Divergent.

Bzzzzzzzz. Bzzzzzzzz. Bzzzzzzzzz.

8:15am.

The bright-green numbers stared harshly back at her, taunting her — the result of at least five snoozes, from when Marissa was supposed to originally awaken at 7.

Her eyes widened in panic. She had overslept! Now less than an hour until the interview for the job of a lifetime.

She ripped off the comforter and bolted out of her queen-sized bed, nearly tumbling to the ground on the way and barely noticing her Lab mix, Riley, sitting upright near the door, sporting sad, eager eyes. Suddenly, vague memories trickled in of occasional canine whimpers sprinkled throughout the last of Marissa’s deep sleep the half hour before.

She knew what those whimpers and those anxious, sweet puppy eyes meant, but she couldn’t appease them just yet. Riley would have to wait just a little while longer.

Nearly tripping over Riley, who’d began jumping around in excitement, thinking it was “time,” Marissa dove through her closet, tossing blouses and bottoms over her shoulders as she went. She was looking for one specific top: Her favorite blue, buttoned silk blouse. It was her go-to formal top to wear for such a serious occasion. She loved the way she looked in it, she felt most confident in it. She thought it most made her appear chic and sophisticated.

But alas, it seemed nowhere in sight. Where did I last have it? she wondered to herself. Did she recently wear it and toss it in the hamper to be washed? No, she wouldn’t have worn it, knowing she had this interview coming up. Would she have?

It had taken everything for her to get this interview. It was at least a month in the making and scheduled at a very specific day and time that accommodated the incredibly busy schedules of the panel of people who would be interviewing her. 

She charged over to the clothes hamper, now tossing those articles over either side of her as she plowed through. After about a minute, all that seemed left was one dingy white T-shirt resting at the bottom. She plucked it out to confirm that in fact was the last of it. Still no blue blouse.

Marissa had submitted several applications for this position at different times over the past several years. The final nudge it took was one wonderful old colleague’s good word, just for her to get her foot in the door. If it hadn’t been for that, she didn’t know if this would’ve ever happened. If it would be happening. It finally was happening.

Although the blue blouse was mysteriously missing in action, she saw what wasn’t: The muddy-green version of the same blouse. Not one she’s crazy about, but clearly crazy enough to still have it around. And also recognizing that at this point that choosiness was not her luxury.

“Green blouse, in all its wrinkled glory, it is,” she breathed in defeat.

No time to iron — at least she had on a decent shirt. One battle down.

This job would be one doing something Marissa loved, with much more pay than ever before and much more opportunity than ever before. This interview could be career-changing. It could be life-changing.

And here, she’d overslept.

The white short hand of her black wall clock had fully cleared eight and was inching closer and closer to nine — the long hand now firmly on the six.

8:30am.

She raced to the bathroom, forcefully turned on the faucet, and, while the water warmed up, she yanked down her underwear, and emptied her bladder into the happily waiting toilet. No sooner as she wiped herself and flushed, she began squirting the toothpaste on her toothbrush and turned it towards her mouth — her eyes looking down in guilt at Riley, who was waiting anxiously, but somehow rather patiently, nearby for her turn to be relieved.

Riley was glad to see Marissa at least up but also probably wondering When are we going to go outside?!?

“I’m sorry, Riley, just give mama a few more minutes,” she said and then watched the big glob of paste roll right off the brush and onto her second-place silk shirt.

“Shit!” She yelled. She tried to swipe off the paste with her finger, but that only pressed some of it further into the fabric. She then awkwardly lowered her chest into the sink to furiously rinse the area and grabbed a hand towel from the linen closet to remove the rest and try to dry it.

Marissa had only overslept because she had been up all night trying to prepare for this interview. Reading articles and watching interviews on how to have a successful job interview. Commonly asked interview questions. Memorizing and remembering to emphasize her strengths, while cleverly speaking to how she’s learned from and overcome a few of her greatest weaknesses. Rehearsing the answer to “Why do you want to work for us?” Studying the company’s mission, goals, their website and any recent related news stories.

She had meant to do this preparation much sooner, but as usual, life. Yet still, she wanted to be over-prepared. And by the time she had finally turned in at 5:30am, she was.

Until now.

She squirted another dallop of paste — directly into her mouth this time, began swishing, and plunged the brush inside to move it around a bit before she spat the gook into the sink.

