Why I Hate Long Underwear

I had two stressful hours before a job interview yesterday. It felt like I was in some bizarre world where everything that can go horrible, did.

The stress began when I got an e-mail the night before from my interviewer with a list of items they wanted me to bring. Having these items was not mandatory since the interview was set up on short notice, but this was my first choice of potential employers; I wanted to do my best to make a good impression. The only thing I didn’t have: "two recent photos wearing a tie." It was too late to make the drive into town. Everything was closed. However, I knew there was a photo booth outside a store not too far out of the way. I figure we can stop by there on the way to Hamamatsu.

The next day we stopped at said store. I went into the bathroom to check my tie before using the booth and realize that my tailored suit pants no longer looked tailored at all. I’ve lost almost 25 lbs. since coming to Japan, and the excess fabric of my pants was bunched up around my crotch. I looked like a giant baby lost in his father's clothes. After 5 minutes of careful redistribution of excess pants around my waist, I headed out to use the photo booth, only to discover that it was out of order.

I still had about 2.5 hours before my interview so I asked Drew to just drop me off near the interview location in Hamamatsu. I'd walk around the station and find the passport photo booth I'd vaguely remembering seeing before.

When I arrived, I decided it would be smart to first locate the hotel where my interview would be so I would not rush around trying to find it at the last minute. But while trying to find the hotel, I noticed a slight drooping sensation around my hips. It felt as if my pants were falling off, but I looked and they were still secured around my waist. Weird. By the time I reached the hotel, I realized that it was my long underwear; they were sliding down, drooping around my lower thighs, and threatening to pull my pants off. If you have ever had this couture-related nightmare occur, then you know how disconcerting it would feel if it weren’t for the greater feelings of dread that overpower it. In case you are having trouble imagining this, I have made a little diagram:

Dance No. 1: The Thigh-Clutcher

At this point, I was searching desperately around the hotel lobby for a bathroom while clutching my thighs. I stopped praying that I not look ridiculous, and started praying that as few people as possible see how utterly ridiculous I looked. After scouring the lobby and getting a fair share of stares, it finally dawned on me there were no bathrooms on the first floor. The second floor proved far more forgiving and fruitful; there were considerably less people to see me, and I located the much-needed facilities.

Dance No. 2: The Tie Jangle

Once in the restroom stall, I removed my shoes and pants so I could rid myself of the saggy long johns. However, while bending over to remove them I lost my balance and dunked about three inches of my tie into the toilet bowl. Frustrated, I shoved the trauma-causing underwear into my resume folder and dangled my tie under the air dryers for another 5 minutes. Finally, with an only slightly damp tie, I continued my search for a photo booth.

Dance No. 3: The Bloody Hobble

With no long underwear, I was now freezing my butt off outside while on my search. After 30 minutes I noticed that now my Achilles tendons were stinging. A quick check showed that a combination of thin socks and hard new shoes had caused them to chafe to the point of bleeding.

With 40 minutes left to my interview I was now an officially cold, sweaty, bloody, picture-less, nervous wreck.

I abandoned my photo booth search and began looking for a convenience store to buy band-aids. No sooner had I made this mental decision than I passed by a camera shop with the words "passport photos" posted in the window. I laughed out loud at the irony, garnering a few odd stares. I entered the shop and exited 10 minutes later, photos in hand. They came out amazingly well, all things considered.

I picked up some band-aids at a 7-11 on the way back to the hotel and ended up going back to the same bathroom I was in an hour ago; removing articles of clothing yet again to repair my well-being. I managed to not soak my tie this time, made it down to the lobby with 5 minutes to spare, and met my interviewer.

We ended up having the interview at the hotel bar. When asked if I cared to have a drink, everything in me wanted to say yes, but I was so dehydrated and mentally worn I feared anything but water would throw off what little composure I had clung to. Even so, it seemed my string of bad luck had come to an end, and I ended up having a great interview.

My interviewer was very cool and easy-going. He had great stories and insights about Japan. After three hours it feels less like an interview and more like I'd just met an old friend. He mentioned this as well and invited me to go to dinner with a couple other employees. I wanted to go along, but since it was already 9pm and past Alisha's bedtime, I knew she and the Drew would be wanting to head back. I said my goodbyes and we parted ways, with only a slight hobble and a business folder stuffed with droopy underwear to remind me of the nightmare that had transpired.