“I'm marching in a parade tomorrow,” she said.
“Oh, really? How nice.”
“With my llamas!”
“Wow, llamas,” I echoed uncertainly.
“Yes, I dress them up in ribbons and I put bells on their feet. My boy llama hates that.”
Finally, the dreaded question: “So! What are you looking for?”
Uhhhhh... world peace? Thin thighs? A rich uncle? How about a job that doesn't suck? I'd settle for that. I didn't say any of those things. I don't remember what I said, but it must have been acceptable, because she moved on to her next question, busily scribbling my answers on the sheet in front of her.
“Do you know Visio? Do you know SharePoint? How about Lotus Notes?”
“Lotus Notes!” was my intelligent response. I knew bell-bottoms had returned, but...
The interview questions were a strange melange of queries, reassurances, and semi-vicious probes. I wasn't exactly eviscerated, but I got the feeling she was impatient with me. I suspect I was the third or fourth hothouse flower she'd seen today, the day before her precious three-day weekend, and she was just about at her limit. I took pains to assuage her snippiness by assuring her I just wanted to make a contribution somewhere, whatever the hell that means. She seemed to accept my peace offering. Later I began to think maybe she was just slightly jealous of me. Maybe she would like to be an unemployed teacher, or an unsuccessful solopreneur. Hey, it's not too late! As I handed over my passport and social security card to be photocopied, I found myself hoping that someone would suddenly dash through the lobby and steal my documents. Take my identity—please!
On the way downtown, I sat in the back of the bus in the seat that overlooks the front part of the bus. There wasn't much to survey in the bus domain in front of me, but I thought about many things as we bounced and jiggled toward the Willamette River. For instance, I wondered how far I would fly if the bus driver had to suddenly slam on the brakes. Then I thought about how my wide derriere would probably anchor me in the seat and felt better enough to move on to my next thought, which was a conscious awareness that I might feel worse after going to this interview. I told myself if nothing else, the whole adventure would provide material for my blog. So far, both predictions have come true. I did not feel better after signing up with the temp agency, and I now have something to blog about.
When I finally dragged up to my back door, feeling like a poorly dressed loser, I found two little cartons of raspberries on my back porch, wrapped in Winco produce bags, which means my mother visited while I was out. She no doubt saw my car but couldn't get me to come to the door when she knocked. When I got inside, I dutifully called her on the phone.
“Hello, Mudder,” I said when I heard her voice.
“Whaaaat!?” she replied, which is not the usual way she answers the phone when I call, so I knew she was perturbed at getting what she perceived as a brush off. I expect it from your brothers girlfriend, but not from you! She asked if I had got the berries. I said, yes, thanks. She wanted to know where I was, and I told her I went downtown to sign up at a temp agency. She was rabidly interested, no big surprise. I managed to deflect most of the interrogation into a discussion about her ill-fitting dentures. We made plans to go for a drive to Silverton tomorrow to see the Oregon Gardens (open year round, so they say). If nothing else, the weather will be good, and it will give me something to blog about.
