A Fishy Job Interview

Today I had a job interview and under no circumstances could I afford to mess it up. The night before I had even gone to sleep with fingers crossed as I tucked myself under my covers hoping, praying, desperately wishing that when I woke up all the stars would be aligned in my favor. I needed to land this job and I knew, I just knew I could pull it off. I had hated that stupid company and honestly I wasn’t even that mad when they fired me because honestly speaking, if I had to work for that evil businesses draining my happiness and sapping my youthful spirit a day longer, I truly felt that I would turn into an evil ghost and the harbinger of the apocalypse so that I could personally enact vengeance against my sick and twisted boss who was always putting me through the wringer of anguish and damnation with a crooked sneer on his face. However, them letting me go meant me letting my nice, stable income go, and that meant that if I couldn’t land new work within the next three months I’d officially be out of rent money and would have no choice but to move back home. Truly, perish the thought.

I let myself have a day off for moping, but right after I locked in. I had to. I sent out job applications by the dozens, polished my resume until I could have used it as a mirror, and studied interview questions like the fate of the world depended on it. Besides all that though, I knew I had the skills, the qualifications, the ability. I had the degree from an elite school to my name as well as several stints at some big name companies. I did have one main worry though, and it was actually the reason I no longer worked those jobs and why I had no glowing letters of recommendation blessing my passage onto my next place of employment. For alas, whether it was by the grace of God or some cruel trick of His, from as early on as I could remember my reality had always felt a bit different from everyone else’s.

When I was younger, just a wee lass learning the ways of the world, I thought that maybe I had an imagination that was just a little bit more active than most. When with others, like family and friends, I would see things out of the corner of my eyes that apparently no one else would. Once I was so certain I saw a cat in a puffer vest hurriedly scampering with the handle of a briefcase held tightly between its teeth toward an office building, but when I pointed it out, those I was with had said there was no cat at all. Other times on my own I would see realities totally different, and when I would later be recounting my adventures I would have little to show except maybe a shard of glass that had scratched my hand, a stray leaf that had tucked itself into my hair, or a scrap of paper that had stuck itself to the bottom of my shoe. No one would ever believe me when I tried to explain where they had come from, but I knew the undeniable physical proof was there. I kept those relics in a box under my bed. However, there were just as many times that I would have nothing but my own word to defend myself with. For example, once the sky was a deep purple for a day instead of its usual blue, but when I tried to use my digital camera to take a picture of it, it wouldn’t start.

Obviously this worried my parents as I was growing up, so they started sending me to any and every doctor they could find that fit their insurance. Unfortunately, there were not that many. The doctors I did see, though, had an amazing arsenal of pills to recommend that impressed me even before I was old enough to know what a normal amount of pills for a child to be taking daily was (that is, none). At the start I was quite docile about it and would dutifully take whatever I was prescribed. Unfortunately for everyone involved, it wasn’t long before constant lethargy, no appetite, and a constant pounding headache put me off. Within a year I was flushing these pills down the sink and lying through my teeth about the missing meds and my “visions” like I was practicing for a career in politics.

By the time I had reached middle school I had gotten accustomed to the oddness of my mind enough to not let it heavily impact my grades, social life, and other aspects of well being. In fact, some of my friends quite liked the stories I would tell and beg for more. Plus my “imagination” was even winning me awards at local writing contests. At this point it was hard for the doctors to find fault with what I would tell them, even if they had their (very strong and rightfully so) doubts. So, eventually, I was written off as fixed and set free. My parents though, were harder to convince. Perhaps it was because we shared the same genes or something that they sensed after I had escaped the clutches of the doctors something was still amiss. This made living with them…rather unpleasant. I moved out of home as soon as I could and really, I haven’t looked back since.

