The next morning, I had an interview. The man on the phone told me to "dress for success". I wasn't sure what the exact parameters of that were, so I just dressed like I was going to court. Dress shirt, tie, dress pants, dress shoes. The issue was that I had forgotten that in the last six months I had lost a good forty pounds, and that perhaps some of my lesser-used clothes wouldn't fit. The pants didn't fit even remotely, however, being a "dress for success" sort of occasion, I had no choice. I worried that I looked like I was wearing Dad's clothes.
I pulled my hair back, trimmed my beard, and kissed Marie.
"Good luck," she said, with nothing less than worry in her tone.
"Thanks baby. I love you."
"I love you too."
I went out to the car, making sure to grab a pen first. You always need a pen in these situations. I got in, set the G.P.S., and drove off. I had twenty minutes to get thirty-five miles. "I can do this," I thought.
After fighting my way through endless roadwork in town, I made it to the interstate. Eighty miles an hour, thirty miles to my destination, ten minutes until my interview, 1/32nd a tank of gas. The odds were not in my favor. At every exit I debated which was more important, making it to the interview on time, or making it to the interview at all. My gas gauge screamed bright orange and flashing at me. My clock droned on and on, sympathetic not at all.
"Fuck."
With each exit, I chose punctuality. "I can do this. I can do this," I said. If the gas held out, my G.P.S. told me I would arrive three minutes late. Not ideal, but tolerable. I kept the windows rolled up so as not to blow my fucking hair everywhere, but the weak a.c. was having a difficult time fighting off 94 degrees outside. I had a film of sweat on me, and hoped that the building would be nice and cool and I could sit for ten or fifteen minutes before anyone would see me.
Minutes flew by, gas burned away, sweat poured down. I found my exit, took it, and drove three more miles, keeping a watchful eye for gas stations nearby. I found the road, the number, the parking lot, and pulled in. It was a large warehouse-type building with a "we're not really a warehouse, we're a business!" facade. I parked and got out. In the reflection of the hyper-waxed S.U.V. next to me, I looked again at my hot-air-business-wear. The pants billowed around me. I felt like a fool. I wanted to get right back in the car, drive home, and hide. A weird moment for a grown man, worrying about his outfit that much.
I walked to the front of the building. A man was walking out.
"Good afternoon," he said, and gave the guy-nod.
"Good afternoon."
I wondered what he thought as he was walking to his car. Did he know I had an interview? Did he know I was over-dressed in a gargantuan outfit for a job that at best required a polo shirt and khakis? Did he think I was someone imp0ortant? A corporate auditor, perhaps? Upper management?
No, I doubt he did.
I walked in and the building was air conditioned. The sudden blast of cool air seemed to make the sweat pour faster off of my head. Now, I just needed some time to myself to cool down.
The girl behind the desk was on the phone. It seemed like she was explaining something very simple that was giving someone else the most difficult time. It reminded me of something, but I couldn't place it. She nodded at me, and motioned toward a sign-in sheet. I signed in, and sat down in a chair while she navigated a very detailed conversation. I looked at the clock on the wall. I was seven minutes late. I hoped they wouldn't notice. That they were so busy all the time that they were more like a medical office in that regard. Then, I realized I didn't want a job where I was that busy, and didn't know what to hope for.
A few minutes passed while I stared at the light blue walls. Reading over this branches achievements, framed and hung, over and over.
A man came out. He was short. His hair feathered but trim. he looked like he might have an older brother named Rick, and his name would be...
"Hi, I'm Terry."
Terry it was then.
"You must be James?" He asked.
"Yes sir." I stood up, and shook his hand. "Good to meet you."
"You too. Just, uh, follow me, and we'll get this going, and hopefully have you out of here enjoying your day in no time."
"Sounds like a plan."
We walked through the labyrinthine office. Corridors and staircases, dimensions and realities all passed by, and I wondered if Terry's name was actually Virgil, and if I wrote about this, I might change his name to Virgil. We came to what absolutely must have been the back of the building, and into a faux-wood paneled room. There were two steel desks inside it, making it look more like a courtroom, and my outfit suddenly seemed more appropriate. He. had a chair set up for me at one of the desks.
"Have a seat," he said.
I sat, and he went around to his side and sat.
"Okay," he said, "let's get started."
He asked all the normal interview questions. Why would I be a good fit? How did I hear about this job? What are my strengths, weaknesses? I noticed my fly was down, and I could see skin. I hoped no one else had noticed. I took the first opportunity to zip up and carry on. Do I know anything about the job? Any special skills? What do I like to do in my free time?
"Well James," he said after an eternity in the lost room, "if I were to offer you the job today, would you take it?"
"Absolutely."
"Okay, well, we just have to get you to take a drug test." He handed me a sheet of paper with an address on it. "Can you get there today?"
The address was actually a block away from where I planned on going next. "Yes sir."
"Excellent." He stood up, and so did I. "Well, as long as that works out, we look forward to having you join our team."
"Thank you so much Terry. I look forward to it."
We shook, and Virgil, I mean, Terry, guided me up through the circles and pits to the light blue lobby.
"So, after we get the results," Terry said at the front desk, "we'll call you and give you all the details."
"Okay, well, then I'll see you soon."
"Have a good day, James."
"You too Terry."
I walked out, into the sunlight and heat. I won. I was late and sweaty, my pants were ridiculously big, and my dick had almost made an appearance, but I won. I got to the car, and in the reflection, I saw my pants blowing out around me like a cape, and I felt not super at all. I had to go home and change. There was drinking to do.
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