Inhale, exhale. 

“I am Erin Smith. I would like a job, please.” You sit outside the hiring manager’s office, mumbling quietly to yourself. The words feel weaker than when you practiced them in front of the mirror last night. Maybe it’s the ill-fitted suit hanging off your shoulders. Your palms feel sweaty. Isn’t it ridiculous for you to announce your own arrival? (Not that you would have the capital to afford a herald, anyway.) 

“I am Erin Smith. I would like a job.” You try again. Does the lack of a “please” make you sound more confident? You ponder in the empty hall. It’s three minutes past 11am. Your prospective employer should be here by now! Their grave disrespect for your time emboldens you. Nay. If they want a “please” from you, they’ll have to earn it! You inhale sharply, gathering your spirit to retry your declaration when the office door opens with a gentle click. You spring onto your feet, nearly tripping before you straighten enough to meet your opponent. 

She is a well-dressed woman, possibly in her sixties, but the slight signs of age only make her seem more formidable. She gives you a sweet smile. “Erin, yes?” She looks at you for confirmation. You feel daggers in her gaze. “My name is Edith Scott-”

“Ah, our initials are both E. S.” You laugh and immediately regret it. That doesn’t sound very professional. Did you just cut the hiring manager off to tell your very unprofessional joke? Cold sweat breaks out on your back. You are never going to get a job! No person in their right mind would hire-

“We do, don’t we?” Madam Scott laughs politely. She steps to the side, welcoming you in. “So, Erin. Tell me a bit about yourself.” The interview proceeds.

“Well,” you clear your throat, “I am Erin Smith, the sixth of my name. My family’s fond of the name, Erin, I mean. I’m sure you can tell, given that I’m the sixth.” There’s your second bad joke, and you’ve barely said three sentences to the lady. Does it even count as a joke? You’re just pointing at the obvious and laughing awkwardly in hopes of her mirroring your reaction, as humans do. Move on. Quickly. Now. “I was a hostler for six years before striking out on my own.”

“A hostler,” Madam Scott repeats. She feigns interest, but you can tell she finds it all simply hilarious. “You will not be caring for horses here.” 

“My lady, if you have fed, groomed, and shoveled the defications of a good dozen noble steeds for as long as I did, you may find yourself with the resilience to achieve anything,” you reply.

Madam Scott laughs. You can’t tell if it was a sincere laugh, or a polite one, or if you are no better to her than a fool in the king’s court. “Impressive in its own way, I suppose.” She sits back down at her desk, your resume is front and center. “I do wonder, what skills did you gain as a hostler and a… ‘dungeoneer,’ you wrote? How did your prior experiences help prepare you to take on the task as a customer service representative for our company?”

“Well, as I understand, a representative offers quality assistance to people, yes?” You answer, feigning confidence. “My party and I slayed several monsters and were hailed as heroes of a number of towns. It was a very rewarding experience, for I am passionate about helping people. I am also quite a leader who takes risks and initiatives, and I deliver excellent results. I personally led the taming of a dragon. I’m sure you’ve heard of Geilrunth, Protector of Creatures who guards the Northern Forest?”

“Yes. It’s quite impressive.” The more she says “impressive,” the more you fear she doesn’t really mean it. “Have you served any customers before?” She asks.

You press a solemn hand to your chest. “The world is my customer. I serve by saving it.”

“Alright,” Madam Scott sighs. “Is there anything else you’d like me to consider as a part of your job application?” 

You pause, thinking long and hard before you swallow. “I can work opening and night shifts?” You offer tentatively. She quirks an eyebrow. 

“And weekends,” you add. The madam seems amused. 

“…Please?” You say finally. Madam Scott smiles. 

“We’ll let you know if you’re a good fit for our company,” she tells you, escorting you to the door. At least she’s not calling security to throw you out the building? Didn’t they say job vacancies are plenty after that demon plague ravaged the world? This went fine, right? This is fine. You are fine.

Tagged: job interview


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