we're going with another candidate

My interview at Borders did not go well. I have never been good at job interviews. My therapist and I once worked on differentiating between a job interview and therapy. I tend to act the same in both situations.

I really wanted to work at Borders again. I had a fantasy of just zoning out and making perfect OCD stacks of books. I love helping customers find just the right book or cd, never giving up until the mission was accomplished. I remembered how good I was and how much I enjoyed it, I was so excited.

I got to the interview ten minutes early as recommended by my work program teacher in high school (one of the other recommendations was not to smoke, even if the interviewer asked you if you wanted a cigarette, can you imagine). A bald "operations manager" directed me to sit in the cafe and wait for someone to come down and get me. I waited for a half hour. Finally a lady came down and started yelling "Jeremy, Jeremy, Jeremy..." in the bookstore, not the cafe. I had to go out and follow her call to find her.

We waited for an elevator together. She didn't say anything until she cracked her neck real loud, "I've been waiting all day to do that." Charmed! We walked into the backroom past the employee breakroom full of employees flopped all over a table staring at me with blank expressions to my still hopeful shy smile.

Into a room where we were met by a squat woman with homemade tattoos on both arms. Ah, Borders! Good to be back. So edgy with your helpful workers with soul patches and body jewelry. The asexual pierced boys and goth girls who fit happily into such a strange corporate groove. I'm not bitter.

I sat between the two women as they began their questioning. Maybe I've been watching too much "Damages" but I felt like I was giving a deposition. They went through a list of questions that all started with, "Tell me about a specific time when..." My mind started racing, I knew I couldn't come up with specific times when I was helping a difficult customer or had a disagreement with a manager or whatever. My memory is so fuzzy, I don't catalog things like that in my head. I gave general answers, good general answers-- I actually surprised myself. But ohhh how they wanted specifics, "Can you tell me about a specific time when that happened?" I considered making things up but I'm not good at that. Well, I'm good when it doesn't have to make sense. "Once there was a turtle that came in and he was looking for a book on sewing and he was real mad because he had a broken leg so I suggested we go swimming together but first we decided to go to Arby's..." I can do that.

Anyway, they were not happy with me and I just got frustrated to the point that I was like-- "Ahhh NO! We already established that I can't remember specific times!! Let's move on ladies!!!"

It's been a rough few months. A rough half of a year since I landed back in Illinois from dreamy California. I don't know if its my anti-anxiety meds but that seems so far away and hazy. Who was that person driving around in a black Kia on Hollywood Boulevard? Such a mystery to me. I've become so fixated on that person who could get up at 6:30 in the Los Angeles sunshine everyday and do things. Writing funny 30 Rock scripts like it was no big deal. So fascinating from this perspective- a considerably less sunny place.

I received a friendly voicemail yesterday informing me that they went with another candidate but my resume will be kept on file.