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Lovable Loser in 'Job Interview Part 1'Mar 30 '04 Write an essay on this topic.
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The Bottom Line You Can't Win'em all, but Can You Lose'em All?
There are times in life when you realize you just can't win. I, myself, have experienced these times quite frequently. Heck, it's almost as if I wake up every morning and walk under ladders on my way to work. Despite all this, I can't help but laugh at myself (there are plenty of others who do that too) because there are times where my ability to run into misfortune has humorous results. This is just some fictional writing that I put together when I have free time. I'm the main character, and my bad luck continues. Job Interview Part 1 I woke up at 8:55 in the morning, twenty-five minutes later than I had planned. After wondering if my clock radio was broken, I looked at the alarm settings and discovered that I forgot to set it to 'AM'. How clumsy I was for that. At 10:00, I was to arrive at a department store for a job interview and I here I was waking up an hour before. After the pleasant relief provided by a quarter-minute period of urinating, I hopped in the shower. Turning on the water, I didn't realize the showerhead was pointing directly at me until it was too late. A squall of chilly water impacted my face and chest, increasing my heart rate exponentially. I was now fully awake. As my luck would have it, my last bar of Irish Spring was nothing more than a thin sheet of soap. After some delicate tactics, I was able to squeeze a good cleaning from the soap before it broke into halves. Being optimistic, I concluded that putting the halves together would make a decent bar of soap to use for the bathroom sink even if a few of my leg hairs were stuck to it. Why I wasn't majoring in economics, I don't know. I was making good time. After brushing my teeth with free sample tubes of baking soda toothpaste, I headed to the closet to pick out my most professional attire. As I looked through my clothes, I ran into some things that made me wonder why I kept them. In my closet hung a Hooters t-shirt and a bright, yellow jacket that could've caused eye injuries. When time allowed, I'd haul those and the other clothing just like it to the Goodwill, but now I needed to locate my best clothes. Some black pants and a gray shirt with matching buttons made me out to be a very professional person. I slipped on my dress shoes and checked my watch to see that I had gone from sleep to shower to dressed in twenty minutes. All that I needed now was something to eat. Inspection of my pantry revealed the brand new box of Lucky Charms I had bought the day earlier. My morning had been rough, but a sizable bowl of cereal would make things all better. Much to my dismay, the inspection of my fridge revealed the near empty jug of milk that I had neglected the day earlier. With the department store only a fifteen minute drive away, picking up breakfast seemed like a better bet than drinking a shot glass of Lucky Charms. I cranked up my car and backed out of the driveway. Going through the neighborhood, I waved at Mrs. Corson as she diligently maintained the marigolds in her flower bed. She smiled at me and waved back. I wasn't sure if she was smiling in friendship or at the fact that I was very well-dressed and driving a 1989 hatchback Chevette that lacked two hubcaps and was painted in three different shades of blue. In a line of four cars, I was third in the drive-thru. I didn't need to consult a menu because I knew what I wanted. A warm, fluffy biscuit with a juicy sausage patty in the middle was the perfect choice. I pulled alongside the speaker when I found that I had only $1.38 cents on me. With a somber heart, I ordered a hash brown with a small cup of coffee. With the look of a distressed puppy, I watched as the cars in front of me were handed bags containing sausage and egg biscuits, hash browns, Danish, and pancakes. I almost whimpered when my pitiful order was handed to me. But before I could even get that, I dropped my change in between the seats and spent a few minutes retrieving the coins from the car floor that was littered with cookie crumbs and French fry ends. I arrived at the store ten minutes before my scheduled interview. The hash brown did not satisfy me as pieces of it managed to get lodged in between my teeth. I walked in the store with a sense of accomplishment. I was groomed and in my best clothes. I approached the human resources kiosk located in the back of the store. Behind the kiosk stood an attractive, caramel-skinned, young woman whose dark brown hair took the form of many long, exquisite curls. “Good morning,” I said, smiling and full of myself. She returned a smile and replied, “Good morning to you too. May I help you?” “I’m scheduled for an interview this morning,” I stated. As I maintained my suave state of mind, I prayed to God that she didn’t see what kind of car I drove up in. “I believe it’s at ten.” She turned around to a computer screen and began typing on the keyboard. “Okay, let me check it out for you. Yes, Ms. Dylis will be right with you.” I couldn’t help but notice how beautiful this woman was. I decided to take a chance and ask her for her name. It wasn’t like I was asking her out for dinner, a movie, and a hickey on the left side of my neck below the ear. “So, your name is…? She gave a small chuckle. “My name’s Kenya.” She pointed to the nameplate that sat on the kiosk in clear view, displaying her name to anyone that came up to it. “Right, right,” I smiled and laughed a little but deep down inside I felt incredibly stupid. It was at that point I decided to end any conversation I might have indulged in. “It’s okay. You’re not the only one to do that,” Kenya continued. Was it possible she wished to keep talking to me? With that, I chose to keep the ball rolling. “I should’ve known better. I guess I’m not as awake as I thought I was.” She laughed again. “Why are you applying here for a job?” “Is there something I should know about?” I asked. “Should I not work here? What happens to people that work here? Do they go insane and suck the cartilage from the skulls of customers?” “No, nothing. I’m just curious.” “I just need a better job than where I’m working now,” I answered. “I’m a storage facility maintenance engineer.” “Ooh, sounds pretty impressive,” said Kenya. “That’s a fancy title for ‘warehouse janitor’,” I answered with chuckle. “I sweep the floors of the package center off of Main Street.” “Well, it does pay the bills right?” she asked. “Just barely. If I’m lucky, I can pay the bills and have enough leftover to buy a loaf of bread and some generic bologna.” We both laughed even though I knew that statement to be true in some instances. Before Kenya and I could engage in deeper conversation, a middle aged woman appeared from the hallway. “Excuse me. I’m Kay Dylis, are you here for the interview?” she asked me. “Yes I am ma’am,” I replied respectfully. “Oh good, if you’ll follow me right this way, I can get you started,” she said amiably. I looked at Kenya, disappointed that I had to leave her. “Thanks for your help, Kenya.” “Good luck,” she said to me as I followed Ms. Dylis to her office. … to be continued in Job Interview Part 2  |
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