2. An Almost Successful Interview
An Almost Successful Interview
Kodi
“Mr. Hansen, Ms. Davey is here for you,” the receptionist said into her corded phone. I resisted the urge to ask how often she actually used that or if it was a thing because the higher-ups refused to learn how to use Teams.
“You can go ahead and have a seat,” she said, waving to the stiff chairs in the corner of the room. I gave her the best smile I could manage with my nerves going absolutely haywire and sat down.
It was weird being in this part of the Okaloosa Stadium.
I’d gone to dozens upon dozens of games back in college, even done the “backstage” tour thing.
But this part was just … a boring office.
I mean, it made sense that this side wasn’t part of the tour and had to exist for everything else to function. But it was weird to see it in person.
And yet as weird and dull as it was, I was buzzing with excitement thinking about how I could work here if I nailed this interview. I could be the next Destin Dastards’ social media manager.
Even just thinking about that title had me bouncing in my seat.
I worked my ass off in college to get my degree in marketing with a focus on social media, only to be offered internships and freelance positions for the last five years.
I’ve had to make my career a side hustle and I was dying for that to change, to finally have the job I went to school for, a job with trajectory.
And not to mention this was a job managing social media for my favorite sport, with my favorite team.
I was fucking swooning. I’d do anything to get this job.
The only problem was … I’d gotten banned from the stadium for a season because of a little public nudity.
But there was no way they still had that on their records, right? I mean, it was five years ago and they only banned me for appearances, not because I’d done anything that bad. I’m sure no one remembers it. It wasn’t even on the first page of my Google results anymore.
If I acted completely normal, I’m sure it wouldn’t come up.
“Ms. Davey?” an older gentleman said as he stepped into the waiting area.
“Yes!” I sprang to my feet, making the chair jostle as I got up. Mr. Hansen eyed me and I straightened my shoulders.
Please don’t recognize me, please don’t recognize me, please don’t recognize me.
“Nice to meet you, sir. Kodi Davey.” I held out my hand, biting my tongue to keep from shaking.
He narrowed his eyes at me, brows furrowing. But whether he recognized me or not, he shook my hand with a firm grip. I did my best to match his strength.
“Yes, nice to meet you,” he muttered, staring down at our hands. He let go, shaking his head before nodding to the left. “If you’ll follow me.”
He led the way down a perfectly normal hallway, white paint, gray carpet. I had expected players' photos to line the walls, maybe even signed headshots of the bigger names. But like the front, this was just an ordinary office.
An ordinary office where I could fulfill my dreams.
“All right, have a seat there,” Mr. Hansen said as we turned into his office, gesturing to the armchair in front of his desk.
We sat in our respective seats and I set my folder with my resume and work samples on the desk, sliding them towards him.
It was a little old school to have my stuff printed out, but I knew my audience was an old white dude.
And while I wasn’t always willing to play that game, for the Destin Dastards, I would.
“Thank you for making time for me, Mr. Hansen. I’ve got my resume and a few work samples in there. Including a couple of post ideas for the Dastards specifically. And I’d be happy to email you some more samples if you’d like.”
“Ms. Davey,” he said with a sigh, holding his hand up for me to stop. “I think I should start off by saying I’m … aware of your history with the stadium.”
I could feel the color drain from my face.
I was fucked. Absolutely fucked. There’s no way they’ll give me the job now. I could have the best resume, experience out of my ass, mock-ups that are exactly what they’re looking for, and none of it would matter.
One stupid, drunken dare I followed through on years ago had ruined everything.
“Sir, I —” I fumbled, not sure what to say to excuse my past behavior.
“I understand you were young and intoxicated, but …” Mr. Hansen rubbed his forehead, sighing. “I thought maybe your name was just a coincidence, though Kodi is an unusual spelling.”
“Yeah, my mom’s kind of a funny, hippie type,” I mumbled under my breath, shoulders sinking.
“And that incident isn’t the only thing on your … ‘record,’ so to speak, is it?”
I cringed. The incident on Marshall’s first day in Destin wasn’t my only embarrassing college story. It was just the most public one. Everything else happened at college games.
In my defense, I’d spent a lot of my childhood feeling like I needed to be more responsible than my parents. So when I got to college and wasn’t constantly worried about them, I … let loose.
A lot of times without my top.
