Short Fiction Collection

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

Chapter 13 (v.1) - First Impressions

Submitted: August 11, 2017

Reads: 255

Comments: 2

A A A | A A A

Submitted: August 11, 2017

A A A

A A A

15:45

 

My interview’s in 15 min.

Perfect: Just enough time, to show I’m punctual, just enough time to stress.

I’m not alone in the waiting room. Obviously, I wouldn’t be the only candidate.

 

15:47

 

I verify my bag:  CVs, 3 copies at the exact spot I placed them last night. A pen, just in case. I pop a mint in my mouth, better safe than sorry.

 

15:48

 

I snap the elastic around my wrist, discreetly; 11 times.

Maybe I could look at a magazine. Pretend I’m not as stressed as I am. I pick up the closest one.

It sits on my lap, closed.

 

15:52

 

I snap my elastic band 12 times.

The magazine falls to the ground, I drop my bag in an attempt to catch it. A man on my right suppresses a laugh; I curse John Doe.

I pluck the rubber band 13 times.

 

15:58

 

What was I thinking? I’m under qualified. Not outgoing. Ordinary. John Doe’s gonna get the job.

 

16:02

 

I want to pull on the elastic 14 times but my name is called out.

My heart pounds in my head. Thump, thump, thump.

My palms are sweaty,

my knees are shaky.

What’s my name again?

 

16:45

 

My mind is blank.

I press the Lobby button in the elevator.

What just happened?

 

18:37 …

 

Home.

Sofa.

The television's shut.

 

My phone rings. I snap my elastic twice.

 

 

“You know this was an entry position, right?”

 

“Yes Sir,”

 

 rejected

 

“Unfortunately, the position has been attributed to someone else.”

 

I knew it. Here comes the usual, thank you try again next time.

 

I stretch my trusted rubber band between my fingers.

 

“Actually, I was calling you to offer you another position.”

 

What’s lower than an entry position,

 

“What are the requirements?”

 

“You’re more than qualified. I am looking for a manager, actually.”

 

My thoughts wander, and then I hear it, through the speaker on my phone.

 

3-2-3-2, A distinct pattern is clicked away on a pen.

 

“When can you start?”

 

4-3-4-3, the clicking sound echoes through my skull.

 

“T-Tomorrow!”

my rubber band drops to the ground. 


© Copyright 2019 Corine Pelletier. All rights reserved.

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