The Interview
By
David Briggs
The alarm sounded at seven in the morning. He laid in bed for a few minutes allowing himself to come to consciousness. He stumbles out of bed to shut it off. He walks downstairs to his kitchen to make coffee, being quiet as not to wake his housemate. His task being done, he takes a shower being cafeful to make sure he's well scrubbed. He's careful to shave neatly, avoiding cuts. He pours himself a cup of coffe, and takes it back to his room. He takes the clothes he carefully chose to wear today. The clothes are worn, and used. He had to buy them from the goodwill. Money has never been a luxury he's known. He irons his clothes with surgeon like precision, making sure there are absolutely no wrinkles . A quick glance at the bus schedule lets him know there's thirty minutes before he has to leave. He dresses carefuly as if it's his wedding day. Hair combed neatly, he leaves the house. The bus driver looks at him with pity as he pays the fare with a pocket full of nickels and dimes. He makes it to the interview with a few minutes to spare. He does his best to look confident. The receptionis looks over her glasses at him as he enters the waiting room. He's sure she disapproves of his clothing. She gestures toward a chair with a dismissive hand. He politely thanks her, and takes a seat. The room feels cold and sterile as he tries to sit straight. He looks nervously at the resume he made at the library the day before. The paper, common copy paper, seems terribly plain to him. Still, he's proud that he taught himself how to write a resume.
"Sir", a voice calls to him. He looks up to see a woman dressed conservatively in a suit. She has a smile that reminds him of an infomercial spokesperson. She shakes his hand with all the strength of a newborn, and the warmth of a corpse. His confidence is running from him like a man from an angry mob. The lights in the office seem incredibly harsh. She leads him past the cubicles of the workers. They remind him of cages at the zoo. The workers trudging through their tasks. A few workers look up and stare at him as he walks by. The expressions on their faces begging to be put out of their misery. He's led into a small office. Generic pictures of of children with disinterested fake smiles plastered on their faces. She gestures toward a seat, as she sits and smooths her suit.
She asks if he had any trouble finding the building. He briefly thinks about asking if she did. He politely assures her that the directions on the website were sufficient, even though they were off by over 8 miles. He hands his resume to her, and suggests she review it. He knows his list of minimum wage jobs don't do much to help his case. He watches her expression of false friendlyness fade as she reads. She looks up to ask a series of cookie cutter questions supposed to gague the quality of the canidate. He answers politely. Asking questions in the appropriate places. She's watching intently as he answers. He sees that she's seen his biggest deficiency in getting a job. His teeth are broken and he tries his best not to show them when he speaks. He sees the look on her face. She's repulsed, but recovers quickly. Her smile becomes even larger as she tries to cover her true feelings. "Whell", she says,"we've had a large number of responses to the position, and were carefully reviewing all the resumes we receive." He asks a few questions about the position, and points out his relevant work experience. He knows the interview is going south. He points out the money that he's saved his former employers, and his greates work achievements. She listens politely, but he can tell she wants to get him out of there. He thanks her for her time, and reminds her that his references are attached to the resume. She rises and quickly escorts him to the waiting room. He recieves another cold handshake for his time. As he closes the door on his way out of the office, he hears the interviewer telling the receptionist, "Oh my god, his teeth were so bad". He sighs and walks out of the building. He knows that he's never going to hear from them, but he hopes that noone else will show for the interview, and he'll get the job by default. He knows it a silly dream, but stranger things have happened.
He walks down the road to his favorite coffeehouse to get a cup of coffee. He saved his quarters for this. A luxury for him, a cup of flavored coffee. The guy behind the counter remembers him from the week before. He's nice. He wonders if he has a boyfriend. He knows he doesn't have a chance with him, but he is cute. He pays with his quarters, dropping a quarter in the tip jar. He says sorry for the change and the small tip. He genuinely seems ok about it. He sits in the back of the shop quietly sipping his coffee as if it's going to be his last cup. He listens to a group of people talking about their day at a nearby table. There's a guy complaining that he had to wait a whole hour for his new mercedes to get the oil changed. The guy, maybe five or six years younger, keeps on complaining about how his luxury items are never in the right color. He starts taking bigger sips of his coffee. His one luxury spoiled by a guy who takes his tremendous gifts in life completely for granted. He finishes his last sip of coffee while standing. He has to get out of there before he takes a bat to the spoiled guy so he looks like him. He waves to the cute guy on his way out.
He walks home, in an effort to save some money in the hope that he gets another interview. He sits down in a chair in his room. He feels exausted like he's been in a fight. He yawns and his eyes water. the tears keep on comming as he sits in his chair. His tears carry him off to sleep later that night as he prepares to do it all over again tomorrow.
End
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