The Interview

rawpixel-com-411169I read with interest the notice in the office newsletter about a vacancy. I hadn’t been promoted in years. Although I already had a great job where I was chained to a computer and forced to drink black coffee all day, my career had stagnated. I could work in my sleep, and very often did, in spite of the stimulation. It was time for a change.

I could hardly contain myself until I could set up an interview. I called and made an appointment with someone named Barbie who had been there only a year and had already being promoted to management. She was sure it had nothing to do with her being related to the CEO.

I visualized myself in my new cubical, doing important tasks on the computer, handling business efficiently, watering my plants, and all at a much higher salary. I was beginning to get enthusiastic about how I was going to spend all that extra money.

I got out the old resume and padded it shamelessly to make my current job sound responsible. I wanted to make an impression, a very good impression. I typed it up and dreamed about how great this new job was going to be as I watched it print.

I figured I needed the perfect outfit to wear for the big day. Somehow I had a feeling that Barbie didn’t come to work in a gray flannel suit. I finally decided to buy something new, a navy blue dress in the new longer length that was stylish but businesslike. They call it “dressing for success.” It maxed out my credit card, but I figured no sacrifice was too great when it came to advancing my career.

It took me most of the day, but I tried to think of possible questions that they might ask and possible answers I might give to emphasize my impressive profession qualities without giving away any of my shortcomings. No need to mention the computer files I once accidentally deleted or the time I burned popcorn in the office microwave, I decided.

I rehearsed a few answers in front of the mirror, which was hard because being a female, I had to keep stopping to fix my hair. By the time the big day came, I was pretty nervous. I dropped the toothpaste in the toilet and nearly stabbed myself in the eye with mascara. By the time I finished, however, my hair was perfect, my makeup tasteful, and I had on plenty of deodorant.

It took two motivational tapes to get me out the door, but I finally felt ready. I showed up right on time, not too early and certainly not too late. I clenched my teeth and smiled, trying not to be irritated at being kept waiting while Barbie made an appointment for her hair, nails and aerobic class.

At last I was ushered in. The interviewer began to drill me with the expectations of the new job and asked none of the questions that I had rehearsed. I maintained eye contact and tried hard not to faint until perhaps later when no one was watching. I wondered how long it would take my resume to be filed in the paper shredder after I left. When it was finished, I shook her hand and thanked her for her time, feeling as if the IRS had audited me.

Back at my old office, I lacked the strength to use my computer mouse, so I simply stared at the screen saver all afternoon, wondering why I had never noticed all the pretty colors before. Well, if I don’t get the job at least I will know why. The CEO probably had another relative.

My greatest fear, however, was not that I might NOT get the job, but that they might actually offer it to me.

Copyright 2003 Sheila Moss

About Sheila Moss

My stories are about daily life and the funny things that happen to all of us. My columns have been published in numerous newspapers, magazines, anthologies, and websites.
This entry was posted in Humor, Work Humor and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

5 Responses to The Interview

  1. Decisions, decisions!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. energywriter says:

    Oh yes, I’ve had “those” interviews. Now, I just work at fun places. Less money, but way less stress.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Jane Gealy says:

    At least you didn’t ruin your outfit. I stepped into a puddle which was a lot deeper than I thought; the bottom of my skirt and coat were soaking wet and my stockinged legs were caked in mud. Needless to say I didn’t attend and had a big dry cleaning bill to pay.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Sheila Moss says:

    Oh, my, bless your heart. I once was at a different interview, looked down and had on one navy shoe and one black one. I’ve never fell into a puddle, though.

    Like

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