The Job Hunt

     When asked why he wanted the job, Nick had nothing to say. Working in a corporation was better than getting cancer on a factory floor in the industrial district, but a feeling told him that these were not the words that would lead him to employment. That morning when the sarcastic plastic telephone had blared a series of triumphant notes straight at his ear drums, he had been excited that anyone would bother to call. When they told him it was an offer of long-term employment, his endocrine system kicked into overdrive dealing with the unusual amount of joy flooding it. The prospect of no longer having to haggle in his own mind between the sixty-nine cent beans and their lesser counterpart, the fifty-seven cent beans was invigorating.

     Nick pictured himself basking in the fluorescent lights of the grocery store, and tastefully clicking his tongue while making the weighted choice between a never-ending array of organic products. Would he go with the beans baked on a rosewood fire by Tibetan monks who were trained in plant-therapy, or the kosher pintos which had been blessed by an aged rabbi on his death bed? Oh what the Hell? I’ll take them both. The lavish disregard for price tags and pretty pennies brought fright, but he remembered his hypothetical employment, and relaxed in favor of environmentally-friendly materialism.

     Sitting across from an interviewer, wearing a smart tie, with thin wire glasses that probably cost more than a sofa, and hair so smooth that it could have been carved with butter; Nick felt intimidated. The question: “Why do you want to work here specifically?” hung in the air like a precarious landmine, awaiting the moment when it would be touched, and could finally share its unique brand of destruction with the world.

     He wished desperately that interviews would allow for the Phone a Friend option. Nick’s best friend Terrance would have been an excellent choice, being both charismatic and charming, but Nick would have probably played it safe and called his mother. Parents, no matter the situation, always seemed to have a final opinion about something. Nick pictured his mother scolding him for staring silently during an interview, and found ironically, that had itself contributed to the growing awkwardness in the room.

     The interviewer sat in uncomfortable silence, while Nick stared straight ahead at his face, working through conundrums with an absent mind. A hesitant cough on the part of the interviewer was an attempt to bring Nick to a point of answering, but was only met with the same, blank stare.

     Speaking now would be too awkward. Wait it out, fail the interview, and go back to the simple luxuries in the cheese drawer. Nick valued his cheese drawer highly, and found that it was the only consistent friend he had. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a very attractive woman walk by the door to interview room. She gave an apologetic smile and then walked on unencumbered.

     “Well I must say, this level of thought on such a simple question displays acute reasoning skills. I’ve got a good feeling about you. You’re hired,” The man reached out and Nick shook his hand. Nick felt confused, but also confident that he had quote “nailed it”.