In case you haven't heard, crying during an interview is considered bad form. There I was being interviewed by one of those deadly women in their late forties — beautiful body and face, $500 suit, $300 shoes, a real ball-buster and the General Sales Manager of almost 40 television sales reps.

Now, granted, I'm not beautiful (uh, by traditional standards I mean), but I can hold my own, and that day I dressed to perfection. I wore my most expensive gray silk and very hip pants suit with my dyed red snake skin four inch heels (tough to walk in I can tell you!) finished off with a matching bag and my day timer. Oh, yeah, I was poised to bust a few balls myself.

As I sat in the interview, and keeping in mind that there probably isn't a person on earth who has had more job interviews in one lifetime than me, I knew I was scoring big time. I aced every question. My body language was impeccable. Hey, if you change jobs as often as I've been known to do, you can't help but improve your interviewing skills.

Lisa gave no indication of being a warm, touchy, feely person. She was balls to the walls success and all business. She fired the questions. I volleyed the answers. It was going perfectly. I knew she would offer the job to me.

And just as I was internally figuring out what sort of base and commission structure I should plan on asking for, BAM! She hit me with the oh-so-wrong question of, "I guess it's been a little tough with the divorce and Hurricane Katrina..."

I lost all composure; I literally wilted before Lisa's very eyes. I tried to hold it together telling myself that crying in an interview was probably the wrong career move, but I just lost it. The tears formed, and I was no longer a ball-busting career bitch but a woman who'd been raked over the coals by her abusive ex, a woman who'd literally clawed her way out of a mental and physical prison that nearly killed her. I was vulnerable and for that moment, defeated.

Lisa looked at me, somewhat surprised but still rigid. She stood up and said, "I'll be right back."

As I sat there expecting security to be entering the conference room any moment to escort the mad, crying woman from the premises, I realized that maybe it was just a bit too soon to job hunt. Then, Lisa came back in, alone, but carrying a box of Kleenex. Hey, that's a nice gesture, I thought.

She sat down and I said, "Guess this is a first for you," and then I blew my nose.

"Yeah," she said, "They usually cry after the interview when I tell them that they didn't get the job."

Hey, Lisa had a sense of humor. And she did bring me Kleenex. She was human after all.

I laughed and said I was sorry for the emotional thing, but she just smiled and then told me that the job was mine if I wanted it but that maybe I should think about taking a couple of months to recoup and regenerate. She told me the job would be waiting for me when I was ready.

I took her advice, but I never took the job. There was something else in my future.