Jeannette stood in front of her mirror, debating whether to wear the suit coat over her light blue button up work shirt. It was an office job - But it was also a minor position and she didn't want to look too formal… She didn't want to go back to stocking, Lord no, just a job where she could sit down or at least stand still for most of the time was all she wanted. She decided to go with the suit coat, better to be over than under dressed, and pressed down on her straightened hair absently.

Jeannette put the coat on, stopped to check her makeup in the mirror, and picked up her purse by the stack of bills on the kitchen table. Thank God for Stark's arc reactors and the Democrats for breaking those southern power monopolies over their knees, or she'd be in the red already, but she still had a bit of saving from her stocking days and Alex could float them a month or two.

"Heading out for the interview?" Alex asked, putting down his phone long enough to look up. "You look good." He was still schlubby, but he had a night shift tonight, so she understood.

"I do," Jeannette said, much more confidently than she felt.

"Taking the car?"

"I've hailed a Nemo." It was almost two, so surge pricing had probably fallen off by this point, and she might even get a Nemo to herself.

"Just make sure they know you have a car."

"It's such a damn scam," Jeannette said, "You buy something affordable to get to work, they say you're not environmentally friendly. You take a Nemo, they say your schedule is too flaky. I just want to sit in a nice car that's not my problem and watch my damn action movies in peace."

Alex laughed, "You're not door knocking, Jeannette, you don't need to get all worked up."

"Ain't getting there, I am all worked up," Jeannette said. "Wish me luck."

"Knock 'em dead," Alex said, going back to his phone as she opened the door.

She stepped out onto the path outside her apartment and walked down the steps to the gate, where she took out her phone for a moment to fiddle with it. Their data plan was about the only luxury they had these days, so she started skimming news and such. Jeannette tried to stay involved on the local level, especially since she was presently unemployed and the refining plants were closing down in town.

The Nemo pulled up and Jeannette climbed in, thanking her lucky stars that she hadn't wound up with any co-riders. The Nemo already knew her destination, so she buckled in and relaxed for the trip, looking up from her phone only to note how close she was getting.

She made it early, grabbed her purse (You had to remember your purse in a Nemo, the cleaners weren't paid shit), pressed down on her dress as she stepped out of the car, and walked up to the office. The secretary, a middle-aged white woman with brown hair, greeted her with a smile, "Jeannette Halloway?"

"That's me," Jeannette said with her best smile.

The secretary gave a big grin and said, "Well, you're a bit early, but it's two doors to the left, if you'll go ahead and wait in there, they'll be with you shortly."

Jeannette went down the hall and into the room, a bare office with a table with two chairs on one side and one chair on the other. She wasn't sure which one to sit in and briefly considered waiting standing, but the idea was too mortifying to embrace. She took the chance and sat on the one chair side and waited.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

Two men came in, both white, one young enough to be other guy's son. The young one was still lean and the other one looked like his wife cooked good food. The young one was probably the other guy's son, damn nepotism. They were dressed in slacks and button ups, leaving Jeannette to curse herself for having gone with the suit jacket. Overdressed. Definitely overdressed.

The older guy introduced himself as Greg, the younger guy introduced himself as Michael, the interview followed the normal course. Do you have a car? (Yes) What kind of attitude do you expect to bring with you? (Well, not a bad one, obviously!) How long would you see yourself working here? (Don't got any plans to be anywhere else, at least five years) What's your typing speed? (45 words per minute)

"What do you know about the company?" Greg asked.

"Clarke Essentials distribute toiletries to about fifteen different companies in town," Jeannette said, "And it keeps an on call plumber, according the Isaacsons."

"Did you hear about the job through the Isaacsons?" Michael asked.

"No sir, but you have to do your homework if you want to stay ahead these days." Jeannette had asked around her church and even messaged the local Black Chamber of Commerce to find out what she could about it.

Michael and Greg exchanged impressed looks. "That's good homework," Greg said, pursing his lips and leaning back in his chair. "Ms. Halloway, you're clearly smart and disciplined. Can I ask why you didn't go to college?"

"Well, I made it a year and my mom got real sick," Jeannette said. She left out the culture shock of going to UA and the weird attitude she'd caught as a first generation student. "That took precedence. Extremis would clear it right up now, but this was a few years back. She didn't make it and then it was easier to go back to work than to start a whole new life in college at twenty four."

"I'm sorry for your loss," Greg said. "Well, would you be interested in pursuing a Osiris educational upload?"

Jeannette snorted, "No sir," she said, "Sticking whole new memories and thoughts into my head? Ten times the suicide rate? No, sir, not for me."

"The risks are overstated," Greg said.

It was only then that Jeannette realized it was going to be a condition of the interview. It wasn't normal, not yet, but she'd started hearing that businesses were partnering with Osiris to raise the skill level of their labor force without having to pay for college grads. It hadn't come up in any of her interviews till now. She had to decide if she was willing to take the risk for a job. Ten times the suicide rate wasn't all that much, but an Osiris education would need to be paid off and two meant you were a hundred times as likely to kill yourself – If Jeannette was going to let some program to muck around in her brain, did she want it to be business and damn toiletries? The idea wasn't appealing. Better to get it on her own dime, if she had to, or pick a company that might give her electrician or plumbing or teaching skills that she could put to use.

"It's just not for me," Jeannette said with a smile.

The rest of the interview was polite and perfunctory, but she got the result that she expected when they sent her a polite email saying that they had decided to go with another, "ambitious" candidate.