I follow the woman down an endless expanse of twisting hallways until all their features blur together. Strangely, her footsteps on the marble tiles are much quieter than mine, despite the fact that she's wearing stilettos and I'm wearing soft flat-heeled sneakers.
As she turns the keys to unlock a nondescript door which I assume to be her office, I realize she never told me her name.
"Um, ma'am? How should I address you?"
She looks at me as if I just asked her what cup size she is.
"The same as you would address other interviewers." Is the curt response, then she opens the door and leaves me to ponder what the fuck she meant by that.
The room is one less plastic succulent away from being an interrogation room. Overhead, the pale fluorescent light buzzes on, casting harsh shadows over what little furniture occupies this concrete-grey cell. The desk is empty save for a standard-issue laptop and some forms. I half expect to see handcuffs dangling from the armrest as I shuffled uneasily into the folding chair. The woman (whom I have taken to calling "Agatha" in my head) seats herself opposite of me, types a few cryptic lines that I hope have nothing to do with me, and pulls out a manila folder. Ah, always a classic.
"Let's just get some preliminaries out of the way, and we can proceed with the actual questions..."
I put up my most intelligent smile.
"So..."
(Please no please no please not what I'm thinking please oh God not that question-)
"Tell me..."
(Fuuuuuuuuuuuck!)
"...a little bit about yourself."
image [https://i.imgur.com/7UdSmbE.png[/img]]
"Actually, that question is rather pointless, don't you think? There's no part of me that can be encapsulated in "a little bit" of info, let alone a lifetime's worth of struggles and experiences. I mean, do you really care about who I am? Do you really want to know why I'm here, answering these questions? Or are you looking for someone young and expendable to indoctrinate? What does "myself" mean to you? Do you want to know that I write poetry in my free time? Do you care that I play the violin because it was my grandfather's dying wish to see his musical passions passed onto his descendants? Do you want to hear about the time I swam across a lake to save my dog? Or would you rather look at my credentials and my mediocre grades and take those at face value? I'm Mara, and I want to be a pirate queen one day."
(...is what I wish I would've said.)
What I end up saying is "I studied biology in college and I've always been passionate about helping people. I'm looking for a professional opportunity to develop and grow my experiences."
Agatha nods and types my response, or at least I hope that was my response and not "do not hire this one, she's clearly too dumb to work here".
"I have a few forms for you to fill out." She slides them across the table along an expensive-looking fountain pen, and I nearly choke on air when I see the questions.
image [https://i.imgur.com/nDimxKo.jpeg[/img]]
"Excuse me, but...what does alpha radiation or entomophobia or any of these questions have to do with being a front desk receptionist?"
"We're required to thoroughly consider any and all potential workplace hazards." Agatha doesn't even look up from her laptop, "Don't worry, you won't be exposed to alpha radiation...above the safe range."
"And the multiple choice question?"
"Skip that one. You won't need to worry about it."
Well, that's exactly why I'm going to worry about it. I hand her back the form, and she hums, evidently pleased with my answers - which is such a fucking relief I could almost deflate in my seat.
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
"You know how to use a M1903 Springfield?" She sounds a little incredulous.
"My grandfather had a farm in Illinois. He taught me how to use one."
Truth be told, that was more than 12 years ago, and he only let me touch the rifle, not use it. The poor antique hadn't seen gunpowder since 1936, and spent most of its remaining shelf life sitting in a pawn shop glass case as a prized heirloom. I'm fairly certain if I tried to pull the bolt on that thing it would crumble. But number one rule of any interview is to always say "yes"...if you can lie hard enough to yourself about it.
That answer was good enough for Agatha, she nods and tucks the manila folder away. I mentally prepare myself for the next question: I want to work here because your company's values really align with mine, I can start anytime you want, I can work full-time, I know how to use a fax machine, my biggest flaw is that I'm a perfectionist...
"Do you still dream of drowning, Mara?"
What?
"The dream, do you still have it?"
I haven't told anyone about the dream since I was 13. The question plunges me into icy waters without a surface, and the room drops to forty below in an instant.
image [https://i.imgur.com/eLBkH80.jpeg[/img]]
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Little Mara Cypher always had a strange, recurring dream.
I remember bits and pieces of it growing up, and each time the details change, but the feeling has always been the same. I'm walking down a path, sometimes through empty cornfields, sometimes through winding city streets, most of the times through a narrow forest trail. I hear something behind me - a hiss, a creak, a growl, anything, and whatever is behind me begins catching up to my footsteps. At first we step in sync, but then it picks up the pace, faster and faster until we're both breaking into a full sprint. I stumble down the path, swatting moths or low branches out of my face, the thing behind me keeps chasing. I dare not look back - if I look back, I wake up in cold sweat staring at the ceiling. But I don't look back.
In my dream I stagger on, the path lengthens endlessly before me but the ground beneath refuses to move beyond a snail's pace. The fog rises until I run aimlessly in circles, then an exit appears before me. I follow it to a set of wooden planks, ending on a long pier, stretching into the centre of a mist-drenched lake.
image [https://i.imgur.com/4lFZez5.jpeg[/img]]No matter how far I run, I always end up at this pier.
Something or someone stands at the end of it, barely visible beyond the fog. Perhaps there's a face, perhaps it's just a statue, but the way its loose fabric sways in the cold breeze makes me think there's nothing physical beneath the shape. And as soon as I step onto the pier, the thing chasing me vanishes.
I take a step forward, a massive alien form writhes in the sky, and I wake up.
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Agatha couldn't possibly know about this dream. No one knows about it except my mother and my psychiatrist, who passed away after he retired 10 years ago. I always thought it was some kind of weird subconscious stress manifesting, maybe an urge to escape the life I have.
"How do you know about my dream?" I sit up straighter, feeling anger instead of fear. This is a serious intrusion into my psyche and privacy!
"Every thought has a purpose, Mara."
"This is getting too weird for me." I make a show of packing up my things roughly, "I'm sorry for wasting your time, but I think I'm going to look elsewhere for a front desk job-"
"You want to know why you have that dream, don't you?"
Something changes in Agatha's voice, a tone shift, a pitch, subtle enough that I get the feeling that it's no longer Agatha talking to me. I sweat bullets under her gaze, glued to my interview chair. A thing without a name from beyond speaks through Agatha to me like a cat chirping to a bird. Agatha, I suddenly understand, is a hollow construct. And whatever is pulling me in right now, deeper and deeper into this mistake, doesn't have my best interest at heart in the slightest.
image [https://i.imgur.com/bYEGvGP.jpeg[/img]]
"You can leave, Mara, the doors aren't locked. You can get out of here and never come back, and spend the rest of your life trying to decipher that dream, stumbling for purpose. There's nothing wrong with mundanity - in fact, we adore it. But we think you would benefit much more from answers, wouldn't you?"
All I can manage is a mumbled "How do you know about the dream?"
"Recurring dreams and symbols are a desired trait in our employees, as is your inquisitiveness. You will be a welcome addition to our team."
She's right about the inquisitiveness. It was already over for me the moment she brought up my dream, and the rest of the conversation was just me working up the courage to look at least a tiny bit hesitant. But I'm already on the ship, with the anchor stowed and the sails billowing me away into disaster. I know this, the thing piloting Agatha knows this, but just to add a little more zing to the bait I'm already chowing down on...
"Oh, we fully cover dental and vision insurance too."
It's like watching myself drown in slow-motion as I reach out to take the contract.
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image [https://i.imgur.com/WwvaNPI.jpeg[/img]]