365 Days (Part 2) | ✓

292. Job Interview

292. Job Interview: Write about going on a job interview.

Nerves. That's what this is. It's a terrible thing to deal with. My hands tremble from something cold, only it's not coming from the outside, but from the inside -- although the air conditioner blasting on high assaults my flesh with tingles I want to shake away.

There's not much bare skin showing right now. The suit is a rental. I don't actually own one and I didn't own one for my cousin's wedding either. She and her uppity husband are still offended by my casual attire at their fancy shmancy ceremony. I thought it would be a good idea to have a suit for this, though. I care much more about making a good impression here. Even though changing society advocates not basing your opinions on someone off of their looks, I know it's a false hope that this will be common practice, especially in the business world.

And I need to make a good impression. I need to break into the business world. My mom, I know, thinks I'm making mistakes, and sometimes I think I am too. I don't mention this to my girlfriend though. There's no going back. I can't work at a pizza place forever when we have a child to take care of. This job offers twice the pay of my old one, and that's something we need for bills, for rent, and so we don't have to be eating at McDonald's for the rest of our born days.

But it's one thing to say I can go get a job like this. It's another to sit on a plastic-wrapped chair in a sterile waiting room with a handful of other hopefuls, especially when you remember you forgot to comb your hair.

They look impeccable, of course, hair sleeked back and lapels shining. I tug at my collar.

Outside, in the hallway, there's occasional noises, but it feels so deathly silent. The air is weighted with apprehension. A ding as the elevator opens. The clack of heels against tile. The rumble of wheels as a cart loaded with paper or some other miscellaneous office supply is wheeled past.

Remember you're capable. Remember you're smart.

But it's motivation I lack. I don't want to be stuck behind a desk for 8 hours a day. Just the idea makes me shift uncomfortably in my seat, as if I can already feel how heavy my legs will feel after that. But -- but the kid. My kid. There's no doubt it's mine. I've started growing a beard so people can tell us apart. She needs diapers and food and all sorts of things I never knew existed but which my mom happily educates me on.

Remember you're a dad.

A lady pokes her head out the door. She looks mid-thirties, with a wide smile. She calls my name and I stand.

The fear was in the apprehension, and I no longer have to wait. The moment I stand, the fear melts away.

Remember you need this, I say to myself, as I step forward with pretended confidence and greet her.

*

Based off of a real person.