Who will I take on for the role? WILL IT BE YOU?!
Every manager knows the best way to test a candidate is to drag out the interviewing process: Only someone who smiles like an idiot while dodging wrenches can handle a fast-paced environment like my office. Save for the mysterious man, I have no friends in this group, and while my plan is working brilliantly so far, I still need more time to see if he or anyone else has it in them to meet our company’s standards.
“I will be testing you now on cultural aptitude,” I tell the final four. I stack a box of props on the front table. “But before I can test your fit for this company, I am going to need you all to fit into these costumes.”
The Asian man stands up. “We came in on a Friday to wear costumes and put on a play?” he says. “This is a part-time position with no benefits. I paid $30 for my Uber here!”
“$30!” I say, pointing to the door. “Now you know how much you’ll make when you drive for them.” An applicant eliminated; a disaster prevented.
The woman with the braid whimpers after he leaves. “Since he eliminated himself, can we move onto the next round of interviews?”
“Absolutely not,” I respond, handing out new papers. “Here are the scenarios. I suggest you put on your costumes quickly.”
Applicants assembled, I read the first scenario aloud. “I ask you to come to work on a day you have requested off.” I lay the sheet down. “How do you respond? Demonstrate!”
The contestants don their big hats and aprons to begin the next round with the energy of stale bread. One applicant turns to her partner. “Don’t worry about overtime: I should be paying you for this opportunity!” she says.
Outside the office, the alleyway homeless man moans with more passion. I scurry to the window. “Scram!” I yell out of it, throwing a dollar bill at him. “Go grind on a Starbucks.” I turn back to the room and sigh.
“Applicants! The situation has changed,” I say. They all look so handsome in their costumes. “Today is your engagement party. Pretend that I am the fiancé—convince me to let you go to work instead.”
The one with the afro goes to her feet. “Oh, exalted one!” she says.
“Exalted one?” I say. “Remember, I’m your partner, not your boss! Next!”
“I can do this,” says the giant redhead. He bends down in front of me. “Fiancé, you know how I will always choose work over us?”
“I’m listening,” I say.
“Our engagement party is tonight, but so is work, and I am sorry, but- “
“But what?!” I jump in. “This is your career that you’re talking about. What on earth are you apologizing for?” He steps back; my employees come up to the door again.
“What is it now?” I say.
“We’ve waited another hour. Now, it’s well into our weekend,” Allison says.
“Can we leave?” Melanie asks.
“How about this?” I say. “Since you both love cake so much, I can order another one when this round is done.” I pat Allison’s arm. “It’ll be fun.”
“I’m sorry, but—”
“Don’t say that word,” I say.
“We have plans. We both have to go now,” Allison finishes.
“Go where?” I ask. The handsome man approaches us. “You know what? Never mind. Just clean up before you leave.”
I turn around. The handsome man says, “May I hold your hands for the sake of acting?”
“For the sake of acting,” I say, laying my palms on his. His skin is soft and smooth and cool. “Fiancé, I will not mince words. I am going to work and I am missing our party. Before I do, allow me to explain why with a parable.” He traces a finger up my wrist and pulls me closer. “Success relies less on the enemy not coming but of our readiness to receive them.”
The remaining verse rises like a balloon within me. “Success relies not on the chance of his not attacking, but rather that we have made our position unassailable,” I continue.
He smiles. “The quality of decision is like the well-timed swoop of a falcon which enables it to strike and destroy its victim.”
“I see we have a disciple of Master Sun,” I say.
“I see that, too,” he responds.
As the applicants put their costumes back in their boxes, I make a special effort not to look at one of them in particular. My heart throbs like the tea bag that I bob with my hand. I do my breathing exercise. It is better to be feared than loved. It is better to be feared than loved.
“What’s going on?” the woman with the afro asks.
“I don’t know,” I say, spilling tea on my blouse with my stupid, shaking hands.
“No, I mean what’s going on with the interview?” she asks. “Aren’t we on round three?”
“Oh yes,” I say and pick up the schedule. Creativity test. “If you really want this position, I’m going to need you to show it.” I hand everyone a fresh sheet of paper and a pen. “Write me a poem about how much you want to work here.” And I sit back down and breathe with my eyes closed, hoping that Melanie and Allison don’t take the fresh air for granted when they go out. But where are they going without me? How could it be that they have their own lives?
“I finished!” says one of the candidates, not the handsome one unfortunately. I take her poem:
My alarm rings; it’s time to fly
Without my job, I think I’d die
Administration, it’s the dream
Planning meetings and filling forms by the ream
Purpose is freedom, and it’s good to know
That my work helps the company grow—
“One second,” I say, slamming the paper down and bolting into Melanie’s office, where Allison is also sitting.
They jump at my arrival. “Where are you going?” I ask.
Melanie says “the engagement party” before slapping her hands over her big mouth.
“Melanie!” Allison says. “You weren’t supposed to—”
“It’s okay,” I say, thinking quickly through the shock. “I have plans, too. You can both go now; you’ve waited long enough. Wait—” I say as they stand. “Make sure to mention that I have plans. Fun parties. You know. Friday.”
“We know,” Allison says, and they continue to clear up.
I return to the candidates. “Wow. Time really has flown today, hasn’t it?” I say. “But I think we’ve been here long enough, and you can come back on Monday to finish.”
“We’ve been here for hours,” one says. “What more can we test?”
“Your readiness for the position,” I snap, loading up my purse. “See you!”
Chairs creak behind me as I empty the teacup out the window. I tap my fingers on the windowsill—everyone needs to hurry up, I must be out before Allison and Melanie. They and the ex-admin must see how busy I am and how awesome my plans are.
I feel eyes on the back of my neck: dark, handsome eyes. “Can I help you?” I say, turning around.
“I think you can,” he says, handing me his poem.
“I hope you see that I am a very important woman with many plans,” I blurt.
“To lift an autumn hair is no sign of great strength; to see the sun and moon is no sign of sharp sight; to hear the noise of thunder is no sign of a quick ear,” he responds.
I hold his poem to my chest long after I return home. It is better to be feared than loved, but a little love would go a long way in the empty apartment tonight.