was not part of the job description oh gosh oh gosh oh gosh wait what was that first part again? 25 something? Oh my God.

[Columnist]: "So. How would you figure out how much gas the average American uses?"

Me: Oh God.

[Columnist]: Waiting expectantly.

I HAVE TO SAY SOMETHING. I can't just sit here. Should I tell him I can't add? No. Idiot. Maybe I should scratch my forehead and look thoughtful. OK good idea do that.

Me, scratching forehead and looking thoughtful: "Hmmm...25, you say?"

[Columnist]: Giving me an odd look and still waiting expectantly.

Me: "Well, I would say...I would say..."

THINK you cannot be THIS MUCH OF AN IDIOT.

Me: "You would...you would..."

OH MY GOD JUST MAKE SOMETHING UP. WITH NUMBERS IN IT.

Me: "You would...divide..."

[Columnist]: Still waiting.

Me: "Erm...divide 12,000 by 25?"

[Columnist]: Silence.

Me: Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no.

[Columnist]: "You would not believe how many people can't answer that question."

Me: "Oh! So...I got it right?"

[Columnist]: "Um...yes."

Me: "OH HA YAY GOOD. Oh wow I mean to be honest, I was just totally taking a stab in the dark there."

[Columnist]: Looks at me oddly.

Me: "Just...just kidding. Hee."

Anyway, the rest of the interview was great, and I was so unused to that that at the end I thanked him for actually being nice to me. And he said, "you're a lovely person." And my hardened heart melted.

Unfortunately, the job ended up being more along the lines of an unpaid internship, so I had to take myself out of the running. "I'll get a real job soon!" I thought. Ha. But that was definitely one of the nicest, most pleasant interviews I've had, ever.

EXCEPT FOR THE DAMN MATH.