The morning of the interview, I wake up nervous to pace the apartment while eating a distracted breakfast. I review my company notes and iron a dress shirt on a bath towel. A friend says not to wear a suit to such a casual interview, but I strive for legitimacy. I enjoy donning a costume, even if this time it is a blue blazer, white shirt with cuff links, and bright yellow tie.
I consider hiring Uber to whisk me in a black cab to the company, but I instead take a MUNI subway to pretend like I’m an office worker heading each day into the office. I arrive downtown too early so I sit in the shade of the Yerba Buena Center gardens among those on break from the nearby Photonics West trade show at the Moscone Center. I read a chapter from Bukowski: how he lost his job at the department store for brawling a customer on the store’s roof. I make a note not to punch any employee at my interview today.
At the front desk of the company, my former facilities director greets me; he switched companies as I wish. My nerves relax. I feel at home in the conference room where I speak all day with about twelve people. It’s exhausting always to be en pointe but I gracefully field and flummox questions. I’m not a perfect fit for the position, but perhaps enthusiasm and charm will win the day.
I finish happy. I’m gratified I performed as well as I could. This job will be scary new, a good sign for personal growth and accomplishment. I’m perplexed by lack of job description, suggesting a free-wheeling office atmosphere. Why am I bothered by so much freedom if I chaffed for years against the inflexibility of my previous position?
The company discusses me the next day. I somewhat don’t care about the outcome. I did my part well. If we don’t match, there are other opportunities, and I can ascribe this interview as great practice. I even got a free lunch!