Lil Fella

John sat nervously waiting for his name to be called out. 'John Restaurant' would invoke fits of laughter so roaring that he would have to go home. The voice in John's head started to speak.

'You're going to fail you know' It said very smugly as if it already knew.

'No I am not, I am confident' thought John. Of course, he could not say that out loud as the other people in the room would think he was mad.

'Bet you think you have a chance? You have none. Your suit is too cheap and your hair is falling out.' The voice said, getting a little more spiteful.

John tried to simply ignore the little fella (as he liked to call it) while slightly feeling the top of his head. He had thought it was falling out but then he did put tremendous amounts of gel in it that made it look fine.

'John Prendergast next, please' said the secretary type person. John felt his heart go crazy as Mr Prendergast stood up and walked to the desk where the secretary was.

'Look at that! She says your name and you're all over the place. You are a sorry excuse for a motherfucker.'

'Shut up' he was a little loud. The 'Shut's initial 'Sh' was quite audible to the other job applicants. He dared not look up fearing interaction.

'Get up and head home. You know I will not let you go in there without putting you off. I am your nemesis and I will bring you down. You will stay at your no good, badly paid, dead end job.'

The Lil Fella was on menacing form - not since the date John had at the start of the month was he this bad. Lil made him stand up and count the amount of strands of spaghetti he was served. The reason? The Lil had thought that there was more spaghetti on the plate than hairs on his head. His date was not pleased having started on the post dinner coffee half way through John's continuous counting/eating. Of course, a doggy bag was ordered. It was not until midnight that night that john had settled the dispute well in favour of his own belief.

'But you believed me in the first place and you should believe me now; you will not get this job. Go home.'

John heard a slam to his left and a few moments later the door towards the interviews swung open. Out popped John Prendergast. Red in the face and angry at something. Words soon followed his emotions:

'Forget it! I hate this. For fuck sake this is it!' He clearly wasn't happy. He clearly did not have the job. 'I hate this company and I think everybody here should fuck off!'

A lady in a very short white uniform (not dissimilar to one a nurse would wear, though more a smutty nurse).approached him in an effort to calm him down and was very successful. She led him through a set of double doors that (our) John had entered on arrival. Through the windows John noticed two other people man handle Mr Prendergast before he disappeared from view.

'Did you see that?' Lil Fella started, 'They took him out clean. Not only will you fail like him but you're going to get raped or something' John was livid.

'They are obviously going to sedate him or something. This is still experimental you know and not everybody reacts the same.' He replied (to himself and not out loud).

The Lil Fella seemed to shut up on that comment. John, feeling a little more assured and confident, scanned the room looking to see which of the applicants were real and who were fake ' confederates. On attempting to count, John was surprised to be interrupted by the secretary at her desk calling out: John Restaurant.

John stood up in the direction he was facing out of faulty automaticity. He adjusted himself and walked towards the desk¦

¦each step brought about a danger: he could feel creeping in his spine, but in frozen liquid form. A frozen liquid danger.
His left foot moved first and as if by a miracle his right sought a precedence of carpet after. His head swayed towards the desk destination, only a little distance for measurement but a travel of many steps when broken down. It must be at least ten steps¦ maybe 6-7 but no less than five. The third is on it's way and he is facing and positioned in the correct manner but his heart is not keeping the correct rhythm. The pace of his walk is slow but not so his heart. The literary version of his beat would not suffice the velocity ' so it will not be attempted. Has his breath caught up? Only we are to find out¦

'-at's me' John told the secretary, missing the 'Th' due to the fact that he swallowed when he should have breathed in. 'That's me.' He managed better; on second attempt.

'Will you sign here, please?' said the secretary pointing to what looked like a letter of consent. John picked up a pen.

'You're not going to sign something you haven't read, are you?' Lil Fella was back. Only a moment break from him; twas a moment cherished.

'Of course I will read it, I'm not a mug' John replied in silence through his mind's voice 'I'll ask her what it's about first though.'

'Er¦' He started, through his normal voice, 'why do I have to sign this, I thought I already read one and er¦ ser-ser-signed one at the first interview.' John felt the feeling of disappointment coupled with anger filling him whole; he knew what was to follow:

"We And are now to you continue are with some stuttering extra too. ' ha tests you're really It's simple, making well actually a great in your condition impression. it would or may be difficult. John caught both the secretary's reply and Lil Fella's revoke at intersections with each other. On one hand he was glad he did not quite hear what Lil Fella had to say but on the other, scared that he was signing something that he could not be bothered to read (and also could not now due to the potential defamation of trust he would show to the secretary's explanation).

'Oh. Ok. I'll¦ sign by this 'x' at the bottom.' To which the secretary nodded and John was on his way to the door.

***

Behind John's gel soaked hair was space. A lot of space. Then the door. This was where John had walked into when entering the room.

To the left of the space (and indeed, the door) were three pictures. Beautifully painted, beautifully framed ' in a row across the centre of the wall aligned and all sized the same. Opposite (to the right of our space and door) were another three pictures displayed in the same manner as described for the previous three. These were the paintings John admired.

A doctor's couch / bed was positioned ahead of pictures on the left with an IV stand, tray of tools and blood pressure monitor. This was where John had given his blood sample.

Directly adjacent (on the right) to this was John. Sitting opposite three men in suits facing him, backed by a very magnificent window indeed. This was the window to John's view, though he really should be concentrating now¦

'Stop looking at the sky you idiot, you're going to miss something and then it's all over the job is gone.' Lil Fella remarked. Or was it? Sometimes it was difficult to tell. Whatever, John felt he needed to heed this as concentration was critical.

