Job Interviews Really Stink

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic

Most people don't enjoy the job interview experience. Some have an intense dislike for it. With certain people, their strong negative feelings can cause them to have an upsetting physical reaction. This can make things interesting for everyone involved.

I have always hated going to job interviews. The word hate is a bit too mild. It doesn't accurately capture what I feel. Let me put things in perspective. Should I depart this earth and be sent to the hot place, my eternal damnation would be an endless series of job interviews. Should I be in the military and captured, I would not surrender a shred of information if the enemy waterboarded me or stuck flaming bamboo shoots under my fingernails. Once they said I’d have to go on a job interview, I’d tell them everything they wanted to know. I'd probably include the birthstone of my commanding officer’s mother. I really don’t like job interviews.

 

A person who is unemployed in a challenging economy quickly realizes that job interviews become a necessary evil in their life. I watch helplessly as my unemployment compensation quickly dwindles away and financial desperation begins to take over my mind. I recently got a call for a job interview at a large company located in the city near where I live. When I got the call asking me if I was interested, I wanted to scream “Don’t you people understand if I was guaranteed to get the job, I would have no problem getting dressed up and venturing into the city. I'd gladly jump through your hoops with a smile. Don’t you people understand if I don’t get the job, I’ve wasted time and money?”

 

I didn’t scream any of that at the person on the phone. What I actually said was something like “Friday morning will be fine. I’ll see you there.”

 

When Friday arrives, I get out of bed with that sick feeling in my stomach. The bills are always on my mind. They often seem like little demons constantly poking at me. I know the only cure is to pay them their monthly financial tribute, so they get out of my thoughts for a while. Since winning the lottery may not be a realistic option, and I have no rich relatives about to meet their demise who have made me a beneficiary in their will, I know throwing myself onto the sacrificial altar of the corporate job interview is my only option.

 

Sometimes I think about turning to a life of crime. I understand the retirement plans are awful, it’s really difficult to advance in such organizations and it’s very stressful. Also, I’m told pay is only performance-based and there is never any attempt to help you further your formal education. On the positive side, you get to dress really well and have lots of people be afraid of you. I bury my head in my hands. I realize I’ve worked in the corporate world a bit too long.

 

I make it to the building where the job interview will take place. At this point, I'm holding a piece of paper in my hand and walking down a hallway of doors in search of the right office. As this happens, I almost sense a beacon of light following me that is designed for people who are clueless. I’m always hoping I wrote down the right information. I believe going into the wrong office could be problematic.

 

I eventually make it to the right office. I then experience that awkward moment when you walk in and look at the receptionist. She is usually fielding calls and is dressed rather well. Her desk is neat. She has a pleasant smile when she talks to you. The next thing I dread is when she hands me a clipboard with forms to fill out.

 

At this point I want to scream, “I’ve sent you a letter and detailed resume so what possible purpose does your form serve? Why do you care about my high school days? Why do you want to know about my hobbies? Guess what? My hobby is burning forms from the corporate world as I chant my resume is all you need.”

 

What I actually say is “Thank you.”

 

I’ve never understood the corporate world’s obsession with forms. I think there is probably a psychological disorder called Formobsessaphobia. I once dated a girl who loved forms so much she wanted me to fill one out before a date. I told her I needed a form for that and never heard from her again. I think it's possible she wasn't joking with me.

 

After filling out all the forms, and handing them back to the receptionist, there is that awful time. It's when you’re waiting and wondering what the interview will be like. Will the person doing the interview be nice or put their feet up on the desk and say you’re the thousandth person they’ve had come in to interview for the position. They’re going to hire someone who already works at the company. You’re only here because it’s corporate policy to have outside interviews. It is also because they love to screw with desperate unemployed people like you.

 

It’s during this time of waiting when other people arrive and get the receptionist issued forms. I can tell they are after the same job as me. When the two of us make eye contact, we both force a smile. They begin filling out their forms as I look around at the people walking through the reception area. It always seems the people working for the company like to look at you like you're a street person. They ignore your expression. It makes you appear to be silently begging for help to get out of this situation.

 

A well-dressed woman in her early forties suddenly opens the reception door. She yells my name. She tells me to follow her and leaves. I suppose she assumes I know about the tracking device that enables people to find her when she disappears. I quickly realize it's important for me to get out of the reception area as fast as possible to catch up with the woman. Without turning around, she continues to walk and says “So, how are you today?”

 

At this time I want to scream “I’m in hell. I hate job interviews. I hate filling out forms and the only reason I’m here is that I'm desperate for money. If I win the lottery or have a wealthy relative pass away who leaves me a good inheritance, I just may consider coming down here to relieve myself on your desk. Besides that Ms. Boom Boom Thighs, the sound of your nylons scraping together as you walk is very loud and could cause sparks to fly. Do you realize you’re a mobile fire hazard?”

 

What I actually say is “I’m doing okay.”

 

She opens a door, walks in, and turns on the lights. It’s a conference room that looks as if it’s in a museum. Everything is in its place, complete with tacky fake plants and awful wall paintings.

 

“Well good to hear it. Mrs. Soberan will be in here momentarily.”

