The shirt is new, fresh, dry-
cleaned, as is the suit, the shoes
are polished to a high shine.
A bold blue tie is strung around
your neck, but not too bold,
fitting in is what the tie says.
And the resume speaks clearly
of ambition and promise,
education, early success.
The papers are crisp and perfect
in the interviewer's hands.
You articulate your desire
to work for the firm, to learn
to grow, to be a part of the team.
The man likes to hear the word
team and makes a note of it.
You tell him that you value
family as well and this too
warrants a note on his pad.
Then he says I want to ask you
an important question. He puts
his hands beneath his chin
and leans towards you. Close
your eyes and tell me where you
would like to be in five years
with this company. He nods
and smiles at you. Close your eyes,
he repeats. And so you do
as he says. You close your eyes
and lean back, you exhale and fold
your hands into your lap. You
feel the tie tugging at your neck.
Yes, the man says. Where would
you like to be in five years. Just
say the first thing to come to your
mind. Tell me. And so you tell him.
Anywhere, but here is what
you say, anywhere but listening
to you and answering such
a question. I'd like to be on a silky
white beach with someone who
looks like your receptionist. Amy,
I think her name was. I'd like
to have five million dollars
in the bank, an ice cold drink
in my hand while I gently sway
in a hammock overlooking
the bluest ocean on the planet.
I'd like to make a small bonfire
of these clothes, put them all
into a pile, the shoes, the tie,
that resume you're holding,
everything and be free from
the slavery of work and blind
obedience that cuts a piece
of your soul out with each
tick of the clock. That's my five
year plan. Your eyes are still
closed, but you hear a chair
slide against the floor, and the man
getting up. You hear his shoes
walking across the room and then
the door open and close. You realize
at this point that the interview
is probably over and that you
didn't get the job. You open up
your eyes and find yourself alone
in the room. It's a start.
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