The Interview
Sitting at the bar that served as the line between kitchen and dining room, I sighed and ran my hand through my hair. Frustrated I briskly scroll further down the website I was scanning. It was a blog titled “100 Questions You Could be Asked at an Interview” by a blogger who’s name I didn’t really care to remember. It was early Sunday evening, and while most college kids probably had their faces shoved in study material or were staggering around drunk at parties, I was sitting in my snug apartment reviewing questions I could be asked at my internship interview tomorrow.
I always considered myself to be ambitious, although most of my old friends would’ve just plainly stated that I’m impatient. But I feel like being impatient is too small of a shoe to put on. I just very persistently chase the things I want until I obtain them. Overcome obstacles just to prove to everyone that I can. Hey, my name’s Delilah Anastasia Madigan, I’m twenty-three years old, heterosexual (debatable), Pisces, 5′ 3″, and I weigh 170 pounds. My interests vary, I don’t try hard to blend, I prefer invisibility although my friends see me as very sociable, and I have a moderate case of anxiety. Nice to meet you.
Anyway, back to the subject at hand. I vowed to myself that I would never settle into some half-baked, minimum wage job. I wanted to intern, study abroad, live on my own, and be working in a field related to my career by the time I turn thirty-five. So far, I’ve only accomplished getting a place on my own. At the thought of that I glance up and briefly scan over the contents of two rooms before me. My place is fairly sized, two bedrooms, one bathroom, kitchen, dining room, living room, and an average sized laundry room. I don’t have a roommate; I wanted the second bedroom so that I could turn it into an office.
My heart belongs to liberal arts, through and through. But my favorite is writing and theatre hands down. This is such a lengthy description I know; I’m distracting myself from the true task at hand, which is memorizing some good answers for any possible questions I might get asked at my interview tomorrow. But every time I try to focus, I feel the nerves sliver up from my stomach and tighten around my insides. I’ve been in denial even after I hung up the phone, my lungs failing to function until I tapped the end call button on my phone.
The interview was for a publishing house called “Brookstone Writings Inc.“, a company I had set my sights on several months back after reading an interesting piece from their house. The overwhelming sense of curiosity I had made me look up the company online. I read reviews from previous employees, scanned through lists of popular works, glanced over information about their founding, and quickly glanced over photos of people who ran the company. It was too late; I had already set my sights on it. I wanted to work there at some point or another before my existence in this world came to an end, and I wrote that goal in stone for myself.
When I was scrolling through my college’s intern search page, I found a listing for the publishing company that had been posted less than an hour before. I immediately submitted my resume with an enticing cover letter if I do say so myself and hoped for the best. I have a bad habit of getting my hopes up for things and even though it’s hurt me or disappointed me so many times before I still do it. I try to convince myself that I’m prepared for the worst possible outcome, but when it comes around, I truly am not. Shaking my head, I close my laptop and stand up from my bar chair. Admitting my imperfections was doing nothing but churning of bad memories, and I didn’t need that the day before a big interview. I swipe my keys from the living room table, grab my jacket, and waltz out the door.
Despite the nice size of my apartment and the view I get of the busy street below me from the third floor, I’m living in a complex that’s jammed between a book shop and a little family run café. Initially the location seemed to be tailored to my tastes, but I quickly changed my mind about that after realizing how fast it was making my pockets dry up. “I’ll only spend six bucks, at the most.” I murmur to myself. As I reach the end of the corridor, I waddle down the three flights of stairs. Usually driving was the best solution to settling my thoughts. The need to focus on my surroundings so that I could keep from causing an accident somehow encourages a peace to settle over my loud mind.
I pass by the desk clerk Ms. Sharell and push out the glass door onto the brightly lit sidewalk. The faint chill of the approaching fall season quickly colored my nose, cheeks, and ear pink. Rubbing my nose, I quickly trot over to the Midtown Café. I swing the door open and hurry inside, the chilly air nipping my nicely sized butt through my leggings.
Sighing I relax as the warm and familiar ambience of the shop surrounds me. I walk up to the counter, purposefully averting my gaze to the menu as I ordered a medium hot chocolate. Even though I had been coming here often enough to know the owner and his sons, it didn’t change the fact that I felt completely unfamiliar with any of them. After I got my receipt and my change back, I quickly seated myself in a light green sofa chair, which was neatly angled in a corner so that it was slightly hidden but had a clear view of the street and the wanderers outside.
The cashier calls out my order and I grab the warm plastic cup from him, ignoring when the tips of our fingers touch. Walking back to my seat I notice a couple sitting across from each other sitting across from each other at a small black table that was placed against the wall. Trying not to stare too much, I plop down into my seat and timidly sip at my hot chocolate.
