Read Online Not My Type by Melanie Jacobson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Melanie Jacobson
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found on the Target clearance rack for forty dollars and an outfit I had pulled from my closet. It was definitely funkier with skinny black pants, a soft gray tunic shirt, and a wide black belt. Ginger mumbled behind closed lips.
“Are you trying to say something?” I asked politely.
“I promised not to comment,” she said, her face slightly pink from the effort of restraining herself.
“You don’t have to,” I said. “I know you want me to pick the suit.”
“No, I don’t.” She looked pleased to have surprised me. “I checked out Real Salt Lake online, and I think wearing something more hip would work better. Wear the belt outfit.”
“For real?” I was touched that she had bothered to check out the magazine.
“Yeah. It’s got a young, urban feel. I bet it’s not a suit kind of place,” she said. “I’ll give you my Steve Madden slides if you see anyone wearing a suit in there.”
“Like I would want them,” I said. “They won’t fit.”
“Your loss,” she said with a grin. “But you should definitely go hipster. If anything, you might want to switch the shirt out for something bright. I bet their office is going to be one of those rule-breaking, creative-type places where people show up in ironic T-shirts.”
“Go away now. I need to make a final decision on what to wear, and then I need to sit and think about the interview.” Tanner Graham said I had a lot to learn, but I learn quickly. I would definitely be more prepared for this interview. I’d spent a lot of time researching the Real Salt Lake website, and I liked what I’d seen. It was designed for young, aspiring urbanites who wanted the big city experience, offering articles on all the cool places to eat, shop, and play. It had a youthful but sophisticated vibe, kind of like a weekly indie tabloid that grew up a few years and shaved off its pretentious goatee. If I didn’t know Salt Lake from growing up forty miles south of it, I would look at Real Salt Lake and think the city fell a few points short of being Manhattan; the website’s production was that slick. If this was all an outgrowth of Ellie’s vision, then she definitely knew what she was doing.
Ellie had been expecting my phone call a few days before, thanks to Mrs. Mayers. Ellie explained that they were still a very small operation but that she had some possibilities to discuss with me. My meeting with her tomorrow had been the only thing that had kept me slogging through another week at Handy’s. I clung to the hope that I would soon be able to shake sandwich purgatory forever.
After Ginger left, I tooled around the Internet for a while, reading articles like “How to Get the Job You Want” and “The Sure-Fire Guide to Acing an Interview.” And I possibly spent a little extra time on Etsy looking at some cool retro jewelry designs. Maybe. When I slept that night, I dreamed I was waving a tiny digital voice recorder at the governor, who was a tomato, while standing on top of Tanner Graham, who had dream-morphed into a purple ottoman with a head and arms. I woke with that good omen fresh in my mind and set out to meet Ellie Peters and begin life as Pepper Spicer, sandwich shop refugee and girl reporter extraordinaire.
By the time I exited the freeway, I could tell that everything about this interview was already better than the Bee disaster. For one, the Real Salt Lake offices were located in Sugarhouse, and I decided right away it would be my favorite part of Salt Lake. There was a relaxed vibe about it, and lots of young people lived in the area. The funky boutiques and quirky shops dotting the area made me feel right at home. As I drove down this section of 2100 South, I wondered how all this time I could not have realized what a cool area was waiting for me only a short drive up the freeway.
I found the address easily. It was a small office perched over a music shop advertising “Lessons from Accordion to Zither.” That would make for some interesting
“Are you trying to say something?” I asked politely.
“I promised not to comment,” she said, her face slightly pink from the effort of restraining herself.
“You don’t have to,” I said. “I know you want me to pick the suit.”
“No, I don’t.” She looked pleased to have surprised me. “I checked out Real Salt Lake online, and I think wearing something more hip would work better. Wear the belt outfit.”
“For real?” I was touched that she had bothered to check out the magazine.
“Yeah. It’s got a young, urban feel. I bet it’s not a suit kind of place,” she said. “I’ll give you my Steve Madden slides if you see anyone wearing a suit in there.”
“Like I would want them,” I said. “They won’t fit.”
“Your loss,” she said with a grin. “But you should definitely go hipster. If anything, you might want to switch the shirt out for something bright. I bet their office is going to be one of those rule-breaking, creative-type places where people show up in ironic T-shirts.”
“Go away now. I need to make a final decision on what to wear, and then I need to sit and think about the interview.” Tanner Graham said I had a lot to learn, but I learn quickly. I would definitely be more prepared for this interview. I’d spent a lot of time researching the Real Salt Lake website, and I liked what I’d seen. It was designed for young, aspiring urbanites who wanted the big city experience, offering articles on all the cool places to eat, shop, and play. It had a youthful but sophisticated vibe, kind of like a weekly indie tabloid that grew up a few years and shaved off its pretentious goatee. If I didn’t know Salt Lake from growing up forty miles south of it, I would look at Real Salt Lake and think the city fell a few points short of being Manhattan; the website’s production was that slick. If this was all an outgrowth of Ellie’s vision, then she definitely knew what she was doing.
Ellie had been expecting my phone call a few days before, thanks to Mrs. Mayers. Ellie explained that they were still a very small operation but that she had some possibilities to discuss with me. My meeting with her tomorrow had been the only thing that had kept me slogging through another week at Handy’s. I clung to the hope that I would soon be able to shake sandwich purgatory forever.
After Ginger left, I tooled around the Internet for a while, reading articles like “How to Get the Job You Want” and “The Sure-Fire Guide to Acing an Interview.” And I possibly spent a little extra time on Etsy looking at some cool retro jewelry designs. Maybe. When I slept that night, I dreamed I was waving a tiny digital voice recorder at the governor, who was a tomato, while standing on top of Tanner Graham, who had dream-morphed into a purple ottoman with a head and arms. I woke with that good omen fresh in my mind and set out to meet Ellie Peters and begin life as Pepper Spicer, sandwich shop refugee and girl reporter extraordinaire.
By the time I exited the freeway, I could tell that everything about this interview was already better than the Bee disaster. For one, the Real Salt Lake offices were located in Sugarhouse, and I decided right away it would be my favorite part of Salt Lake. There was a relaxed vibe about it, and lots of young people lived in the area. The funky boutiques and quirky shops dotting the area made me feel right at home. As I drove down this section of 2100 South, I wondered how all this time I could not have realized what a cool area was waiting for me only a short drive up the freeway.
I found the address easily. It was a small office perched over a music shop advertising “Lessons from Accordion to Zither.” That would make for some interesting
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