Another Interview

By Zia Ahmad


Making eye contact with words ending with a Y does not make you chinky. Making eye contact with a prospective employer in this pure land of ours doesn’t do you any favors.  At best it only makes the tongue of your mind go flat for some brief period of time. You feel as if the earth beneath your feet starts spinning around while your employer to be (or not) gives you one unsettling stare. You decide to put up your cheeky exterior and vocally pride yourself in your ability to be forthrightly honest with your employers. The interviewer glances over the dozen less one listed previous employers on your resume’ and glances at you again with that reptilian glare. You remember not to keep any eye contact and start staring at his toupee. Brown color is healthy for fat bald people. The more the chocolate the brighter the future is. You remember you gobbled up your last Mars bars on your way to the grocery store earlier in the January day.

 The prospective employer proceeds to say something but you lose interest after you hear a certain negative conjunction and tune your mental frequency to a different wavelength. Swinging Johns at the tail end of an uncompromising banana metropolitan don’t miss their Whining Janes. They keep slugging their brew of bitter resignation and pass the cup around.

 As you walk out into the blazing sun with a vague hard to place feeling of despondency, you reflect on the fearsome abandon of your response to get a life and a job that ultimately is met with head scratching brittle confusion by faceless employers. You look up at the windows of their office tucked above mile high plush buildings and try ever so hard to find any sort of semblance of a thought that might reside in cobwebbed minds of faceless, heartless HR personnel.

 But that’s a perception only shared by a hapless lad at the foot of the mile high building who chews and chews bile and contempt away and spits it at the drudges of his imaginary white collared foes. He snarls at the fallacious samplings of the latest weather reports, curses himself for not displaying the requisite measure of despicability enough in the interview that would have certainly wrangled him the job. He stomps his way into another forgiving marmalade evening.

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