On the Rag: My Bloody Job Interview

We're celebrating shame-free periods and all of the messy mishaps and new tech tools that prove our menses nothing to be embarrassed about

bloody interviewAt long last, I’d finally landed an interview at a fashion magazine! I would be meeting with the fashion director, a notoriously tough, cold broad, so I knew I had to put together an outfit beyond reproach.

It was the height of summer, so I went with a tasteful blue silk Surface 2 Air tunic tucked into mostly white floral Leilani shorts, paired with teetering cobalt suede platform sandals. The shorts were a hair tight, so I was worried about the junk situation, but I figured it would be fine because I’d be seated behind a table, right?


The editor had neglected to book a boardroom for our interview, so she led me to a lounge area, where she settled into an Eames knock-off and I was forced to perch on an egg-shaped red orb in lieu of a normal human chair. I awkwardly pretzelled my long, be-platformed legs into the approximation of an elegant criss-cross to avoid angling my shorts-stuffed vagina up into her face, looming high above me. She was a hard-ass during the interview, as expected, so I called a friend to recap the second I left the office.

As I was wrapping the convo and delicately picking my way down the subway steps, all words died in my throat. Gazing down, I saw that I had started my period. All over the crotch of my white shorts. Which had been directed at the sternest fashion editor in the country for the past 30 minutes. I had to hold my purse in front of me like a junior-high boy with a boner all the way home to make sure nobody spotted the bloody crime scene.

It turned out OK, though. I still work here, don’t I?


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