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Hard to Tell
Kevin was the first editorial assistant I was allowed to hire. He was twenty-three; I was just twenty-nine. I interviewed six candidates, but never thought for a minute that I was going to hire anyone else. In his suit, he looked like a college lacrosse captain dressing up as a business man for Halloween. You know how, when you first really have a crush on someone, it's hard to tell if they're a really great person, or if you just want to fuck them? That's why everyone should have to interview with a bag over their head — if someone tells you they can be completely divorce talent from looks and charm, they're lying.
After that, things progressed like clockwork. I assigned him a desk near mine so I could look at the side of his head when I got bored. On Friday, I asked him out for a drink with a couple of co-workers, "to celebrate your first week." No one else stayed longer than an hour.
While he was blowing me up against the wall of my bedroom, I thought, "What a suck up," and almost laughed aloud.
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