Showed up early for my fit modeling job this morning. I was so proud of myself. I even had time to stop for coffee before making small talk with the doorman and heading up to the 13th floor thinking about what a great impression I was going to make with this new client. Then…I locked myself in the stairwell.
The last thing I remember thinking as I pushed through the door on the 13th floor to head to the 12th floor and meet with the woman who would take me to my dressing room was that she would probably be even more impressed with me because I had taken the stairs instead of the elevator. Obviously, this would prove that I was a serious athlete, and seeing as I was working for a huge athletic company, I was totally going to earn even more cool points. I love how my dorky mind works.
So toting my small rolling suitcase full of shoes and assorted bras and leggings that I am required to bring to every job, I skipped down the flight of stairs only to find the door at the 12 floor locked. Shit. I lugged the suitcase back up to the 13th floor. Also locked. Double shit. Lugged it back to the 12th, maybe I was just being stupid and it would open this time. No luck. Down to the 11th floor. Locked. 10th floor. Locked. Shit. Shit. Shit. At this point, I pull out my cell phone to see if I have a number for the woman I’m supposed to meet with to tell her what has happened. No cell phone service in the stair well. Fuck.
I’m starting to sweat now, of course, and I’m preparing myself for the reality that I’m going to have to lug my bag down 13 flights of stairs and hope that the bottom floor is open so that I can take the elevator back up to the 12th floor. I climb back up to the 13th floor for a last stitch effort and begin knocking on the door. No one hears me. I go down to the 12th floor and start banging this time. I hear a voice. Obnoxiously, I start yelling “excuse me” and THANK GOD someone opens the door.
“Are you Ally?” the girl asks.
“Yep, just locked myself in the stairwell, sorry.”
“It’s ok.” The girl says, laughing as I follow her through the hall and toward the dressing room. “We were all wondering what happened to you when you didn’t get off the elevator.”
“Yeah, I thought it would be quicker to take the stairs,” I said, “Silly me!”
Way to make a SUPER impression on your first day with a new client Ally.
Needless to say, I actually enjoyed working for them and think that I was able to salvage the experience. They seemed to like me, even walked me to the elevator so I didn’t get stuck when I left; and they liked the fact that I looked like an actual athlete instead of a toothpick. It’s funny that I now think of that as an insult when it used to be a compliment to me. They meant it as a compliment, but all I can hear is that I am fat. Such a fucked up business. When The Agents say that I look athletic, they mean that I look too big. Same goes for commercial, curvy, busty, healthy, strong…..all of which I used to think were positive qualities but have now been conditioned to feel embarrassed about.