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  • Auriane de Rudder

Drinking and Interviewing: April Fools!

Ahhh! April Fool's is my favorite holiday. The only thing I love more than a good grift is a straight up prank. Let's see...Over the years there have been so many. There was the time I tricked my mother into thinking her abusive relative had crashed her vacation. That one took a lot of phone coordination with both the hotel and said abusive relative. (Side note: I was 8 years old.) There was the prank call I made after my very first sleep over at age five, where I attempted to sound like Arnold Schwarzenegger but instead just really confused my older sister. In more recent years, using makeup to look severely beat up, and even having the police stop by my bar-jobs with a phony warrant for my arrest has proven fun and effective. Oh! There was the time I made faux period blood out of Bailey's, Jager and Grenadine and smeared it all over my pants before doing a door-to-door meet and greet with my new neighbors. And this year, I've somewhat convinced a large group of friends that--despite my utter disinterest in marriage--that I've given up on my dreams and settled for tying the knot.

These have all been fun. Tremendous fun, in fact. I love playing pranks more than I love vodka. I know! I love pranking THAT MUCH. And on this, the holiest of all days holy, I'd like to reminisce about my favorite prank of all time. Ladies and gentlemen, let's talk about the


Like most happenings of 2015, it all began with a text message. Tami was a friend, albeit not a close one, but still, the girl had sass. I'd see the always convivial Tami at bars, out and about, usually enjoying her third cocktail. She had a pranksters' spirit, and so we bonded. It was late in March when she sent me a simple enough request via cell phone:

"Hey girl. Will you go to a fake job interview to punk my boss?"

Would I? Hell yes I would! But I had one stipulation:

"Am I the first person you've asked?"

"Yes," she responded.

I was in. The interview date was set for March 30th, a no-no in April Fool's day etiquette but a smooth move in really tricking someone. Only hours after agreeing to the whole shenanigan, I received a fake resume via email. I was no longer Auriane de Rudder, writer and painter. Nope. Now I was Mary-Anne Wilkinson. South African dance instructor.

I prepared mentally for my role as Mary-Anne. What would it be like to be South African? To be a dance teacher? To have such a basic fucking name? I was out of my element, for sure. But I know the cure for that!

I woke up the morning of the 30th with a vague concept of my character and how to develop her. I also woke up with the clear intention to get a little drunk. I reached out to friends for advice as I downed a few vodka-sodas. After 5 or 6 phone calls to the funniest people I know, I was confident enough (and drunk enough) to head to the office of Justin at Service Source and make an impression. I was to interview for a Sales position, which was perfect. Sales people don't care if you're crazy. They only want to know one thing: CAN YOU SELL?

My goal was to horrify my interviewer, but also make him want to hire me. Spoiler alert? I totally succeeded.

First, I would need a cute outfit and makeup. I chose a flirty but relatively professional skirt, black t-shirt and red blazer. I accessorized with pretty pearl earrings and some BRUISES.

A touch of red lipstick and one final cocktail and I was off!

I stopped along my walk downtown to Service Source's offices to pick up two mini-bottles of Jameson-- One for Justin, as a hello gift--and one for me to drink during the interview should the questions get tough.

I entered the office with confidence. I felt great. I looked terrible; My favorite way to really make an entrance! Several of the employees whispered as I walked by, one of which even winked at me. They were in on the joke, but Tami assured me Justin was still 100% in the dark. I was led to a white, under-decorated interview room, and asked to wait for the boss man. As I waited, I kept myself busy rifling through the interviewer's desk. There I found colored paper clips which I promptly linked together and made into a heart shape on the desk. In the center of the heart, I placed one mini of Jameson. This guy was gonna' love me!

Once Justin entered, it was SHOWTIME! He introduced himself. He was young and cute, and came off as a consummate professional. I tried initially to thwart that professionalism, interrupting his introduction.

"I'm so sorry I'm late. I had to poop and then parking was a DISASTER. Actually, the whole thing was a disaster, lemme tell ya!" I said, waving my hand in front of my face to indicate that my poop was a stinky one.

He shrugged it off. Honestly, I don't know if he even heard me. He was focusing on my bruises.

"Oh, and I don't normally look like this," I told him.

"I was in a terrible car accident last night. I did my best to clean myself up today, but the blood keeps seeping from this eye," I said, pointing.

"Oh my god, are you okay?" Justin asked, predictably.

For this I was prepared with a rehearsed answer.

"Oh god, yeah, I'm great actually. Turns out the other guy was totally drunk too, so we didn't even cal the cops. No DUI for either of us then!" I pointed to the Jameson on Justin's desk.

"That's for you, by the way. Cheers!" I held up my mini bottle of Jameson, but didn't crack it. I actually hate whiskey. I don't know what I was thinking.

Justin sat down, still composed, and still professional. He cleared the heart of paper-clips off the desk, placing them and the Jameson in a drawer out of sight. He thanked me for the kind gesture and started his line of questioning.