She then simultaneously splashed water into her mouth and onto her face. No time for a shower, so she grabbed the same hand towel as before, put the dry end of it under the water, squeezed out the excess water, and rapidly wiped key areas of her body: pits, privates, etc. Almost good as new, except…

Looking in the mirror, she was faced with the grisly reality that her hair clearly still hadn’t awakened from her recent deep sleep, and the dark circles under her eyes treacherously gave away her very recent late night.

She hastily and haphazardly raked a comb through her hair, trying to tame it in some kind of decent shape, and squirted out and applied some concealer under her eyes and over the sprinkles of spots throughout her face, being careful sure not to repeat the same mistake she had made with the toothpaste.

“This’ll have to do,” she said as she quickly glanced down at the clock on her phone.

8:42am.

She hastened away, back into the bedroom to look for her brown slacks that nicely complemented the green shirt. After searching for them for two solid minutes, she gave up and grabbed the grey sweat pants still hanging on her desk chair from when she had tossed them before turning in the night before.

“Oh well, I tried,” she said, as she hurriedly pulled them on.

As she turned to run towards the door, her pinky toe went flying into one of the legs of her dresser.

“FUCK!!”

Kneeling over in a momentary but sharp pain, she grabbed her foot and hopped through the door.

As the pain subsided, she again dashed down the hallway towards the stairs.

She wasn’t halfway down before she remembered she didn’t have her laptop or cellphone.

She raced back up and went for her cellphone first, figuring it would be easiest since she’d had it literally just a few minutes prior. She returned to the last place she had remembered having it: Her bedroom. Except, it was no longer on the corner of her bed, the last place she had specifically remembered leaving it.

She looked all over the bed, pulling off the rest of the comforter onto the floor and then tearing off the sheets. She sifted through the mounds of clothes she had created earlier. Got on her knees to search under the bed and under the dressers. Nothing. Somehow, mysteriously, the cellphone was nowhere to be found.

With the minutes ticking away, she knew she would have to give up looking for the phone and was now annoyed with herself for prioritizing looking for it first when the laptop was what she really needed most.

“Laptop, laptop, laptop,” she recited out loud as she shifted her search.

“OH! Laptop.” She suddenly remembered she had actually brought it downstairs the night before, right before going to bed, just so it would be ready for today.

“Good thinking, Marissa,” she said. “Just wish you would’ve remembered that a few minutes sooner!”

She took off towards and through her bedroom door again. Just a few feet down the hallway, she was suddenly jolted back. She looked down and saw that the door handle of the hallway closet had audaciously caught onto her pants pocket. She yanked herself off and found herself surprised at how badly she wanted to attack the door handle.

She again sprinted downstairs, with Riley following closely behind, and glanced at the living room wall clock to see that it was now 8:55am.

As badly as she knew Riley had to be let out, with not much time left, Marissa questioned whether she would be able to hold it until after the interview. She knew there was a possibility Riley might whine throughout.

She grabbed the leash and collar, tossed it over Riley’s head, and stepped outside and on her front lawn.

No time for a full walk, but she hoped Riley would at least buy them some time with at least one quick whizz. Except of course, once outside, Riley calmly and casually sniffed around as if they were going for a peaceful, scenic evening stroll. 

“Riley! Go, girl! Go potty!!” she shouted in this impatient but still sing-songy tone, to try and soften the directive and mask the fact that it was no one but Marissa’s fault that they were in such a rush and Riley couldn’t actually relieve herself in leisure, blissful peace.

Probably recognizing the same, Riley briefly looked up at her and then returned to her nonchalant browse.

After a few, painfully crawling minutes, when she found a spot she was content with, Riley finally lowered her pelvis and let out one long stream.

Both relieved, Marissa hurried them both back into the house, barely snatching the leash and collar off of Riley along the way.

She could hear the sound as she approached the front door.

Bzzzzzzzz. Bzzzzzzzz. Bzzzzzzzzz.

Her phone! Yay! It was sounding off from upstairs, although, she knew if it’s buzzing now, that meant it was…

9 O’CLOCK.

After a quick debate of whether or not to be without her phone during the interview, where her electronic dependence won, she darted up the stairs and to the direction of the sound. She traced it to the corner of her bedroom, behind the door. In addition to her phone, laying peacefully in the corner were the brown slacks she had spent two minutes looking for earlier.

