Bad Interview

“Are you a dog person? I have dogs.” The producer asks as he gestures to the couch on which two rat-like dogs recline.

“Uh, well, I’d love a dog,” I reply. “But I'm afraid that my elderly cat wouldn’t approve.”

“I know how to kill cats,” he drawls.

The executive producer, Jay Josephson, is a tall, pockmarked man with a southern accent whose last hit aired in the '90s. This show represents his chance to finally have another moneymaker at a time when TV audiences and revenues are declining. For me, the job is a chance to earn a living at an art I love, editing material that should be a lot of fun on a show that is bound to be a big hit.

During the interview, Jay doesn’t meet my gaze. In fact, the way he fidgets and twists in his chair communicates extreme discomfort. When Alice, his creative partner, sings my praises (we’ve worked together before), he shrugs, makes a sour face, looks away.

Alice holds my resume. “Lisa, ideally, we’d like to see someone with genre experience. What can you say?”

Genre experience? Our last show together was a teen sci-fi drama-comedy. It had action, romance, teens with super powers—how much more “genre” do they want? I parse her expression for a clue. Oh! She means horror! “Well,” I lean forward, “I just watched your pilot. I can cut that material.”

Jay looks at Alice and shrugs, a gesture that could mean, “Ok, you can hire her if you want.” Or, “I don’t think much of her. Let’s table this for now.”

She turns to me, her expression carefully blank, “You’re the first person we’ve met and we won’t decide anything for a few weeks,” she says, rising.

I nod. Turn to Jay, “So glad I finally got to meet you!”

“Oh, don’t worry,” he drawls, barely brushing my outstretched hand with the tips of his fingers. “You’ll come to hate me soon enough.”