Dear all,
I had a second interview today. Drove to the harbour area where the interview was, and parked my car. I had no change and had to find change and so I did... let's skip this part, it's boring.
I found myself at a crossroads. One that I would eventually have to cross in my life--preferably in the next few minutes because I was running late, which is when the story really starts, I suppose. This is not a metaphor.
You look right, you look left, then right again... and then start walking across looking left, because the last place you looked was right... midway you turn to the right again to see that there's a car that seemed to be coming your direction.
Yes, that car freaked the fuck out of me, causing me to stumble as if I tripped on something, or had a quart of scotch for breakfast, which I did... n't. What kind of fall was it? It was the middle-of-the-street variety, scuffling feet, staggering falteringly, from balls of feet to toes to knees (plural) to hands and chest. Thankfully, my pride broke the fall, lifted me up and out from danger's way.
I have wounds on my knees, and knuckle. That was a real fall--one that I haven't gotten in a long time. Long, long time. Refreshing.
The interview went fine. I told the story to one of the two interviewers but he didn't seem interested, saying how "probably the storm left some things in the middle of the street." I don't think I illustrated the "fall" just right through the use of my tone.
Yours truly,
-Yours truly.
I had a second interview today. Drove to the harbour area where the interview was, and parked my car. I had no change and had to find change and so I did... let's skip this part, it's boring.
I found myself at a crossroads. One that I would eventually have to cross in my life--preferably in the next few minutes because I was running late, which is when the story really starts, I suppose. This is not a metaphor.
You look right, you look left, then right again... and then start walking across looking left, because the last place you looked was right... midway you turn to the right again to see that there's a car that seemed to be coming your direction.
Yes, that car freaked the fuck out of me, causing me to stumble as if I tripped on something, or had a quart of scotch for breakfast, which I did... n't. What kind of fall was it? It was the middle-of-the-street variety, scuffling feet, staggering falteringly, from balls of feet to toes to knees (plural) to hands and chest. Thankfully, my pride broke the fall, lifted me up and out from danger's way.
I have wounds on my knees, and knuckle. That was a real fall--one that I haven't gotten in a long time. Long, long time. Refreshing.
The interview went fine. I told the story to one of the two interviewers but he didn't seem interested, saying how "probably the storm left some things in the middle of the street." I don't think I illustrated the "fall" just right through the use of my tone.
Yours truly,
-Yours truly.
No comments:
Post a Comment