But It Could Happen

I sure hate to brag, but today I had an in-person, hand-shaking-hand interview.  At this stage of unemployment, I’m not sure it gets much more exciting.  And this turn of events brings up my recurring, atypical concerns for Interview Day.

Before an interview, I think a lot of people wonder, “What if I’m not qualified for the job?”  Or maybe, “What if they ask me a question and I don’t know the answer?  What would I do in that situation?”  And I am not impervious to those thoughts either, but they pale in comparison to the fear of either being late or burping out loud.   Not that I’ve ever burped in an interview before, but it could happen.  And honestly, what would I do?   

I start getting nervous about being tardy for an interview about 11.00 pm the night before.  In part because I don’t love to wear a suit.  (It’s like going to the dentist.  I don’t feel dread, just a desire to be doing something else.)  I’ve worn them often enough with no mishap, but I am always convinced that the one morning I feel as though my future depends on me being dressed in suit something grievous is going to happen.  What if all the buttons fell off overnight?  A catastrophe such as this would set me back…well, who knows how long.  (And take even longer because I would be completely frazzled while trying to locate and thread a sewing needle.  In all the uproar I would forget that I have numerous other suits that would suffice.)

So since I’m not a morning person, I usually give my Interview Day wake up time a cushion.  (Built in time to mend so to speak.)  However, when wake up time rolls around I reason that in all likelihood my suit will remain in tact.  I hit the snooze.  (Remember, I am historically not my best when it’s time to get out of bed.) 

But as I start to get ready, the timeline unravels further.  I stand in the shower too long and then can’t find the pair of preapproved Interview Day earrings.  I go to the company website so that I can write down the address and phone number of where I’m going.  All the while, I am creeping dangerously close to the looming Must Leave the House deadline.  And in my fluster I start to panic as I anticipate full trains which won’t let me board, delays that keep me from transferring line, and jammed turnstiles that quite literally barricade me in the station.  (I don’t even have anecdotal evidence of this happening, but it might.)  I am practically sweating as I run to the station in an effort to head off the predestined calamities of the commute. 

So imagine my amazement when, in lieu of everything that could happen, I check in with the building, ride the elevator, and inform the receptionist who I am there to see, with seven minutes to spare.  The interview hasn’t even started and already one of my greatest concerns failed to come true.  I was on time and smiling, not blubbering excuses for lateness.  After surviving the morning, I’m no longer worried about burping because even though it could happen, it probably won’t.

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