Q. What is your biggest weakness?
A. I’m quite handsome and clever and sometimes people, particularly those less handsome and clever than me, find it intimidating.
In my past job at the box factory, they talked behind my back and said things that were, at the time, entirely untrue about my sex life and the way I treated animals. Well, I showed them, I tell you. Anyway, there will always be people like this, people who have drunk deeply of the Hatorade and are out to get you, and so you just have to take care of it, you know?
Q. What irritates you about co-workers?
A. Usually, and I know that this sounds petty, but it’s the way that they dress. It’s always so predictable and lumpy, their outfits typically accented with some sad detail of their life like Cheesie dust or cat hairs. It just depresses me, and then I get mad at them for depressing me. It can be a toxic cycle.
Q. How do you handle stress and pressure?
A. I’m glad you asked this question because it’s really quite a complex issue. Often, I simply take time off work. This helps, but it doesn’t really solve the problem, and so after trying meditation and finding it useless, I’ve discovered that I need to create a cocktail of prescription medications to help calm the “BLACK TORNADO ZONE” I typically spin into. Also, I find that regular target practice at my gun club near Brampton is incredibly therapeutic.
Q. What will you do if you don’t get this job?
A. I will go and see Iron Man 3 again. I always get inspiration from the Iron Man. He’s made of iron, you know? Nothing gets him down. And then, after a good, inspirational cry, I will just try and take what I’ve learned from this experience and apply it to the future, hopeful that I may yet get a job at your shitty company when the next opportunity arises.
]]>
What follows is a partial transcript of our final interview:
Pointy Headed man wearing a bowtie: Cressida, that’s a beautiful blouse you’re wearing!
Pale woman with small teeth: I love it, too! It brings out that beautiful auburn in your hair, Cressie!
Cressida: Oh, thank you both, that’s so sweet, but I have to say I can’t take any credit for it. It was a gift from Roger Federer for that feature I wrote on him that won the National Magazine Award!
Me: I didn’t know that Roger Federer shopped at Winners.
Cressida: I think you have a toothpaste stain on your shirt, Michael, and your right shoe.
Pointy Headed man wearing a bowtie: So, Cressida, let’s start with you. Although I think we all have a pretty good idea, would you tell us what would you bring to the position of Fiction Editor of the New Yorker?
Cressida: Blahblahblahblahblahblah.
Pointy Headed men wearing a bowtie: Wow. Just wow.
Man wearing a cape: I have to say Michael, that’s a tough act to follow. What about you, how would you respond to the question?
Me: I feel like I’m on the Apprentice.
Pale woman with small teeth: You mean the novel by Ferenc Herczeg? Interesting, please elaborate.
Me: May I excuse myself to get a drink of water please?
Cressida: I think he meant the TV show with Donald Trump and not the great work of Ferenc Herczeg, whom I met and edited in Hungry.
Me: Slut.
Woman who was going for a sexy librarian look but failed big time: Mister Murray?
Me: Please, call me Michael, I’m not all stuck up and pretentious like some people here that might be named Cressida.
Cressida: Excuse me, but I do not take kindly to being called a slut. Even though we’re competing for the same job, it doesn’t mean we can’t be civil. And I was only slutty for that first year at Oxford.
(Much laughter amongst stupid inquisition clique and slut Cressida, followed by long, exclusionary digression about all the universities they attended and all of the common people and dogs that they know.)
