Each breath I take, as I run down the street dodging cars, feels like my lungs can’t take anymore. I look down at the watch my father gave me for my 18th birthday. A leather strap with a silver face. The minute hand is creeping closer and closer to the 12 at the top of its face. I have five minutes before my next interview. The crossing signal across the street has barely finished flashing and the red hand appears to tell me not to cross.
I quickly look down at the watch on my hand again before making the decision to chance it. No sooner did my foot leave the sidewalk that a horn immediately blared with screeching tires before I felt a sharp pain in my side. The yellow hood of the taxi, that I had introduced myself to, shined in the bright sunlight of the day. It felt like time slowed down as I was launched from the hood into a mud puddle along the side of the road. My, hand-me-down grey suede, suit was splattered with brown and whatever else was inside the gutter at the time.
“Get out of the road, you jackass!” the driver yelled as he got out of the car. “Look at my hood!”
I get up and keep running across the street. Adrenaline now coursing through my veins. Another near collision before I make it to the other side. I look back to see the driver screaming at me as I continue to run. The pain in my side was a dull ache. My feet carry me as quickly as I can into the building where I have to speak to the security guard to gain access to the elevators. My interview was on the 13th floor and I could feel the seconds tick by as I came up to the counter.
The surface of the counter was a faux marble that was polished to the point where you could see your reflection in it. The man sitting behind its pristine polish was balding in his early 40’s. His greying mustache had the crumbs of bread within his whiskers. As I walked up to the counter and laid my hand on its surface, he eyed me with an incredulous look before finishing his sandwich. I looked down at my watch, finally noticing the cracked surface of the face, and saw that I had a minute before the interview was scheduled to start.
He took one final bite of his sandwich, and chewed it while continuing to look at me. My nerves were starting to get the best of me and I cleared my throat in an attempt to initiate the process to get me up those stairs. While staring at me, he grabbed a napkin sitting at his side and wiped his mouth to try and remove stains from sauces or crumbs. I notice a small blotch of mustard on his upper lip, missed by his first attempt, and in my haste, I try pointing it out by taking my index finger and pointing to the same spot on my lip. He raises an eyebrow and I point to the same spot again on my lip.
“How can I help you, sir?” He asked as he wiped his face again.
“I’m here for an interview. I mean, I have an interview. I’m supposed to be in an interview.” I respond nervously.
I begin to notice that my hand is starting to shake and the pain in my side is steadily not becoming a dull ache anymore but something significantly worse. His eyes travel down the length of my suit that he can see and he continues to look incredulous.
“Uh-huh. Name?’
“N-Neil Hannon here to see Solomon Brooks.”
He types my name into the computer and then looks at me again.
“I’m going to have to give them a call to confirm your appointment. Do you have a license or form of ID?”
I reach down into my pants to grab my wallet. My hand is still shaking as I open it and bring it to my face. I notice more scrapes on my hand that weren’t there before and the brown of the mud I had landed in under my fingernails. The black leather of the wallet gave a nice contrast to the way that I was feeling at the moment. I pull out my license and lay it down on the counter. He reaches up and grabs it while he dials Solomon’s receptionist.
“Hello there, Brandi. How’s it going today?”
I can hear the tone of a woman’s voice on the other end of the phone even though I can’t make out what she is saying.
“The wife’s doing well. We’re excited to meet your husband this weekend at the cookout.” He leans back in his chair and starts looking up at the ceiling in a more relaxed posture. “Yeah. Uh-huh. No need to worry too much about the refreshments. A bottle of wine would be fine. How’s your chihuahua doing? Did the vet tell you guys anything about that weird squeaking sound when it farts? Uh-huh… No shit.”
I continue to try and be patient as I listen in on their phone call.
“Oh… yes. Well, would you look at the time? I seem to lose track every time I call up to your office. The reason I called is that I have a man hear who says that he was supposed to have an interview with you guys.” He paused as he looked me over again. “What was your name again, son?”
My heart nearly leaped out of my throat as I finally had a chance to answer.
“M-my name is Neil. N-Neil Hannon.”
He looked away.
“He says his name is Neil. Uh-huh. He’s late. I see. Do you want me to still send him up? Uh-huh. Position is filled.” He looked sideways back to me. “I’ll let him know. Talk to you later.”
He hung up the phone and turned his full attention to me.
“I’m sorry, son. It seems like they are no longer interested in you for an interview.”
The tension in my neck released and my body seemed to finally wake up and scream. I slumped to the side as I started to make my way back to the front door.
“Do you need me to call you a cab, son?” He called from behind me.
I looked back at him with the best smile on my face that I could muster.
“No, sir. Thank you for your help.”
I continued to walk out of the front door and the roaring sounds of life assaulted my ears. I felt tired. It was time for me to head back to