Music City.

Not too long ago I applied for a job in the greater Nashville area. I know you think of me as a dazzling cosmopolitan New Yorker, and indeed for most of my life I was loyal to New York, and would have preferred to stay in the Empire State, despite the lousy winters and swampy summers and awful crowds and a government run by socialist morons (but I repeat myself) for whom I would never vote. Alas, New York has surpassed stupid and proceeded to brain-dead, so like most of us who are not brain-dead, we want to escape. 

But where to settle? Well, I had a line on a good job in Tennessee. I figured it had to be an improvement. My initial application was greeted warmly, and I had an online call to move the process on.

What was my fatal mistake, the flaw that led to the latest in my long string of failures? Ah, me. It may have been an error to demonstrate my enthusiasm for a possible move with this:

This is a souvenir plate I bought when I visited the great city of Nashville with my family years ago. It's one of three tourist-trap items I purchased on that trip. Another was a Music City coffee mug, long busted. 

We had a great time on that trip, even though most of us were not fans of country music. We did the touristy stuff -- show at the Opry and a look through the amazing Opryland Hotel, and yes, I was almost within touching distance of Elvis's gold 1960 Cadillac. I was completely sincere when I told the interviewer that we enjoyed the town. 

But this plate? Well, I didn't mention that I bought it as a gag gift for my then-girlfriend (now wife) who had asked me to buy her the cheesiest, hokiest, tackiest country-type souvenir I could find. She thought I'd exceeded the request. When we got married I got the plate back, and it hangs proudly on the wall of the cellar in what I laughingly call my workshop. 

The interviewer may have sensed that the plate, while a memory of a great trip, was not a sincere purchase made for the quality of the item.

I meant no harm by showing this off. I have cheesy souvenirs of New York City, and I lived and worked there most of my life. But I wouldn't be surprised if the plate sank my employment chances. I can find a way to sabotage pretty much anything in some new and unexpected manner. Everyone has a special gift, I guess, and that seems to be mine. 

Still, I suppose it could have gone even worse -- if I'd shown him my third souvenir, the bolo tie:

Made lovingly with the fine Nashville craftsmanship one finds in... Taiwan.