another job interview

Today's interview was for a job that actually sounded pretty good. The position was for a background checker. Which, I hoped, would be like paid blog reading. I'm not sure how many sordid details would be included (hopefully plenty) but either way, it could possibly make for interesting reading. Convictions, expulsions, instances of public nudity. All those dirty little secrets that made it into the court documents.

Upon entering (through two sets of password protected doors), I was grouped with six other interviewees and instructed to complete the 'written examination' portion of the interview. Once seated, pencil in hand, I stared down at the question which I had to elaborate on. 'Write about something that you enjoy doing'.

I stared blankly at the sheet of paper, completely at a loss. Possible answers which crossed through my mind were, 'alcohol?' no, too irresponsible. 'Television?' no, too unmotivated. 'Sex?' no...just, no...so in all my genius, what do I choose? 'Literature'...my psuedo attempt at appearing intellectual. Which may have worked better had I not rambled on for two pages. I have no idea what I wrote and had no desire to read it over being too afraid it would make absolutely no sense.

After this, the individual interviews began...and once again I realize why I hate having a name at the bottom of the alphabet...I sat while every other jobee goes in to interview. And finally, after 90 minutes, I'm up. Though, while waiting in the lobby, I couldn't help but watch as people tried to enter into the building. Every single one of them walked up to the door, pulled on the handle, realized it was locked, looked very confused, pulled on the other handle, realized that it was locked too, and then acted as if they were just dropped into a different dimension. Folks, when you approach a door that has a high tech security system password thingy that requires you to push buttons, THE DOOR WILL BE LOCKED!!! So don't look confused when it is!

It's somewhere around this point in the afternoon that I realize something. I'm completely brain dead. Had they caught me 80 or 70 or even 60 minutes before, I would've killed! My interview would have, hands down, been a thing of beauty...perhaps even award-worthy. But after an hour and a half, my brain was no more useful then a bowl of semi-chilled Jell-O. It's sort of like alcohol. There's a certain ratio of alcohol to body mass where, once reached, you're just unstoppable. At this level, you're charming, glib, amusing, and so incredibly personable that no one in the bar can resist the magnetism that is you. The problem occurs when that level either drops just a tad too low, at which point you become a narcoleptic slug or just a tad too high, at which point you turn into an obnoxious ass. Well, by interview time, my moment had long since vanished.

To make matters worse, the interviewer was incredibly cute. So not only was the brain operating in slow motion, but the attractiveness factor that the lady sitting across from me possessed added to my already befuddled neurons. By the end of the interview, I'm quite certain that she had labeled me 'major tool'.