My alarm clock rang, and as I smacked my hand around my nightstand a few times to find it and shut it off, I cracked open my eyes with hesitation and baited breath. As my vision expanded and my world came into view, some of the tension in my chest loosened as nothing odd immediately jumped out at me. As I went through the motions of my morning routine and they remained just as smooth as they had the day before and the day before that, I could feel myself relaxing and my steps start to lighten. It seemed that I hadn’t wished hard for nothing and that whatever higher powers that were out there had taken pity on my poor self and granted me this one thing. In my crisp black slacks, sharp white button up freshly ironed the night before, and just lint-rolled blazer, I was ready to present a figure and interview so cutting this company would have no choice but to let me on their team. I fastened the straps of my nude heels, giving my ankles a wiggle to make sure they weren’t too tight, picked up my canvas tote from where I had rested it on the ground, and stepped out the door into bright sunlight and fresh air.

Alas my hopes of a beautiful, sparkling future were dashed to the ground and curbstomped aggressively until they were naught more than flattened like a sheet of paper floating away in the wind the moment I reached the bus stop. Oh woe, I should’ve known it was too good to be true. Actually, the last time I had such a good streak over three days on the fourth day it was like I had walked into Wonderland with pretty much everything looking squiggly and neon and the totally wrong size. While today wasn’t quite Wonderland, I wasn’t sure if it was much better. Sure there was nothing wrong with the pavement and the cars were exactly the size cars should be, but today everyone was some sort of fish.

I looked down at my hands to see if I too was a victim of this unfortunate phenomena, but nope I very much still had all ten fingers and no fins. Alas the same couldn’t be said for the people, or perhaps to be more accurate the marine life, also waiting at the stop. Fortunately these people, or at least I assumed they were usually people, were not the average sizes of their species or I might have accidentally stepped on them in my haste to not miss the bus. Nay, they were scaled up and were just about human sized. I had never seen a mackerel in such enlarged detail before, but the soul waiting next to me had adopted that form, and well, I suppose there had to be a first for everything? Though my mood was now dampened, I felt I had to look for the silver lining. Surely it was better that today was an overly vivid imagination day than a spotty memory day? Lord knows what I would do if I thought I had gone in for the interview only to find out I hadn’t moved an inch from my bed.

If nothing else, at least the bus ride was more interesting than usual today. I had never seen so many species of fish before, not even in the aquariums! Though I considered myself quite the fan of fish, I saw many faces that I couldn’t put a name to. It was quite exciting to see some of my favorites such as the vibrant purple and orange Royal Gramma flopping purposefully to wherever they were headed in a size large enough that I could admire their every scale. In fact, I was almost disappointed when I had reached my stop and had to get off the bus knowing that my time to fish-watch had come to an end.

As I approached the building I had been instructed to go to, even craning my neck all the way back I couldn’t see where the towering structure before me ended. It was as if in all its steel glory the skyscraper was stabbing straight through the clouds and piercing the sky to reach all the way to outer space. A few brisk steps carried me to the building’s entrance, a frosted-glass door outlined with polished metal beams, with enough weight to it that I had to seriously put my back into it to pull it open. I cast a quick glance around, hoping nobody saw my sad straining to get the door open. It was a little pathetic, I thought, to be a grown woman showing such a profound lack of strength. Why it was almost as if I didn’t exercise (the most I worked out my arms was when carrying my laundry basket from the dryer to in front of my closet where it would marinate for a week until it was time for me to empty it on my bed and start the process anew).

My nerves that had already been rattling about on the bus ride here were now shaking ten-fold, not unlike molecules vibrating at a higher high frequency when heated, now that I was inside. The cold and bright white lights combined with the interior that was just as metallic as the exterior made me feel like a fish freshly caught about to be gutted and served as sashimi. However, I had to quickly banish the image of raw fish meat served next to a sprig of fake grass and a slice of lemon when I glanced to the counter with whom I assumed was the receptionist behind it, only for them to be a Sockeye Salmon—my favorite kind of sashimi.

I reached into my bag to take out my phone and unlocked it so I could reread the email that had been sent to me just about a week ago containing the details regarding the interview. Besides the date, time, location of the building, and some paperwork that I was to fill out and bring, all the email had said was that I should speak to the receptionist for further details regarding the interview. I approached the counter trying not to shake or imagine what I would do if I had a pair of chopsticks in my hand.

“Pardon me,” I glanced at the name tag pinned to the fish’s crisp black polo shirt, “Mr. Sanwen, I’m here for an interview with Mr. Whishsire at 11:30. Do you know where I should head?”