The questions started as inquiries to my past employment. My resume was patchy at best, with little employment stability and almost no sales experience. I mean, hell. I was a dance teacher. I decided to spice things up.

"So, Mary-Anne, why do you think you'll make a good addition to our sales force?" Justin asked.

"Well, I know how my resume may look. But you do know what a 'dance teacher,' is in South Africa, right?"

Justin nodded that, no, he did not.

I leaned over the desk and whispered, "It's a prostitute..." I let the air go quiet and still.

"But I was, like, the TOP prostitute. And we weren't, like, streetwalkers. Besides I only did that for 3 months or so. Then I got transitioned into a sales role."

Justin was speechless.

"So basically I managed all the other girls. And that can be a lot to handle. I mean, talk about multitasking! And problem solving! Sometimes one girl doesn't want to go with one client, or there is a cat-fight in their housing situation. It can be a lot to deal with. But no matter what I always made sure the girls got the job done and the client was SAT-IS-FIED." Justin was leaning toward me. Horrified, but interested.

"So basically, what I'm saying is..." I again let the air go still. I stared at the wall, and said nothing. For an awkwardly long time.

"You were saying?" Justin asked after 30 seconds of silence had passed.

"Oh. Sorry. I was saying, basically, if I can sell pussy I'm pretty sure I can sell anything."

The questions continued (somewhere there is an audio recording of the interview, we'll have to ask Tami for that), and all the while Justin tried so, so hard to keep things professional. I would alternate from coo-coo-bananas answers to thoughtful sales-driven answers. Despite being a clear nut-job, Justin and I interviewed for a total of 45 minutes. This man tried relentlessly to keep me on track. At one point, he even asked me to "try not to go off topic, or ramble on, just give me your best, immediate answer to the my question."

To this I responded, "Sweet! SPEED ROUND!" and placed my hands on top of one another on the surface of his desk, like I was hitting a game show buzzer. "Hit me, let's go, RAPID FIRE!" I shouted.

"What would you do if you realized you didn't have enough time in the day to complete all your duties?" Justin asked.

I slammed my hands down on my imaginary buzzer, making a loud thud on Justin's desk and shouted out, "WHAT IS DELEGATE!?" I was winging this interview Jeopardy-style.

Justin's questions continued, and through each answer, I led him to believe that I wasn't actually bruised in an accident, but was being abused at home. I mentioned that I really just wanted full time employment to get away from my husband, and to meet some people in the United States. I alluded to his jealousy, and even scratched below the collar of my shirt, revealing some fake strangulation marks I had applied with my makeup earlier.

Time and time again, Justin would try his best to keep the interview on the tracks, but I was going full force on this crazy train. At one point, the subject of cell phones came up. When Justin mentioned that he had an iPhone, I snapped.

"What do you think you're fucking superior now? WHAT? WHY? Because I have an Android?! That's cool, Justin. Real fucking cool," and again, I'd stop for a nice, long stare at the wall.

When Justin mentioned that he didn't drink coffee, I asserted that, "Well yeah because you're so coked out," and just deadpanned him.

As our interview came to a close, Justin fed me the line all interviewers do, and I so hoped he would.

"Mary-Anne, I think I've heard what I need to hear from you, but do you have any questions for me?"

I had rehearsed this moment, using a line a friend had suggested earlier that day.

"Oh just one question, really. Your insurance policies, I'm assuming full-time employees get insurance," Justin nodded yes in response, "Great. Do they cover suicides?"

Justin was finally knocked off his professional pedestal. His face reddened. He admitted that he had never been asked that.

"I'm not sure about that," he said quietly.

"Really? You've never been asked that? I can't imagine that's true," I said eyeing him suspiciously.

Justin quickly bounced back to his professional demeanor.

"Okay, Mary-Anne. I think I've got everything I need. I'm just going to go and file your paper work, and then I'll be back to escort you out of the building. It's been a pleasure talking with you."

He then left me in the interview room, and so I promptly pulled out more colorful paper clips.

I formed the words April Fool's on the desk instead of a heart, and let the abused schizo prostitute out of the bag when Justin returned.

Let's just say, initially, he was not happy. His face got super red, and he kept asking who had put me up to this. I dashed out of the building and met up with Tami outside. I assured her that I didn't sell her out, but to beware because the boss was not in the best of moods. She couldn't believe that I lasted a whole 45 minutes. I couldn't believe Justin did!

Weeks later I ran into Justin at an office party in a bar. Turns out our little prank had turned him into somewhat of an office celebrity and me into some sort of pranking legend. He wasn't mad anymore, and we got a beer.

I guess all's well that ends well, especially if it's APRIL FOOL'S. Oh and on that note, in case you missed it earlier, no. I'm not getting married guys. Happy BEST HOLIDAY EVER, and good luck out there!

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