 

After dispensing that bit of information, she’s gone. While sitting alone in a conference room waiting for a job interview lots of things go through my mind. I’m always thinking that a life which consisted of mooching off relatives and begging in the streets might not be so bad. Yes, I would be a social pariah, but you have to pay for everything in life one way or another. Then I remember how much I like my smartphone, large screen television, and laptop. I do enjoy how I’ve furnished my apartment. I accept the fact that I’m just another corporate cubicle hooker selling myself to the highest bidder to maintain my lifestyle.

 

The door opens and a young, attractive, well-dressed woman wearing designer clothes and expensive jewelry walks in smiling. I stand up, we shake hands, she tells me she’s Mrs. Soberan, and we sit down. Mrs. Soberan then looks down and begins shuffling papers.

 

Her hair is perfect, her gold bracelets jingle as she looks through papers. When she talks, I can tell someone in her life has spent quite a bit of money on orthodontia work for her. I’m thinking she’s probably married to a wealthy man she seduced with her looks and charm. I bet she drives a really expensive car and lives in an extremely wealthy neighborhood. I even suppose her grandparents didn’t pinch her cheek when she was a child. I bet her mother didn't try to clean her face by rubbing their fingers on her after wetting them from their mouths. I think to myself what a charmed life Mrs. Soberan has probably led.

 

She looks up and smiles. The obligatory small talk occurs as she asks me about my resume and past work experience. Then she asks the interview question I hate the most.

 

“So, tell me a bit about yourself?”

 

I want to scream “I’m on a work-release program from the criminally insane where I’m being treated for murdering job interviewers who ask me to tell them about myself. I forgot to take my medication today and you may just want to offer me the position right here and now if you know what’s good for you.”

 

What I really do is give her the standard rundown of my life and career. She seems satisfied and looks back down and shuffles some more of her papers. She holds one up and says “I see at your last job you were in the business development department for a period of time. Did you enjoy doing that type of work?”

 

I want to scream “I cold-called idiots who hung up on me and used expletives to describe me, my family, my pets, and any female I may be romantically involved with past, present or future. I hated it. I would’ve sold a kidney to get out of doing that job.”

 

What I actually say is the job was challenging and I learned from it. This sounds so much better than saying “It really sucked.”

 

The beautiful Mrs. Soberan then begins telling me about the position and that’s when things go terribly wrong. When she finishes, I look at her in stunned silence.

 

“Mrs. Soberan, the position you just described is for accounting. I have no accounting education and no accounting background. I don’t think I could do that job.”

 

A look of shock comes over her face as she frantically shuffles her papers. The clinking of her bracelets reaches a fevered pitch. Suddenly, she stands up and excuses herself before quickly departing.

 

I stand up and realize this has been a waste of time and money. I want to ask Mrs. Soberan if I can have just one of her bracelets. I bet it would probably cover my bills for a month or two. This embarrassing moment would then be forgiven. I feel depressed and believe the least she could do is give me contact information for her orthodontist.

 

When the door opens, it’s the well-dressed Ms. Boom Boom Thighs again. The look on her face tells me she wants me out of here as fast as humanly possible.

 

“We’re so sorry. There’s been a terrible mistake. We’ll keep your resume on file in case another position opens up that is better suited for you.”

 

I want to scream “No, there’s been a major screw up. Poor Mrs. Soberan will probably have to go to expensive jewelry shopping therapy after this experience.”

 

Whenever I hear you corporate types talking about keeping my resume on file I have the urge to yell “I doubt any of you could pass a lie detector test if that was the question you were asked.”

 

I actually say nothing. I follow Ms. Boom Boom Thighs back to the reception area. I quickly get my coat and other things. Before leaving, I get another round of apologies and then it happens. It could’ve been the fruit I had for breakfast or it could have been my nerves. Instead of struggling not to break wind, I just let it go. To my surprise, it is loud and long with an odor that would scare a Hazmat team. Only young children and guys in fraternities could appreciate how this moment is special.

 

The woman shaking my hand reacts instantly by covering her mouth, walking away. She looks at me with an expression of disgust. The receptionist groans and slams something on her desk. She covers her nose.

 

Not knowing what to do I yell “It was not fun wasting my time and money to come here and interview for the wrong job. I think it really stinks.”

 

I chuckle as I quickly leave. Making my way to a row of elevators I stand there thinking about what just happened. I smile and realize this was probably the best job interview I ever had. Maybe it’s time I forget about the corporate world. It could be time for me to seek employment as an actor in the dietary supplement industry focusing on gas prevention. I just hope I wouldn't be required to go on an interview for one of those jobs.

 

 

 

The End

 

 


Submitted: October 21, 2020

© Copyright 2020 Nevidomo Istoriya. All rights reserved.

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Comments

Mark A George

Funny! Enjoyed it. If Ms. Boom Boom thighs had been standing close to you when you let out the gas it could have been quite explosive.

Wed, October 21st, 2020 2:53pm

Author
Reply

Thanks for your comment. You are right...if the two were combined, it could have become a very dangerous situation! :)

Wed, October 21st, 2020 8:49am

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