post mortem

I figured this had to be the chance to get out of the rut I got my self into. I’ve been working in a call center from across the street where I live and I’m not particularly enjoying the job. Do I see myself going in for another night’s shift? You have got to be kidding me.

Kat had been telling me about a company in Alabang where she is currently working at and had talked to me into trying it out with them. I was stupid enough to walk right into the other company where I was supposed to apply. I arrived at around 9 am, armed with a Number 1 Mongol pencil, a hastily made resume, and with all the guts I could muster. I practically know nothing about the mess I was walking into (again).

I was told to wait in the reception area where other applicants sat. The first few tests were a breeze. There was a speed typing exam combined with listening skills and all that crap. The works. There was vocabulary, math skills. Elementary. This should be easy.

Then came my first interview. This guy *Jayson was asking me if one of my major plans this year was to get married. Man, who are you kidding? I should probably get me a sane doctor first. He was asking if I were a Catholic. He is a Mormon. (Okay…) Probably the sanest part of the interview was when we found out that we both like Incubus. Well he said I was interesting. I instantly saw myself perched in a golden cage in some bald quack’s aviary. He was kinda cute anyway. One of those twenty three year old guys climbing early into the corporate ladder with some Jason Mraz crummy in their stomachs while having surfer’s illusions stuck on their heads. He said he was giving me a high score not because of pity. Because what? Because you found me interesting? (There goes the birdcage again…)

*Angel was the next contender, I mean, the next interviewer. She struck me as a severe, point-across Clarice Starling type who would shoot Evelda Drumgo from across the street given the opportunity, her guns sticking all over the place without a hint of smoke in them. I needed to be careful and watch myself. This woman could knock you down in instant, before the whistle blows. You would probably be dead before you know it. I was told to relate an incident where I had needed to use my convincing powers to get someone to change their opinion about a certain thing. For as long as I can remember, I have spent all my life trying to change other people’s opinion about me. I was always told that I came across as uncaring, alienated soul who couldn’t talk about anything except the last time a comet hit the earth that killed all the dinos walking on the planet and how they got served for dinner in the palaces of Olympus. So I had to tell her of the bathroom story. In that story, I have succeeded in convincing a couple of uncaring, thick skinned housemates to please, please clean the bathroom for once. Well I’m still working on it until now. That’s just one of those lies I told them. A couple of years ago, during a teaching stint at a Catholic school somewhere in Bulacan, I had to devise a plan to get a group of rowdy, perpetually yapping fourteen year olds to put up a Ramayana play in the hopes that they understand the concept of that fine piece of literature by acting it out. I told her the play was just great. But the fact is, I only had succeeded in making two gays in my class onto an asinine, largely tedious, almost completely absurd catfight because both wanted to play Raksha (that demon princess who was Ravana’s sister).At least that had added a little spice to the campus’ atmosphere of sulfuric holiness and weedy sanctity. And I’m not blaming the institution. It’s probably the same reason why Jesus never married in the first place.

I was interviewed last by *Mickey. She was a fair-skinned fragile looking thing who would offer you a cup of coffee if you walk right into her living room (or so I thought). She had to ask me the generic questions. Would I care for collections? Why do I prefer inbound Costumer service? Could I work for the back office? I said yes. Backed it up with lies. More lies. Lies. Lies. Lies. I couldn’t care less if my nose was ten feet long it could wipe out all of the baby powder she’s had since birth. I’m so good in this thing; I could offer you a crash course for 299php a night, 0% interest in twelve months, no finance charges and your first year’s annual membership fee for free. She told me to wait at the reception area.

Waiting in the reception area was like sitting in for your breast exam’s results. It could be good or it could be not so good, but you are well aware of the fact that the lumps are there. You are the doctor. You did your best. But there is got to be a post mortem. Tell me all about it. I wasted my waiting hours fidgeting over my phone which was dying by minute (I forgot to charge it) and flipping over a Thomas Harris book I brought with me. I had known this moment would come. I was trying to concentrate on the page where Starling was reading a letter sent to her by Lecter when I heard my name being called. My heart was beating wildly I felt like it was lodged in my throat. I managed to croak a feeble yes when I approached the lady who would read me the gods’ verdict.

I heard her say”…you had passed the exam.(fireworks erupted in my ears) but we don’t have a schedule for training until next year…(the fireworks died in an instant, replaced by a sudden thud of sickening feeling of collapsing any minute)my mind screamed-“you have got to be shitting me…!!!). I couldn’t exactly tell if I smiled back at her or if I was able to mumble a thank you before I went out but I vaguely remember fumbling for a pack of cigarettes in my handbag the moment the light of the day struck me in the face.

I found myself smoking alone outside the building. This isn’t exactly my turf so I it suddenly hit me that I have to text Kat and ask her how to find my way back home. The good news is, my phone just died on me. I guess the moral of the story is, don’t forget to bring a panda ball pen at least if you are going on an interview. And be honest. Be totally honest. Remember to leave a whole load of lies at home when going in for an interview just because you hate your current job. At least you’ll be bringing your sane self with you, anywhere. One will never know a crime has been a crime until it was too perfect. :D