The Interview

The Interview

 Take a deep breath, relax, and think happy thoughts—Picture yourself on a beach somewhere.

Advice is plentiful. The giver is a paramedic, perhaps I should obey.

Okay. Let’s do this. You can do this. Get a grip.

You’re here for the interview, right? Well, I don’t know what time you were told—

What time I was told? 10:30. It’s only 10:20 now. Did I miss it?

But what I have listed for you doesn’t match that.

I figure it’ll be at least 15 to 20 minutes. If you want to go back to your class, I’ll do an all-call for you.

No, thanks, I never hear them. I’ll just wait here.

My heart is thumping in my chest, climbing into my throat.

Since you’re already an employee here, I don’t think you’ll need to give us your fingerprints.

Well, that’s a relief. Part time for two years has some perks, then. Do I get out of training, too?

Way to pick the interview time just before lunch, man.

Hunger AND nerves; what a combo. At least there’s nothing to smell here but plants and plastic chairs.

Sit. Wait. Listen to office gossip.

Not enough small talk to bridge the gap. Waiting. Waiting.

Mr. MacDonald? I apologize for the wait. Would you come this way, please?

The greeting feels odd, forced, disingenuous somehow. It’s all for show.

Why did she just call this a formality?

These same people interviewed me two years ago; I’ve been working with them.

Thirty minutes later, I’m out the door.

How did it go? When will they tell you?

Really well, I guess. They said I’d know in a few weeks.

What’s for lunch?

MP UB

9/30/13