“I promise, sir, I’ve grown up a lot since that incident. Nothing like that will happen again. And I’ll keep my face and name off our social media. I mean, if I get the job and it becomes our social media.” Panic bubbled up in the back of my throat.
I really wanted this job. I needed this job. It would change everything for me. And fuck it, I just wanted it because it’d be real fucking cool to work with this team I’ve followed since grade school. This job had all that sweet nostalgia and it paid well.
“I’ll admit, your work samples showed an excellent knowledge of our team and general trends. Most of the other applicants didn’t bother submitting pitches.”
“Well, to be fair, you’re kind of asking them to do free work. For all they know, you could take their ideas and give them to someone else,” I said under my breath. I wouldn’t have handed over my ideas either, if I didn’t want this job so bad.
“Excuse me?” Mr. Hansen said with a raised eyebrow.
“Nothing, sir.”
“Uh-huh,” he murmured. He leaned back in his chair, reaching out to take my folder, and flipped through the samples. “We need someone to completely lead and manage our social media, though. And while you have excellent work, you don’t exactly have management experience. And —”
“That’s simply from a lack of opportunities. Most companies hire freelancers to do one-off jobs, they don’t have the need to hire a social media manager full time. But the Dastards do. The stadium could draw a hell of a lot more attention if —”
“I’m aware, Ms. Davey. I didn’t post the job without looking at similar positions elsewhere.
And if I hadn’t, the amount of applications I received would certainly clue me in.
And if you’d let me finish speaking, you’d know your management experience isn’t my real concern.
It’s you being able to keep up a professional appearance of yourself and the team. ”
I bit my tongue. I was 100 percent more responsible than I’d been during that incident, but running my mouth wasn’t going to prove that.
Problem was I had a hard time with impulse control. Particularly when it involved something I cared about as much as I cared about this job.
“I can, sir. I promise. I’ve not had one incident with any of my clients.
I can provide more references if you’d like.
I can also get you some college internship references to prove even when I was a stupid kid, I could behave professionally at work.
Please, I care about this team and I’m good at my job. Just give me a chance. Please.”
God, this was embarrassing and far from professional, but like hell I’d let this opportunity pass by without doing everything I could.
Well, almost everything. I might’ve not hyper-fixated on the Dastards over these last few years, but I kept up with the MLS news and I knew what kind of scumbags worked behind the scenes. I wasn’t about to blow some old dude for a job.
Now, if it was a player … I might consider it.
“A chance, huh?” Mr. Hansen said. He tossed my folder back on his desk and crossed his arms. “You’ve got some experience as a PA, right?”
“Yes?” I said, drawing out the word, unsure where he was going with this. I’d done a handful of assistant jobs over the past few years, predominantly filling in for folks on paternity leave or for new organizations getting set up.
“Well, I’ve got one player who’s looking for one. Kean, the goalie.”
I nodded along like I knew exactly who that was. Well, I did know who he was, I just didn’t know his stats or team history. He joined the Dastards two or three years ago, which was in my slump of working so much, I didn’t have time to enjoy my hobbies.
“He’s … a stoic dude. He’s the kind of man who practices until the janitor kicks him out, so he doesn’t make time for anything else, like buying weather-appropriate clothes. Plus he’s one of the few players who doesn’t have any social media.”
“Seriously? But he’s the goalie, he could draw so much attention with a good platform. And that could turn into ticket sales, not to mention sponsorships for him and —”
Mr. Hansen leveled me with glare. Or not quite a glare, but something like ‘You think I don’t know that.’
So I shut up.
“If you can be his PA, maintain a professional demeanor with him and the rest of the crew, and come up with a way to get Kean on socials in the next couple of months, then I might consider you for the other position.”
“Seriously?” I shot up out of my seat and slammed my hands down on his desk.
“Ms. Davey, sit down,” he grumbled.
“But do you mean it? I work as a PA for a couple of months, get this antisocial keeper to set up accounts or whatever, and then I get the job?” I patted my hands on the desk again, excitement buzzing through me.
“If you can do all that while maintaining a professional demeanor, then I’ll consider you for the job. And to be honest with you, the social media manager isn’t a high-priority fill, but that could change at any minute. The owners might decide we need to hire immediately for any reason.”
“But it’s still a shot, right? It’s this or nothing?”
Mr. Hansen stared at me for a long while before nodding. “Yeah, this or nothing.”
“Then I’ll do it.”