The Interview


the ballads of a naive idiot


i had my very first job interview today. it was for a writing position. i didnt think they would even text me. so i went, got there almost 40 min early, lingered on for 20 and knocked and got in. she said "whats your name" then "when did i say to come" "then come back at 11" all in a professional manner. i felt like an idiot, a man who has so little to do that he would get to places early.

nothing remarkable happened. just the regular questions i guess. i wanted to hide under the desk and never come out when she turned one of my 'qualities' about breaking the rules into a lecture. at some point in the interview, i wanted to just run out of the room. i was bleeding, losing ground. there was a brief moment to recompose my sentences when someone distracted her from my fumbling and mumbling and crumbling. i said to myself 'im not doing good' and went back to talking as if i didnt need the 1 second break to reflect on the crap i am cooking.

and that wasnt the worst part. when she asked 'what do you do outside your educational activities' after much thinking i said 'practically nothing.' it hurt to say those words. i should have protested, i should have said 'this is a job interview, youre asking me a potential existential crisis causing question and i will not take it' and stormed out of the room. 

i keep asking 'do i really do nothing outside class?' and now, hours later, i somehow have answers. but they are close to nothing. i should really work on that. or should have went prepared for the most commonly asked interview questions that was soooo obvious that it would be asked. well, as the saying goes, you live and you learn.


"where do you see yourself in 5 years?" i mumble some 'big dream of mine.' "oh nice, and what are you doing to realize that." i said something which you can boil down to the term "nothing." she gives me this "aww cute, you still believe in the tooth fairy" look.

i got a glimpse of the paper she was writing on while she was interviewing me. it beings with my name, then 4 lines of information. and i bet one of them is the 'people call me derek' response i gave when she asked me 'whats your weakness.'

its a writing job. i want it. but i dont think i can face her again. she's like my psychiatrist now, she has seen me at my desperate times, she saw me thorn apart.

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