“Miss Lala Heinthclous?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Do you have the documents?”

“Yes.” I pulled from my bag the plastic folder where all the papers had been tucked and set them on the desk.

Wielding his fins deftly, Mr. Sanwen opened the folder and silently paged through what I had brought him. The front half of his torso moved side to side as he closed the folder and set it back down on the counter, motioning with a fin for me to take it back. I assumed this was his equivalent of an approving nod. Well, it was either that or a shake of disapproval and I really did not want it to be the later.

“Everything’s in order. Take the elevator to the eighth floor. It will be the room all the way at the end of the hall. Good luck Miss Heinthclous.”

“Thank you, have a great rest of your day!”

Thankfully the elevator was empty on my ride up for I didn’t think I could bear being a sardine in a tin at this exact moment. Perhaps had I been in a calmer state of mind I would have been able to appreciate it, but today just wasn’t the day. The elevator ding-ed and as I exited I willed myself to take deep, regulated breaths. This wasn’t my first rodeo. I’d been interviewed and gotten the job before. I’d done all the prep work too—researched the company’s values, looked up information regarding the bossman, and practiced answering questions in front of the mirror. In fact, I had looked into my sources so thoroughly that I had been able to note quite a few typos in the website, that there was a company with a very similar name specializing in the luxury fish trade, and that one of the CEO’s hobbies was visiting aquariums. Perhaps it was the fault of all my sleuthing that had led to today’s specific visions…

A stark contrast to all the metal surfaces in the building, the door of the room I had been directed to was solid, dark wood. I gave a gentle rap to announce my presence.

“Please come in,” a voice rang out. Mr. Wishshire’s probably.

Mr. Wishshire was a catfish for the day—a solid gray specimen with wiry whiskers that were curled elegantly on his desk seemingly crafted from the same luxury wood as the door. He was curled in a chair right behind the desk, with his head on one armrest and his tail resting on the other.

“Pleasure to meet you Miss Heinthclous,” he said, extending a fin. While I had been taught to always be firm with my handshakes, I was unsure how firmly I could grab a fin without damaging it. Much to my surprise, rather than fragile his fin felt more like a sheet of laminated paper, so with my hands in a pincer-like grip, thumb on one side and the rest of my fingers on the other, I gave a solid shake.

“Have a seat Miss Heinthclous,” he said motioning to the one other chair in the room, the chair positioned directly in front of him. I sat, placing my bag by my feet and taking out my folder to set down. I thought it would look good to look prepared.

“You’re here for the role of Communications Specialist? Tell me about your interest in the position and why you’ve chosen to apply at our company.”

“When I first heard about Glubbles—” These were questions I had anticipated, so I had no problem launching into a measured response. The interview proceeded without any wrench-like questions, allowing me to feel quite comfortable as it went on. I had to say, Mr. Wishshire had the gift of the gab and with his friendly prompting I was able to lay out my answers with confidence. I was going to be a free man, free from the crippling shackles of worrying about where rent money was going to have to come from. I just knew it.

“Do you have any questions for me?” he asked at last, signaling the interview was wrapping up.

“Is there anything I have or haven’t said that would convince you to give me the job?” I posed, flashing a practiced smile oozing with just the right degrees of charm and humility.

“I’ve liked what you’ve shared about your writing experience, Miss Heinthclous. I think you could bring valuable perspective to our team.”

“I appreciate that Mr. Wishshire. Besides that, I don’t have any other questions at the moment. However, please feel free to reach out to me if there are any more questions I can answer for you.”

“Of course, Miss Heinthclous. You have a wonderful day now.”

“You too Mr. Wishshire. I look forward to hearing from you soon.”

I left the room with a skip in my step, entered the elevator joyously, and pressed the Lobby button with glee. I would treat myself to a sweet treat after this, it was what I deserved.

The next day when I opened my inbox, rather than an email from Glubbles with an offer for my hiring, I was greeted with the daily news that I subscribed to informing me the Executive Director of the non-profit organization dedicated to serving marine life, Glubbles, had just been charged for using the organization as a money laundering scheme to fund his exotic fish trading side hustle and that in lieu of this the organization would be ceasing operations for the time being