read with interest the notice in the office newsletter about a
vacancy. I hadnít been promoted in years. Although, I already
had a great job where I was chained to a computer and forced to
drink black coffee all day. My career had stagnated. I could
work in my sleep, and very often did, in spite of the
stimulation. It was time for a change.
I could hardly contain myself until I could set
up an interview. I called and made an appointment with someone
named Barbie who had been there only a year and had already
being promoted to management. She was sure it had nothing to do
with her being related to the CEO.
I visualized myself in my new cubical, doing
important tasks on the computer, handling business efficiently,
watering my plants, and all at a much higher salary. I was
beginning to get enthusiastic about how I was going to spend all
that extra money.
I got out the old resume and padded it
shamelessly to make my current job sound responsible. I wanted
to make an impression, a very good impression. I typed it up and
dreamed about how great this new job was going to be as I
watched it print.
I figured I needed the perfect outfit to wear
for the big day. Somehow I just had a feeling that Barbie
didnít come to work in a gray flannel suit. I finally decided
to buy something new, a navy blue dress in the new longer length
that was stylish but businesslike. They call it "dressing
for success." It maxed out my credit card, but I figured no
sacrifice was too great when it came to advancing my career.
It took me most of the day, but I tried to think
of possible questions that they might ask and possible answers I
might give to emphasize my impressive profession qualities
without giving away any of my shortcomings. No need to mention
the computer files I once accidentally deleted or the time I
burned popcorn in the office microwave, I decided.
I rehearsed a few answers in front of the
mirror, which was hard because being a female, I had to keep
stopping to fix my hair.
By the time the big day came, I was pretty
nervous. I dropped the toothpaste in the toilet and nearly
stabbed myself in the eye with mascara. By the time I finished,
however, my hair was perfect, my makeup tasteful, and I had on
plenty of deodorant.
It took two motivational tapes to get me out the
door, but I finally felt ready. I showed up right on time, not
too early and certainly not too late. I clenched my teeth and
smiled, trying not to be irritated at being kept waiting while
Barbie made an appointment for her hair, nails and aerobic
At last I was ushered in. The interviewer began
to drill me with the expectations of the new job and asked none
of the questions that I had rehearsed. I maintained eye contact
and tried hard not to faint until perhaps later when no one was
watching. I wondered how long it would take my resume to be
filed in the paper shredder after I left. When it was finished,
I shook her hand and thanked her for her time, feeling as if the
IRS had audited me.
Back at the old office, I lacked the strength to
use my computer mouse, so I simply stared at the screensaver
all afternoon, wondering why I had never noticed all the pretty
colors before. Well, if I donít get the job at least I will
know why. The CEO probably had another relative.
My greatest fear, however, was not that I might
NOT get the job, but that they might actually offer it to me.