PROLOGUE
“Tell
me about yourself,” the man suggested, his tone interested, his eyes
fixed on the paper in his hand. The office was designed to make me
nervous. Books I probably should have known lined Spartan metal cases
secured to the gray walls that surrounded me. The shelves gave the
impression of bars. Each item on Mr. McLaughlin’s desk rested just so,
as if he had mapped the space with a compass and straightedge.
Mr.
McLaughlin himself appeared to be designed with the same attention to
detail. Straight posture. Precise attire. Definitively brown eyes. Well
defined bone structure.
I am the master of my fate, I told
myself. My mouth opened and my mind emptied. I counseled myself, Just
answer the question. I smiled, “That’s a big question.” Killing time.
“My undergraduate degree is in communications. I have always been
interested in Marketing. I am fascinated by how consumers interact with
the market and drive innovation.”
He looked up from his paper, and nodded, then jotted down some notes. I felt encouraged.
Mr.
McLaughlin continued the interrogation, “Right now you are cleaning
houses, why aren’t you working in a field that aligns with your
training?”
Oh, no. Discouraged.
I held my smile, the
confidence that shone through entirely fabricated. I said, “I would
wonder that too, if I were you. I have struggled to decide what is next
for me. To be honest, house cleaning is more lucrative than you might
guess, so I don’t need a change for financial reasons.” Lie. “I want my
next step to be the right one. When I saw this opportunity, I knew, this
is something I can grow with, a company that I can represent well, and
an opportunity that aligns with my values and my goals. That’s why I am
here.”
He smiled. I relaxed. Fractionally. “Tell me more about that. How do you feel we align with your values and goals?”
I was prepared for this question. “I’m glad you asked that,” I began.
Our eyes locked. The room shifted, and his gaze seemed to slide around
in my vision. I remained still and the room moved. No! I silently
protested the sudden onset of vertigo. The confidence drained from my
smile, “It is clear in your advertising,” I stumbled in remembering my
planned response, “That is, um,” I stumbled in remembering the question.
“I’m sorry, I am suddenly dizzy.” In desperation I asked, “I’m sorry
could you repeat the question?”
I could hear his response, but
struggled to make meaning of his words. My eyes searched for a fixed
point, something steady to which I could anchor.
Through the
window, behind him, I caught sight of a car careening through an
intersection. My eyes widened and my jaw fell slack. I felt the room
shake as the car collided with a pole yards away from where we sat. I
jumped out of my chair, knocking his coffee from his desk. Mr.
McLaughlin did not turn around, he heard none of it, he saw nothing.
Because, once again, nothing was happening. Another hallucination, with
perfect timing.
He looked at me with worry. He looked at his coffee with regret.
“Sorry,”
I gasped, “I’ve had a lot of coffee and not a lot of water.”
Dehydration could excuse all manner of odd behavior. Probably not
hallucinations, though, so I kept the vision to myself. I rescued his
cup, now nearly empty. I looked around for anything that might absorb
the coffee, seeing what I intended he handed me some tissue and together
we kneeled and sopped up coffee.
“I think it’s fine now,” he
said. “Someone will clean it. Are you alright, are you sure you want to
continue?” There was genuine concern in his voice.
“Yes
definitely,” even to me it sounded too eager. I returned to my seat. “I
am very nervous, this is very important to me. I apologize. Really, I am
fine.” But the room hadn’t stopped moving. I shut it out and focused on
the question. The question I could not remember.
Once they
started, the hallucinations often spiraled out of control. Sometimes,
the hallucinations unfolded in complex, lengthy scenes. Sometimes they
flashed from vision to vision, imagery jumbled together in a cacophonous
tumult, as was the case this morning. During the single most important
hour, of the single most important day, of my entire year.
Also per usual, the vertigo intensified. I steadied myself by placing a hand on the arm of my chair.
The interview continued.
To
get things back on track Mr. McLaughlin kindly repeated the question,
“Can you tell me about how our company aligns with your values?”
I have no idea, I thought. I said, “Yes, about that…”
Mr.
McLaughlin smiled patiently, while behind him, on the sidewalk outside
an elderly woman tripped a teenager on a skateboard. The nausea told me
that it only happened in my imagination. They promptly disappeared.
I continued, “The company’s values...” I corrected, “My values…”
The car wreck returned, this time with smoke and police and a gathering crowd. I tried to look away, but the scene drew me in.
Mr.
McLaughlin turned to look. Seeing nothing, his smile grew shallow. He
looked at me expectantly. “I’m so sorry,” I repeated, “I’m nervous this
means a lot to me.”
The candor worked in my favor, sympathy spread across his face. That was fine with me, I’d take a pity job.
And then the window shattered and I jumped backwards.
Only
the window didn’t shatter, because I imagined it, and I did jump back,
which might as well have been the end of the interview.
After that, the only coherent sentences I managed contained the words “I,” “am,” and “sorry,” mostly in that order.
We
wrapped with the usual platitudes. He would reach out if I were invited
to go on to the next stage of the process, blah, appreciate the time,
blah-blah, have a nice life.
As I left the building I muttered, “I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul. And that’s the problem.”
.jpg)