Too late for that, she thought and momentarily reflected on essentially being willing to wear grey sweats to a job interview over not having her phone that she wouldn’t actually need during it.

She grabbed the phone and sent a quick text message to the recruiter who had arranged the interview, stating she was on her way. Five minutes, she said.

At least she could rationalize the phone being useful in that instance.

She ran back down and over to her office space, where she spotted her laptop patiently awaiting her from where she had left it the night before.

At least one thing I did right, she thought.

But then, she lifted the screen to find it black, instead of the expected colorful screensaver that usually automatically displayed upon opening, since she always left it on.

No power.

She looked over at the socket where the laptop was usually plugged up. The full six prong holes were visible, revealing dreadfully that nothing occupied the two slot spaces.

Why would I make sure I have the laptop down here last night and NOT the CORD?!? She cursed herself in frustration.

Her eyes darted around the room, quickly scanning for it. Nothing. Nowhere. In her heart of hearts, she knew that cord could in fact be literally anywhere — underneath any number of the piles of things she had strewn in nearly every direction of her office and nearby living room.

On the verge of lost hope and nearly collapsing in tears, she suddenly remembered the spare cord she had recently bought for this very kind of situation — just to have an extra one around, just in case. She traced her mind back to a few days ago when the Amazon package arrived — where did she put that package??

Ah! The kitchen.

She raced over to the kitchen, and there on the counter was the white package with the blue letters and curved arrows. Amazon. That was it.

She ripped it open, to reveal a tough plastic casing with the cord inside. So close. Yet far.

Realizing she wouldn’t be able to open it with her bare hands and that it might not be wise to continue to try with her teeth, she quickened over to her drawer of knives, yanked one out, and stabbed through the container.

The cord soon released. She dashed back over to her office with it in hand and jammed one end into the laptop and the other into the wall.

She pressed Power. The black screen quickly took on a glow — perhaps the most beautiful electronic glow she had ever seen.

But then, a blue screen with white letters appeared:

“Working on updates. Don’t turn off your PC. This will take a while.”

“You have got to be kidding me,” she exhaled in disbelief and deep frustration.

She knew the update would take at least several minutes.

She sat there, eagerly waiting — her eyes bouncing back and forth between the time on her phone and the blue screen in progress, like they were watching a tennis match. Sweat accumulating in tiny pools on her forehead.

She found herself trying to will the progress percentages on the screen to go up more quickly.

6%..

9%…

17%…

23%……

37%……….

9:04am.

54%………….

67%……………..

85%…………………

9:05am.

93%……………………..

94%,

95%,

96%,

97%…………………………………………………………….

97 lingered for several more minutes, to the point where she questioned whether the computer had frozen. Tears welled in her eyes, as she debated whether it would make more sense to wait a few minutes longer, to see if it continued on its own or if she should restart and risk the whole thing starting all over again.

And finally! Exactly two minutes later….98%…

99%……………………….

100.

The computer lingered and thought for a few moments and then finally, the login screen.

Her fingers had never typed so fast. They keyed in her username and password with such a quick pace, it was almost as if she had only typed a few keys.

“MJPAVKER. CAT469@“

Incorrect username or password, the screen read.

Noticing the error, she slowed down to make sure she now had the keys right.

“MJPARKER. CAT469!”

Incorrect username or password.

Huh?

“MJPARKE—-"

Oh. Caps. She signed deeply.

“mjparker. Cat469!”

The machine finally recognized her credentials and began logging her in.

She tried to wait for all of the usual, default programs to turn on, but they were trickling in, and she saw the clock in the bottom-righthand corner of her laptop screen now read 9:08am.

The Zoom application finally opened. As soon as the button became available, she clicked “Join call” and waited for it to load.

As it did, she recited in her mind her apology for being late and tried to think of a good-enough reason. Overslept? No. Family emergency? Nah, too cliche, and might need to keep that in the pocket for a future situation. Internet-connection issues? Hmmm maybe.

Finally, the Zoom call began, and she saw she was the only one on screen. The only one in the room.

I did click the right meeting, right? she wondered. Did they already give up waiting and end the call early? Did the recruiter get my text?

She glanced over at the list of event reminders on her Outlook — a list she typically ignored, in finding it more of a nagging nuisance than helpful. But soon, as she looked more closely, her jaw dropped and her eyes widened in horror.

Listed towards the middle, it read: “Big job interview with Konnetix. Yesterday at 9am.”