'We understand the difficulty but please bear with it for just a little while longer' Suit number 1 (from John's left) started, though he sounded like he had just finished talking, 'We just want to ask you a few questions and see how you cope with those.' He had finished now, however, suit 2 started.

'Your name is John Restaurant', (was it a question?) he started while scanning a document in his lap that could only be his CV, 'I'm Cary Baxter; this is Paul Schwartz [pointing to his right] and: this is Stephane Ducat' John paused for a second but got up and offered each a handshake. Lil Fella was not impressed.

'They noticed the pause you know. They will note it down later as a sign of non-confidence' John wondered whether non-confidence was the correct term.

'Ok. Jane went through all the normal, basic questions and things that are associated with the position so we will not be concerned with that. This is a pure look to see whether we believe you can cope with the pressured environment of the position.' Paul explained. He had a peculiar hand movement that John could not keep his eyes off of. For every semi circle Paul engaged, a semi circle in the counter direction was performed ' and that's all Paul did with his hands. Wax on, wax off.

'Right so we'll begin. So, John, how do you think you cope with pressure?' Paul asked John finishing on an anti-clockwise movement.

'The moment of truth is here. They have stopped rambling and it is time for you to ramble back. Can you do it? And can you do it while I fuck you off completely¦

'-Er¦ well I believe that pressure is relative¦'

'-What? Relative? Einstein shit in an interview? You are not starting well¦'

'-and well sometimes you have to deal with it. I can deal with it because I set my goals and try my hardest to achieve those and I don't believe that pressure will get in my way¦'

'-Too many 'believes'. Do you honestly believe?'

The thus far silent Stephane interrupted the pseudo three way conversation.

'Right. What type of coping devices do you believe are in your arsenal to deal with pressure?'

'Oh. Well I¦ think¦ I have a good ability to deal with things that are thrown at me. I will cope with things and try to do this one at a time rather than all in one go. However, if I need to multi task then I can do that as well. But I think organising and really making the most of my time and whether this needs to be stretched or whatever¦' John tailed off with the 'whatever'

'Organised. That speech wasn't.'

'Right. So if you have to make a sale and work a deadline along with any other work for a given day, would you be able to cope with that? How?'

'¦Well,' John started but not without accidentally creating a bubble with excess saliva on his lips 'As I said, organising my work. Putting certain daily activities, perhaps on hold and then concentrating on pleasing the clients. At the end of the day the deadlines need to be met and only time organisation can do this.' John liked the way he ended his statement; with authority. However, a seed of doubt grew within him as to whether he actually answered the question.

'I do not think you did. He was looking for more. I suggest you get up shake hands and leave' Lil fella said seizing opportunity through John's self doubt.

'Ok.' Stephane again. 'Well. How would you say you have coped with the pressure you have been feeling over the last few weeks?'

'This one is difficult. They will ask you about the voices and then what will you tell them? There are none? No, you cannot tell them that, what if they know there are voices?'

'Well I have two voices¦ er.. I mean choices, sorry. One is to let myself get bogged down by this induced pressure and the other is to fight.'

'Here we go, Braveheart, surely this is the way out'

'I choose to fight and fight for my ability. I have what it takes to work for this company because I have proved to myself that I can overcome this pressure. I'm not saying it was easy, right now, even, it is not. But that is what careers are like; taking the rough parts and making a go of it. University helped me obtain the degree I need for this vacancy and I am going to work hard at not only obtaining this vacancy but succeeding in it too.'

To be honest, John would not have known where that came from. The words bypassed his conscious awareness emanating truly from depth ' far, far depth. It was not: poetic defiance; but defiance, resistance and plain dirty balls: it was. When in trouble the human response varies from one soul to another but when it is time to fight, most of the species know how to go about it.

For the rest of the interview Lil Fella was very much side lined. He did try despairingly to enter at times; during a short quiz into capitals of countries of the world, repeating the city 'Paris' to answer every query was not helpful to John. Neither was the voice's mathematical idiocy and nursery rhyme singing. John kept his head and composure with the assuredness of a true professional. In terms of an employee it would have been hard to say no to such a gutsy performance. As the demonstration of adversity / or attempted debauchery (depending on which view) drew to a close, so to the wider event: the interview.

'Well thank you very much for your patience and attendance' Cary told John standing up in the process. He offered a hand as John stood up. Oddly, or not, Stephane Ducat and Paul Schwartz stayed seated. John shook Cary Baxter's hand and also the others.

'It has been a pleasure' John triumphantly responded.

'A pleasure for who, you? Not unless you like losing, loser.' Lil Fella remarked. John secretly responded by telling the internal cumbersome that he would be speaking his last 'bullshit' thoughts.

'If you make your way back to the secretary out front she will take you to room 765 where we will, happily, give you the antidote,' On these words, Baxter led John to the door he had previously entered.

***

'¦Psycho-tropic¦ no¦ Look just hear me out' The phone was hissing slightly. 'Have you heard of the new technique?... It's where you go to an interview and then they inject you¦ Yeah¦ that's the one¦Fuck it, it's a good job and I will get paid well, though¦ Look what I wanted to ask¦' John pulled the phone away from his head, relaxed and then tensed his shoulders 'What I wanted to ask you was if you were free¦ you know to go out¦ again?' He grimaced and held his breath 'I know¦ sorry, but you said it¦I was under pressure, come on¦ I'm a fun guy¦No¦ Well it's like, oh ok¦ I guess spaghetti is hard to count when¦ come on I was under pressure¦ what?... Yes of course¦ I really impressed them¦ no you see¦They already knew I could count¦ No, I didn't need to count my hair ' ha! Ha!... Will you¦ Look. Will you give me another chance or what?'