Today was the first weigh in.  Officially, I’m at 178.6 lbs.

Now that I’ve stepped off the scale, I’d like to weigh in on some of the issues of today.

First, let’s talk about emotional eating triggers.  Saturday morning, there I was starving to death, when I decided to check the mail.  As expected I received another rejection letter from a job I interviewed for a few weeks ago.

The job was as a pro se law clerk — summarily handling (really disposing of) the habeas petitions of various state and federal prisoners.  Federal judges are far too busy with real cases to bother with these.

The interviewer was a recently appointed Magistrate Judge who was born in 1943 — I knew from reading her bio, there was trouble.  You know how those white baby boomers can condescend.

But, she’d brought me in for a job interview, so I thought — well maybe, there’s a chance.

Instead I was subjected to a twenty minute harangue about my lack of qualifications.  I barely got a word in edgewise.

Angry Magistrate:  So, you worked for yourself right out of law school?  I can’t imagine you would have received any training that way.  Did you handle any real cases?

Me (trying to sneak in a word in):  Yes, I was mentored.  I handled hundreds of cases, many appeals, etc. . .

Angry Magistrate:  I see that you’ve only been doing contract work since you’ve been in California.  Those aren’t real jobs are they?  You’re just a glorified paralegal.

Me (lying through my teeth):  Well that’s not entirely true.  We work as teams of attorneys on significant litigation.

Angry Magistrate:  You know we do some really sophisticated, difficult, mind blowing work here.  The only person qualified enough for this job is myself, and perhaps, Justice John Roberts.  There are no civil service protections in this job — if you couldn’t cut the mustard, I’d fire you within the first month.

Me (to myself):  Nothing like talking about being fired during a job interview.

Angry Magistrate:  Well, I’m just not that impressed with you.  I’m going to re-run the ad in the Daily Journal and see who else shakes out.  I’m going on vacation for two weeks.  Don’t call me.  We’ll call you.

Me (trying not to trip while being pushed out the door):  But I’d make a great employee.  I’d love to have an opportunity to show you what I can do. 

But, I don’t think she heard — it was hard making my voice carry from the elevator.

And then I have Ms. Dietitian asking why I would want to eat.  Because, Your Thinness, after a day like that, a large platter of bulgogi with a side of dol sot bi bim bab looks wonderful.

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