The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel

So, you want to be a secretary for a talent manager.

- Yes. Very much. - Great.

You're up.

- Excuse me? - Go ahead. I'm all ears.

Oh. Well, what would you like to know?

Give me a minute.

Do you have a natural flair for meticulous organization?

I'd say yes. Yes, I do.

Great.

You excuse me again?

Can you always be depended upon to do what you say you'll do?

- Yes, certainly. - Fantastic.

Perhaps you'd like to see my résumé?

Excellent, yes, let's take a gander.

Three pages, huh?

- Mm-hmm. -

Come on. Some of this is bullshit, right?

Then I went to Brooklyn College,

where I got my B.A. in English literature.

Very good.

And... why do you want to work here?

Many reasons. But first and foremost, I'm excited

to get in on the ground floor of a growing business.

Growing business.

Okay, that's putting a shit-ton of pressure on me.

Do you have any questions you'd like to ask me?

Um, what will a typical workday look like?

Will you excuse me a minute?

Every one of these broads, they can type,

they graduated from someplace, they sit nice.

I got this book with questions to ask. It's no fucking help.

All the girls give the same answer,

because they all probably got a fucking book, too.

You ever hire anybody?

- Sure, lots of people. - Well, what kind of stuff

do you ask, so you know who to pick?

That depends. You got to tailor the questions

to the specific job.

Yeah. How, Fred? How?

Well, when I hired a guy to paint my apartment,

- I asked if he had a ten-foot ladder. - Okay.

But I didn't ask that when I hired my tax guy

or the girl to get my brother laid after his divorce.

You don't need a ladder for those jobs.

Fred, did you ever hire anybody at William Morris

in a professional, show-business capacity?

Not per se.

- I'm hanging up. - Wait.

You should definitely see how the person chews.

- What? - I'm serious.

You're going to be in close quarters with this girl,

with snacks and whatnot, munching and crunching,

day in, day out.

If they chew loud, you're doomed.

My shorthand is excellent, and I type 70 words per minute.

- Mm-hmm. - I'm friendly but I'm firm.

Your time is precious, and I'll be the gatekeeper.

There will be no unwarranted interruptions.

Yes, that is all very interesting.

Very interesting.

Hey, you hungry?

- Uh, no, not really. - 'Cause I was about to eat this, but now...

why don't you have it?

Thank you, no, I just had lunch.

I'll cut it up for you. I got a pocketknife.

That's very nice, but really, no.

Oh, come on, it's nice and crispy.

To be honest, I'm actually allergic...

Eat the fucking apple!

- Papa, are you up? - Who is it?

It's me, Abe.

- It's not you. -

- Stop that, please. - It's not me.

Did I wake you?

Sorry, I figured you'd be reading.

Your mother made me turn out my light.

Now, what is it?

I need some help, but I'll ask you tomorrow.

No, it's fine. I was just lying there

thinking about how she made me turn out my light.

I just can't get my checkbook to balance,

- and it's driving me crazy. - What's going on?

Nothing. Miriam can't balance her checkbook.

Why on earth would you have her doing that

- in the middle of the night, Abe? - I live in a Dr. Seuss book.

I'm sorry I got you up. Back to bed, you two.

- Night night. - I can't sleep when your father's just lying there

thinking about how I made him turn out the light.

- Then let me turn on my light. - Fine, I'll sleep on the couch.

Do not sleep on the couch. It wears out the cushions faster

- than just everyday sitting. - Then I'm going back to bed.

Where's the checkbook?

In the kitchen.

It's been weeks. You have to stop fighting.

Who's fighting? I'm simply recalibrating

my entire relationship with your mother

based on information she previously chose to keep secret

for 35 years.

Okay. Could you stop that, then?

It comes out different every time.

- Always terrible but never the same. - Ugh.

What's this?

Is it better if it's a one or a seven?

It's less bad if it's a seven.

Call it a seven.

And this is what you're getting paid

for selling all that Tupperware?

It's no way to get rich, but I did win an aquarium.

Which has been surprisingly expensive to maintain.

I sold the most pastel Wonderliers in my region.

- Mm-hmm. - I also won those toasters and a salad spinner.

And surely you've seen the two large dalmatians

in our living room.

Do you think Joel could try to contribute a little more?

He's doing everything he can, Papa.

Well...

There's your balance.

Uh, that's if the number was a seven.

And that's if it was a one.

I think even Ethan could have helped you.

Thanks, Papa. Really.

Could I bring my book in here and read?

Sure.

I'll forgive your mother in the morning.

For God's sake, the woman owns a Chanel sleep mask.

Looks like it's gonna be four debates.

Kennedy-Nixon?

- He's such a creep. - Which one?

Nixon. Mei.

They both have skeletons.

You are not voting for Nixon.

I am not voting for Nixon.

He looks like he eats children.

- - Thank you.

- - Ethan wants

one of these Etch A Sketch things,

but they're $2.99, and he'll break it in, like, a day.

- - What's an Etch A Sketch?

- - You draw on the screen with the knobs,

- then you shake it, and the picture erases. - What's the point of that?

- - To teach kids that nothing lasts.

- Joel! - What?

You're not even gonna answer the door?

- Nah. - Come on!

- - We discussed this.

It could be another one of Ma's girls.

- If I open it, I'm as good as engaged. - It could be a delivery.

- They'll leave it. - Someone could steal it.

- - Nothing lasts.

What do you do at the club?

- Shh. - Why?

In case they're listening at the door.

If the phone rings at the club, you have to answer it.

People want to come in, you have to let them in.

There's a protocol for women of childbearing age.

If they want to talk to me, Mrs. Moskowitz screens them

with a series of discreet questions.

- Oh, my God. - The system's worked for weeks.

- Why question it now? - Because it's demented.

- - Because it's...

Aah! I'll do it!

- Do what? - I'll meet your parents.

Just answer the phone!

- No. We can wait my mother out. - We can't.

We can. She's getting older. She has limited wind.

We need our lives back, Joel.

- My life is fine. - Well, mine isn't.

This is dumb. I mean, you said it.

- - We're in a... a...

Relationship.

Yes. That. Sure.

They have to know.

Make a date. End the madness.

I'll just move again.

A moving target will confuse her.

- -

Set it up. Today.

I'll be at the movies.

Just in case.

Susie? Oh. Sorry.

I just need to talk to you when you're done.

- No, now's a good time. - Should I wait outside?

Nah. You ain't getting the job.

- Oh. Okay, thank you. - No. Thank you.

- What's with your phone? - Nothing. Why?

- I've been calling all morning. All you get is a busy signal. - Shit.

You need a secretary.

What do you think that was?

What's up?

- This. - What is that?

This is my invitation to Shy Baldwin's wedding.

Why the fuck would you be invited

- to Shy Baldwin's wedding? - You tell me.

I don't know. They're working off an old list?

- Then you would've been invited. - And I was not invited.

- Susie. - I guess I was invited.

Why the hell was I invited to Shy Baldwin's wedding?

And it's three days from now.

Basic wedding etiquette dictates invitations go out

45 days prior to the event, at a minimum.