Now I know what everyone is thinking, Delilah you’re some sort of shut-in virgin. I can assure you that’s not the case. I’m probably the least innocent female amongst my group of friends, I just shield it from the public extremely well. I’ve been in my fair share of pitiful unsuccessful relationships. I haven’t dated since my junior year of high school, haven’t had sex since my sophomore year of high school. So, I will honestly admit I am rusty with men. But it’s not something that interests me. Thinking about guys honestly just kind of pisses me off. Stories, movies, commercials, stereotypes all lie to you. They say that pretty girls always get the guy they want or the happily ever after.
Well not this chick. Worst-case scenario I really am just ugly and the numerous amounts of guy friends I have all lied to me. But I’ve checked myself out in the mirror, and even I can’t deny I’m well-endowed. Short with thick thighs, wavy black hair, a big butt, and a nice rack. The picture-perfect girl, right? You’d think that would help me land myself next to a cute guy or at least a decent guy. Nope. I’ve had a handful of offers to be a sex-buddy but that was it. So, I gave up. It was honestly probably for the best anyways. Love is too powerful, and easily capable of shattering you. I’ve been shattered before too. Never forgot that feeling as I put myself back together with the help of some friends.
Maybe I was an idiot for believing so foolishly in a happy ending when I was just a high schooler. But, screwing around with people was never something I’d wanted to do. Sighing I sip more confidently on my hot cocoa. From the time I’d started dating in high school all I honestly wanted was to settle down with a husband and have a successful happy family. I snort out loud quietly. “To hell with that fantasy,” is what I thought to myself for the next five years. I rub my temples with my forefinger and my thumb subconsciously. I still have bad urges. I handle it all myself. I’m still a human. Sexually I’m the most open out of my friends though if we’re being honest, I haven’t had nearly as many in life experiences as I’ve had fantasies. Most of my knowledge comes from books and movies and porn. I sigh louder this time as I dump my forehead into my hand, holding steady with my elbow propped on my knee.
Not like any of those sources are reliable at all. My short-lived sex life in high school was ultimately graded highly unsatisfactory and since then I’ve refused to even give another guy a chance to disappoint me so deeply again. I’m pathetic.
“Spending all that time so deep in your head makes you so vulnerable in real life, it’s almost scary,” I hear nicely balanced male voice call out to me and quickly sit up, startled. I make eye contact with Michael, the middle son of the café’s owner. I quickly look back down at my coffee as the faintest traces of panic pass through me. My social anxiety is very particular, and very obnoxious about when it likes to flare up. Focusing even more so on my drink I take another sip. My lungs relax a little and the moisture in my eyes quickly dies down as I try to calm down. Michael Gonzalez, twenty-four, nicely built despite the fact he tries to hide it underneath his neat long sleeve dress shirts and dress pants.
He would look like office material if he didn’t have an apron tied around his waist covered in various substances. He had enough color to his body for you to know he’s Hispanic, short black hair which he styled to the side, and the faintest traces of facial hair. God blessed him. There was a lilt in his speech that made it obvious he spoke another language besides English. “Ahhhhh, you’re diving again, what am I to do with you Delilah?” there was a nice ring to the way he said my name. But my body didn’t respond to the sexual appeal at all.
“Hi Michael.” I say with slight annoyance.
“There she goes.” He teases.
“Shouldn’t you be working?” I nip out.
“Ouch. I’m off sweet cheeks.” Michael removes his apron and sits down on the couch up against the wall that’s a few feet away from me. I huff and finish off my hot chocolate. “Well judging by how you dress underneath the apron, I take it you have a home you can retire to.” I retort. Michael is unfazed as he responds. “So, you think I dress nice?” The corners of his mouth quickly lift into a smirk. I roll my eyes. “That wasn’t my point.” I say.
“I know, I know sweet cheeks. I’ll go home, I figured you could use a small chat, you really were looking out of it.” He raises his hands in feigned innocence. “I’m fine. And are you gonna call me by my name or sweet cheeks?” The irritation seeps through my voice. Pet names don’t appeal to me at all. Only one. And guys don’t amuse me even if they’re attractive. I’ve seen it all, I know the games they play and how smooth they pretend to be. It just isn’t attractive to me. “So cold, almost colder than this weather. Sorry Delilah, I’m only teasing.” I don’t acknowledge his apology as I toss my empty cup in the trash can. “It’s ok...I guess.” I mumble.
I don’t necessarily peg every man who comes across me as the type to have ulterior motives, but relationships and men are just something I’m not permitting myself to entertain for the time being. I wanted to have my life and myself together before I even reconsidered opening up to anyone again. Besides that, being alone is peaceful. I’m only responsible for myself here in Michigan, most of my family from my mom’s side is down south and my dad’s family is scattered from Texas to New York, to Puerto Rico. I left a lot of memories and all my friends in my hometown, when I up and left I’d set out to prove that I could make it alone, and I wanted a clean slate. I wanted to be away from him and his poisoning influence on me and everything around me.
