Thomas Friedman

With the lagging job search that has become my life ever since I took the bar exam, I never expected that the "story" of my first post-bar interview wouldn't be my "story of the day." But, due to a couple of factors, that first job interview is a distant second.

First off, it was only an interview with a staffing service who will try to find me temporary work as a contract attorney. Since this very rarely leads to a permanent position I am not horribly excited, but it will help pay the bills so I'll take what I can get for now.

Secondly, during my walk back to the subway station after the interview (which went well for those inquiring minds out there) I had my umbrella open due to the constant drizzle. From a distance, however, I saw a man in a beige/cream colored suit who seemed to be struggling with a box and who also was seemingly struggling to find a location. I had decided to offer to help him, either with the box, by lending my umbrella, or through pointing him in the right direction.

Now about 3 feet from him, I got a clear view of his face:

That's right, he looked exactly like Thomas L. Friedman, the amazing columnist for The New York Times. Naturally, I froze for a second to allow my brain to digest this information. (For those who do not know, Thomas Friedman is my favorite writer, and during the time I lived in Israel I would share his articles with some friends and we would have great discussions. I wouldn't quite call him a "hero" of mine, but he's somebody with whom I'd love to have conversations.)

Anyway, I did approach him and opened my mouth and said "Excuse me, sir. Did you need a hand with either your box, some directions, or the rain?" Unfortunately, my voice cracked. Yes, here I was, dressed professionally, clean shaven, ready to interact with this awesome columnist, and my voice cracked like that of a 13 year old boy. Awesome.

He ended up declining my offer for assistance and thanked me. But before I departed the scene, I opened my mouth once more, praying my voice wouldn't crack again (it didn't), "No problem, sir. And, sir, just so this doesn't eat at me the rest of the day, you are Thomas Friedman, correct?" He smiled and nodded and I walked away.

Yes, a pretty insignificant occurrence, but still my "story of the day."