I went on an interview recently. Before it started I was just sitting there, in this beautiful reception area, waiting to start an all-day, completely grueling, final-round interview for, just, the perfect job, and all I could think was, “what idiot thought that an imbecile like me belonged here?”
I feel ridiculous in a suit – like I’m playing at being an adult – and I was terrified of farting or drooling or yawning. Farting because when I’m nervous I get anxiety induced flatulence (I’m so fucking sexy). Drooling because sometimes when I get over excited I talk too quickly and forget to swallow and spit builds up in my mouth and then overflows unexpectedly (seriously do me).
Some people come from unruly genetics, and some people are Scarlett Johansson. Life’s a bitch.
And yawning because that just always seems so rude to me. You know to get invited to fly out to do this interview that takes up all these attorneys’ time, and you yawn like you’re bored, except for really I yawn when I’m nervous so it has nothing to do with boredom, but I obviously can’t interrupt the interview to explain that so I just look like a pretentious asshole.
I’m doing this because I am SO excited to be here. No, seriously. Please believe me? PLEASE?!
So I just sat there, in this fancy room, waiting to be called into the conference room and ruminating over all of the bodily functions that could dash all my dreams of working at this perfect organization. But then something even more awful happened: I gave the best interview of my freaking life.
This may not seem awful but it totally is because it means that when I get that dreaded email in a few weeks or a couple months saying “Thanks, but regretfully. . . ” I will know it wasn’t because of that terribly embarrassing but inevitable IBS moment that wasn’t my fault at all because I can’t control biology, but that it was because they just didn’t like me as a person for the job. And ultimately this is why slacking and procrastinating are better, because you won’t end up spending weeks as a recluse with frayed nerves and unkempt hair waiting for the people you’ve always hoped to count among your peers to tell you that you just aren’t good enough.