The Interview

The Interview

The day had started so well. Enough sleep, new energy, sunshine blazing from a cloudless sky filtering through the still closed curtain. Yes, this is it. I will hack this.

Ahead lay my interview with the oil related company. A Personal Assistant post had come up and my application, yes my application amongst 30 others, had been accepted. The invitation to the interview lay on the kitchen table, ready to be put into my bag on the way out. Whether this was a preliminary interview, it did not say. No matter, I was in. Here was my chance. 

The curtains were parted with gusto. More sunshine flooded the bedroom and as if invited butterflies formed in my tummy. I squashed them with vigorous teeth brushing, but they resurfaced when applying my make up. I wanted to look my best. Staring into the magnifying mirror every pore could be seen and for a few moments I forgot those butterflies examining my skin for any blemishes and any pimples. Thankfully none were found. But my lids needed eye liner and lashes. And there that pulling sensation started up again. Keep that hand steady or else that eyeliner becomes a tree trunk , and to take that off again would bring puffy redness and also delay. I’ve been been there, I know.  But I managed. There, eyes finished, not bad. Make up on, evenly, no streaks. A smile escaped my lips.  

Now the clothes. The trouser suit or wearing the skirt with the jacket? Formal and yet still casual that was my aim. I stared at what I had laid out the night before. Make up your mind! But still I wavered. 

The phone rang. Almost relieved I welcomed the distraction. "Hi , darling", said the voice of my mother, "just wanting to wish you good luck today." 

"Thanks mum. Not sure what to wear? The trouser suit or the skirt with that grey jacket?" 

"What do you feel most comfortable in?" came the reply.

"The trousers". 

"Well, there is your answer. They are not interviewing your clothes but your mind, and your mind works best when you feel comfortable and good. So make yourself feel comfortable and good. "

"Thanks Mum." 

“I gather you are not dressed yet, so I let you go. Will keep my fingers crossed but I am sure, you will be fine."

"Hope so Mum!" and with that she disconnected.

I got dressed. A glance towards my phone told me to get a move on. The bus was leaving in 30 min and I still had not had breakfast and it was 5 minutes to the stop, and sometimes they did not keep to the schedule either. 

The cupboard flew open for the cereal packet. The cornflakes catapulted themselves into the bowl at the same speed as the those butterflies raced around my stomach….. again! A large splash of milk followed. I jumped back from the counter still holding the carton. That was close, the splash had escaped over the rim of the bowl onto the counter but thankfully missed my trousers. I stared at what could have been and took a deep breath. For goodness sake, calm down Louise! My own voice was in better shape than I. For a second I thought that funny but I had no time to think about it any further. I put the milk carton back into the fridge and forced myself to sit down at the kitchen counter to eat my cereal with what my mother would call a measured gesture: slowly and steadily, avoiding any rapid movement. It not only prevented any spillages my mind also stopped racing and my butterflies slowed down to a more leisurely pace. Nevertheless, I decided to leave the hot mug of coffee out this morning. A glass of water would have to suffice. 

Once the last bit of cereal was eaten and the last drags of milk taken up with the spoon, instead of slurping the milk directly from the bowl, I placed the dish into the sink. My mother would have approved. She did not like me drinking out of the cereal bowl. Her way at least ensured that no dribbles escaped my lips to run down my chin onto my top. Potentially another disaster averted. 

Putting my coat on I paused for one last look in front of the hall mirror . Yes, all looked good including my hair. I could not have improved on anything other than of course getting the job. I was just about to pull the outside door close when I remembered the invitation. “Blast , I must not forget that!” Racing back into the kitchen the open coat got caught on the kitchen door handle bringing me to an abrupt halt. Another ,”blast”, but this time louder and with more intensity. I hardly dared to look at my coat pocket but I should not have worried it was still intact. 

I grabbed the invitation and placed it in the pocket nearest to my body. On a previous interview I could not find a piece of paper. Admittedly my handbag has numerous pockets because I like pockets, being able to keep things separate in there, but even though I knew or thought I knew where I had put that piece of paper, it was not there. So this time I made a point of looking and remembering. I did not want to be flustered like that again and definitely not in front of people who might become my colleagues. 

The walk to the bus stop remained uneventful except for feeling the warmth of the sun on my face. I told myself that this was a good omen. The sunshine brought light to the day and would shine favourably on my interview. I always looked for signs in the universe that would reassure me that I was on the right path and this late autumn ray of warmth and brightness did just that. At least that is what I told myself. 

The bus was on time and also not too crowded. I chose my seat carefully to make sure no biscuit crumbs or other food remains from a previous passenger could leave unwanted marks on my trousers or my coat. 

Settling down I decided to rehearse all the possible questions and all the possible answers again that such an interview could bring. Having been to a few and alas failed but also not given up, I learned not only determination but also what questions were likely to put in front of me. I closed my eyes to better visualise the scene of me entering the room, sitting down, facing one, maybe two people and confidently answering all the questions. 

I rehearsed it once, twice. During the third time something made me open my eyes, I had the feeling of nearing my stop. I was right, looking out of the window I recognised the row of shops. It would not be long till I was there. 

But something had changed. The light was different. The sun had gone. He no longer shone brightly outside in the street nor brightly inside me. The bus window was decorated with small droplets of wetness clinging to its surface in defiance of the drag caused by the drive. A look onto the road surface revealed the sheen of rain! What??? No way! Where was an umbrella when you need one. Another “blast” escaped my lips.  

My stop arrived quicker than I anticipated. A glance across the wet tarmac let me calculate a quick jump over the kerb onto the pavement. It was partly shielded with awnings. I should be alright.

As soon as the driver opened the door I clambered down the steps with my legs immediately reaching for the pavement. My ankle was not as sturdy and welcoming of this jump as I had planned. I landed on the pavement but got no further.

The bus pulled away and I was left examining the damage. 

I could move the foot, just a slight sprain. That was not too bad. I will be alright. Suddenly a spray of dirty rainwater splattered against my legs. While the bus had pulled away slowly the car that followed drove through that puddle near the kerb at greater speed, and now my trousers and the skin on my legs knew all about it. I almost felt too overwhelmed to exclaim another “blast”! But out it came nevertheless.

Then I remembered. What had Mum said? “They are not interviewing your clothes but your mind!”