“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 yourselfandthe 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 hadoneincident 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,almosteverything. I might’ve not hyper-fixated on the Dastards over these last few years, but I kept up with the MLSnews 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 knowwhohe 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 thegoalie, 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,andcome up with a way to get Kean on socials in the next couple of months, then Imightconsider 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’llconsideryou 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.”
A Usual Practice
Olli
Brooker ran up to the ball, paused for the briefest of seconds to flash me a shit-eating grin, then aimed for the far left corner. It was my weak point, so while I knew Brooker was doing this to be a pain in the ass, I appreciated that this practice would beactualpractice and not just a run of drills I’d done thousands of times before.
I dashed to the left, throwing my body and arms out to block where I expected the ball. But apparently Brooker was being an exceptional ass today and angled his kick to place the ball a good foot over my weak spot, so my hands didn’t even graze it as it flew into the net.
Out in the field, Brooker pumped his fist and I flipped him off.
“Fucking asshole,” I muttered under my breath as I fished the ball out of the net and tossed it towards the next player in line.
