On Nerves and Novices

Normally, I’d do a little ramble here and there, talk about some vague topic that somehow skews into whatever point that I’m about to try and make that particular day.

Yes, you don’t have to shout, I am aware that ‘try’ happens to be the keyword in above sentence.

Anyway, that’s how I’d normally go about it, if you’ve ever read my previous natterings. This time… well, this time I’m cutting right to the chase.

I’m having an interview tomorrow. There, I said it. 

Wow. It just never seemed so… final till I typed it out there and admitted it to myself. I’m having my first interview. Man.

I’m not going to pretend that I’m all cool and calm, and I’m going to blow them away with my awe inspiring awesomeness. Nope, I’m too much of a realist for that. I’m not freaking out, per se… well, only slightly.

An allowable percentage, considering my unfamiliarity with the…

Okay, yes, I’m freaking out a little more than slightly.

This was a totally abrupt, unexpected turn of events, if you would permit me to use such formal language. Humor me, I’m practicing.

It was an every week kind of week, right till the end. The weekend turned the corner without as much as a hint of the hostility concealed behind its deceitful Sunday. Me, I stretched, yawned, and packed my bag, walking into a Saturday that apparently only had a three hour bus trip and an uncomfortable night at a boarding room in store.

Yup, the same roommates who took part in the Snoring Epiphany, and of course, the Me-Getting-Lost incident as well.

There was also an important class the next morning, of course. It was pretty much the reason I was three hours away from home in the first place, and why I was forced to face the trauma of that hellish night. (which would make for an interesting story some other time. The teaser trailer: Me hovering under blankets muttering words foul and evil, dreaming up torture scenes of getting even with my tormentor. And my tormentor had six legs, wings, and a beak)

The point being, I walked into the weekend totally unprepared. Little was I to know how, come Monday, I would be striding out to battle with my Sword of Wit and Shield of Cunning. Only this time, my suit of armor as such would have to be a plain shirt and a striped tie.

It began when a friend texted on Saturday morning, and all he had to say was something like this:

“Dude, vacancy at ThatCompany. Send your CV to ThatGuy,”

I shrugged. Why not?

The next thing I know, I’m on the phone with ThatGuy, and I’ve been given a time and a place on Monday. The salt in the wound; I haven’t the attire necessary at the room, nor the cash to buy new clothes and a pair of shoes. So here I am, back home after the three hour return trip, and getting ready to take the third one back there tomorrow. Again.

Yippee.

That’s not all. The shirt and tie I can bear. The bandying words and answering smart, I can fake.

But there’s one other thing, the one that cuts beyond all others.

I would have to (shudder) shave.

SHAVE, I tell you. The inhumanity of it!

Why am I over reacting? Here, let me show you:

This, people, is why they say a picture is worth a thousand words.

Guys, you know what I’m talking about. Sure, it’ll grow back in a couple of weeks… but that’s a couple of weeks where I’m going to look like a complete kid. Stop laughing, darn you.

Count on me to make a mountain out of this one. Was there a point to this, you ask? I guess so: it looks like I’m freaking out a little more than just a little right now.

Help me.

Whatever happens, this I can guarantee; expect a post in a few days on how the interview went. Most probably it would be idiotic, masochistic, maybe hilarious and borderline insane. And if it isn’t,. count on me to brush it up a bit, coz that’s what we writers do.

Wish me luck, y’all. I’m going in.