Will the mole people have snacks?

By Tiber

I had another job interview today. Okay, all together now…

…“It did not go well.“

Right off, I started sweating so much, it looked like I’d just knocked over a liquor store and had only ducked into this interview so I’d have an alibi.

And then my mind went to Morocco. Well, it could have gone anywhere. I just know it wasn’t with me.

Obviously, back when I applied for the job that I just lost, I was younger. And when you’re younger, you figure any company you interview for is only one out of thousands anxious and ecstatic to compete for your unique services.

Now, all I could think about was blowing this interview, never getting another one, never scoring a new job, and Dad throwing me out of his house, until I ended up wandering on some stark and desolate moors, where my only hope would be to fall down a rat hole and be clothed and fed by the underground mole people.

Mentally envisioning the rest of my life spent below the earth’s crust, I realized I suddenly couldn’t remember my own phone number here aboveground. And then, for a moment, even my own last name eluded me.

Fortunately, I hazily remembered that the interviewer had recently said my first name, so by repeating that name over and over in my head as a guide, at last the matching last name resurfaced.

Of course, the reason the interviewer had recently said my first name was because he’d been asking me a question and since I’d been out getting to know the mole people, I hadn’t heard a word of it.

So the two of us sat there for a long awkward moment, while he waited for an answer to whatever it was that he’d asked and I decided that for future job interviews, I really should write down my personal info and pin it to my jacket the way they do with kids’ mittens.

I didn’t get the job.

I was so ticked with myself, that when I got on the elevator, as loud as I could, I screamed out my name and my phone number followed by “You jackass!“

The woman I hadn’t noticed, standing in the corner of the elevator, recoiled and raced out before the door even closed.

Looking back on it now, I’m sure she thought that was the worst pick-up line ever.

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