“Uh, yes. I worked at JAC’s for almost three years before I left to go to school.”
It had obviously been too long since his last offensive comment, because Mr. Lambert cut in. “Isn’t that Jeb’s place?” he asked, and I nodded. “Didn’t his wife leave him for that pizza guy? She was always a bit of a well…you know. She liked the men. Especially the underage ones.” His grin was lascivious and more than a little gross.
“Well, it also says here that you worked at the Baltimore College Bookstore while you were in school. So your work experience consists totally of retail. Is that correct?” Mr. Weaver asked and I was getting the feeling that he felt as though this entire interview was one giant waste of his time.
Between Mr. Lambert’s knowing smiles and Mr. Weaver’s disdainful looks, I knew, without a doubt, that they’d never hire me. That no matter how far I had come or how much I had tried to change, that I was still being defined by the person Iusedto be.
When would that person disappear? Would I ever be able to live outside of her shadow?
Not as long as I lived here, that’s for sure.
Not when I ran the risk of everyone remembering my mistakes and making sure I never forgot about them.
“Yes, I’ve worked in retail but I’m a hard worker and a quick learner, as my current boss will tell you.”
Mr. Lambert looked down at my resume again. “Oh, you’re working at JAC’s now,” he said, and I felt my teeth grind together again.
“Yes, I am,” I replied shortly.
“So tell me, Ellie, what are your biggest strengths?” Mr. Weaver asked, moving on to more traditional interview questions.
I relaxed marginally hoping the trip down Ellie’s memory lane was over.
“I think I’m honest and trustworthy. And I can work in a group or individually. I’m a fast learner and I work hard,” I answered.
“And resilient! Given everything you’ve been through!” Mr. Lambert piped up and I wanted to groan in exasperation. Apparently that trip wasn’t quite over yet.
“And resilient,” I repeated with an acidic smile.
Mr. Weaver went through a few more standard interview questions and I had to endure Mr. Lambert’s ridiculous observations and comments. I wasn’t sure I could stomach working for such jerk but my options were slim.
“Well, Ellie, thank you for coming in. Wilma will be calling to let you know soon,” Mr. Weaver said, reaching out to shake my hand again. Mr. Lambert opened the door to the conference room and led me back out to the reception area.
He patted me on the back like I was a dog and grinned down at me. “It was good to see you again, Ellie. I can’t tell you how nice it is to see someone with your background rise above it all.”
My background? Seriously?
I couldn’t thank him. I couldn’t say anything. I was about to lose what little cool I had left.
I gave him a curt nod and left as quickly as I could with what little pride I had left intact.
Shit. That had been bad.
Even though I thought I had answered the questions decently enough, it was overshadowed by the knowledge of my past.
It’s nice to see someone with your background…
I drove from the office building wishing I could run.
Far, far away.
**
As I sat behind the counter at JAC’s later that night, I tried not to fixate on the disastrous interview.
Maybe I’m imagining how bad it was. I answered the questions well. It couldn’t have been that horrible.
Even my inner voice didn’t sound too convinced.
