This fucking guy.
This fucking Macy’s mannequin, with his off-the-rack shirt and tie combo and bold colors that are supposed to exude confidence.
“What five words would you use to describe yourself?” he asks.
“Does well-hung count as one or two?” I think to myself.
He looks up from his clipboard and I know the interview is over before it begins. I straighten my tie and look him in the eyes.
“I would say that I am hardworking, a leader, ethical, creative, and uh…” I pause enough between each quality to make it seem like I’m really thinking about it, so that he thinks he’s asked a good question. “I can’t really think of the word for it right now…” I stall. “It’s like when…I’m a really good communicator and I speak well to others and…”
He stares at me blankly. I look at the ground.
“I know there’s a word for it…” There is a long silence.
“OK,” he clears his throat. “Well I have your resume and…”
“Articulate,” I say. “I’m articulate.”
He stares at me a moment longer.
“Well, we’ll call you.”