I had a great job interview yesterday. It went well, and I was pleasantly nervous. The conversation lasted an hour and a half. That’s a good thing. Right? It’s only a part-time position, and that’s not a bad thing. Every step is a step in the right direction. Especially if the job pertains to something I’m passionate about.

It was a sunny day. Beautiful, in fact.

It was just odd getting there … to where I had to go. I knew the location of the interview, but it looked different from the last time I was in there. The building seemed taller. At least it was a sunny, glorious day when I looked up at the top. Just imagine the first-person cinematography, the point of view angle looking up at the top of the building as feet cross the street. The feet aren’t focused on; the walking is implied. Then, as the building is approached, the camera (eyes) cuts down to the door, which is pulled open.

The door to the left sat a cafe, dark and closed up, and to the right is an open space — where I needed to go. The doors were locked. My head hit the spot where the two doors met. I ventured around a corner, down a hall, up a half set of stairs … whatever the hell that means. And my eyes, which were focused upon the electronic marquee, shifted with the turn of my neck to a desk. And the pleasant woman tells me two-stepped directions how to get to where I’m going.

Should I sign in? No, she tells me I’m “alright.”

I went down the elevator one floor only to walk back up one flight to the open room that I was looking through locked doors. Through windows, the day was still as incredibly pleasant as experienced minutes earlier. But let’s go back. As I milled about the bottom floor, wondering what room I had to go into, or search for a key hidden in the room, or construct a Rube Goldberg machine that eventually reveals a door. However, after jiggling the handles of each of the locked doors, the set of stairs that lead — this was through another door — back up was found.

The room was entered. Hands were shaken. After a couple introductory questions, I was asked:

“Why are you still here?”

In Central New York.

But when I exited the building, properly finding my way out, out through the locked doors before pushing the door open, the sun was still shining.



4 thoughts on “Psyching

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