I unconsciously grab at my chest, feeling a dull but still detectable pain in my heart. “Delilah are you ok?” Michael worriedly puts his hand on my shoulder and shakes me a little, making me look him straight into his brown eyes. I blush and look away as I realize that he’s touching me and looking at me with real concern and gently pull away. “Yeah, I’m fine, sorry. I’m headed out for the night, see you later Michael.” I speak gently as I push the door to the café open and let the chilly fall air embrace me again.
Once I’m safely back in my apartment, I lock up and turn on my heater to battle the cold the crept it’s way inside with me. Ms. Sharell had already gone for the day, leaving the two usual guards down in the lobby to monitor people coming in and out during the later hours. I felt safe and comfortable here. I pad over to kitchen bar and grab my laptop and charger and proceed to set up in my room on my bed. Crossing my legs, I open my laptop back up. “Now let’s pick up where we left off.”
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The sound of a painfully obnoxious alarm pounds its way into my unconsciousness. Groaning I roll over and grab my phone, it’s screen automatically lighting up and ruining my already blurry vision. “Shit.” I curse under my breath as I squeeze my eyes tightly shut, trying to work the dancing spots out of my eyes. Once they adjusted more, I finally shut off the alarm and climbed out of bed. Rubbing my eyes more I trudge to the bathroom and start getting ready for the interview. As I wake up more, I feel a butterfly flap it’s wings in my stomach. As I got closer to finishing getting dressed, I felt several more land and repeat the process. By the time I went to open my fridge to grab milk for cereal my stomach was a bundle of nerves and I was jittery. “No coffee for me today.” I say to myself as I sit down and pour myself a bowl of Lucky Charms.
Not that I truthfully believed in superstitious stuff, but I’d rather have that silly effort to fall back on than my silent wishes that I kept sending to the heavens. I prepared myself for this as much as possible. There really was no need for me to feel like I wasn’t ready. I scarf down the cereal and pop a piece of gum in my mouth. I had chosen relatively professional clothing today. I looked like secretary material with my white button up blouse that had frills around the collar and top button, a black pencil length skirt that stopped just past my knees, and a black decorative belt that accentuates my thin waist. I wore black heels that were probably three inches to finish the outfit. I let my hair remain naturally wavy and down, with a carefully placed side part. I went light on my makeup, contour, mascara, eyeliner, and lip gloss. I decided I would save the bold and daring eyeshadow for another day if I got the job.
Breathing in and out deeply I gather up my neat and professional looking laptop case, grab my keys, and determinedly leave my apartment.
The drive to Brookstone’s wasn’t a long one, not even in slightly dense traffic. My nerves settled quietly as I concentrated on the road, arriving safely and thirty minutes ahead of time. I slide out of my car gracefully and sling my bad across my shoulder. After closing my door and double checking that it locked, I head for the doors. “Wish me luck Lorenzo.” Lorenzo is the name of my car. Yes. My car. I named my car and I’m really not going to debate over this. Shaking my head, I look and see that I’m greeted by two doormen. I notice right away that they’re both checking me out and smile warmly at them both. “Gentleman.” I nod slightly, and they grin back goofily as one holds open the door without a word.
I feel their eyes drilling holes into my back and my ass as I walk through the doors, my natural switch attracting more attention than I would’ve liked. Trying to ignore my admirers I approach the desk clerk and she greets me politely. “Hello, how can I help you?”
“Um yes, I’m here to interview for an internship position.” I answer back.
“What was the college and the position?” She glances up at me before returning her focus to her computer screen, typing away furiously.
“Secretary, I applied through the Michigan State University intern portal.”
“Okay ma’am, I sent the President an email, if you use the elevator further down the corridor and take it to the fifth floor there should be a small lounge to your right when you get there. Just have a seat there and someone will fetch you when Mr. Ottavio is ready.” I nod and thank the woman before making my way to the elevator. Once the metal doors grinded shut I let out long breath. I didn’t know I was going to be interviewing with the President of the company. But then what else was I expecting? Mr. Ottavio? Of course, I knew his name from all the research I had done on the company, but I didn’t take the time to memorize his face. Ah damn. Guess I won’t know until it’s time. The elevator lets out a crisp ping as I reach the top floor.
Stepping out slowly I immediately see the lounge and am taken aback by the view. The outer wall of the building is paneled glass that’s so clean it looks brand new, making the image of building tops and small moving cars seem all the crisper. The third floor of my apartment couldn’t even begin to compare to this. It was nice, being high enough for me to be able view a generous portion of the street, but nothing like this.
Realizing someone could come by and see me, I immediately sit down and quietly fidget with the silver girly watch I was wearing. It had a crown molded right into the waist above the face of the watch itself. I was sleek, but feminine. I tried not to pay too much attention to where the hands were on the watch as time crept by when finally, I heard, “Ms. Madigan, Mr. Ottavio will see you now.” I stand up and the butterflies re-emerge. Let’s do this.
