The Interview

So there I was, early, neat, without piercings and doused in cheap Barbie perfume. There you were, my interviewer. I was disappointed because I came there drunk on positivity and extraordinary energy, and there you were, dry, dry, dry. Dear readers, it is the only word I can use to describe this interviewer – dry.

I swear to god you were so fucking dry that I wanted my lips on a whole water dispenser for the entire duration of the interview. I also thanked god that I had a cup of coffee before the interview because if it wasn’t for that coffee bean high I would have slid off the couch and fallen asleep  on your carpet.

I mean, I just don’t get it … you knew you were interviewing someone so why couldn’t you slap half a smile on your face or have a goddamn cup of coffee yourself! Anyway, I tried my best. I was pronouncing my words wrong and for the simplest of questions I had to take a time-out to think and think, but, I tried my best. I don’t know about you but when someone makes me extremely nervous I tend to want to speak utter shit. I really had to put in major effort to  keep  it together.

There came a breakthrough question, “If you had to choose two celebrities to be your parents, who would you choose and why?” Do you know what I said? I said I would choose David Bowie and Brian Molko to be my parents and my interviewer raised her head from her clipboard. When she gave me this dry stare I immediately felt I needed to explain myself, “Yes, they would be gay parents.”

Readers, that was the only time my interviewer genuinely smiled. I felt like the fucking drought was finally over.

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9 thoughts on “The Interview

      1. Even if I came into that interview like Spud from trainspotting, high on smack, the interviewer would still be a motherfucker.

        Liked by 1 person

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