One after another, they introduce themselves—head of Human Resources… senior expert at Research, Analysis and Guesswork… head of Internal Oversight and Foresight… director of Urban Fieldwork… Their voices and faces fuse into a garbled smudge. It seems to me there’s something slightly off with this lot’s job titles, but I can’t quite pinpoint what.
One of them invites me to sit down.
Lowering myself into the sole chair on my side of the interrogation table—I mean, interview table—I do my best to look relaxed and focused as I imagine an accomplished and self-confident professional would.
Bright smile, thoughtful stare. Bright smile, thoughtful stare.
Hmm, not sure I’m doing this right…
The room is eerily silent. The senior managers and department heads eyeball me with an unhealthy curiosity that unsettles me. To avoid their gazes, I look past them, out the window, where puffy white clouds blanket the sky like a backlit duvet.
Fortunately, someone in the blur of suits and faces picks up their Evian bottle and drinks noisily.Glug. Glug. Glug.The gurgle of water breaks the intensity of the moment and puts an end to the panel’s intimidating inspection of me.
Remembering how to breathe, I steal a glance at the loud drinker.
Wow, he’s handsome!In his early thirties, the man is toned, tall and firm jawed. His sensational suit is cut from a deluxe wool cloth that Mom would kill to have a roll of in the shop. She’d have no use for it because it’s the wrong kind of fabric for a fan, but she’d want itanyway so she can eye and touch it to her heart’s content.
We’re still talking about Mom and the suit, right?Not about Lucie and the loud drinker in that suit?
Just checking.
The man wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, sets his bottle on the table, and locks his unbelievable cobalt blue eyes on me.
The panel members open their laptops and rustle their papers.
A silver-haired woman speaks first. “Tell us, Lucie, would you rather ride a giraffe to work or an elephant?”
What?
I glance at the other interviewers, but all of them look dead serious. All right, then.
“My first choice would be an electric scooter,” I say. “But if only a giraffe and an elephant are available, then I’ll assume I’m working in a wildlife reserve. In which case, I’ll go for an elephant.”
“Why?” she asks.
“On the off chance he can fly like Dumbo.”
Damn!I should’ve given a practical reason, something like the giraffe’s back being too steep. This is not the time or the place for lame jokes, Lucie!
The woman makes a note on her computer. I bet she typed “impertinent fool.”
Leaning back in his chair, the hottie studies my face. Is it me, or did his lips curve up into a fleeting smile?
A stocky middle-aged man fires the next question. “If a plane crashed on the border between France and Italy, where would they bury the survivors?”
Is the entire interview going to be like this?Aren’t they going to ask me about my professional experiences or my skill set, which is supposed to be the reason I’m here?
“It would be very cruel to bury the survivors,” I say. “Don’t you think?”
Outside the window the clouds part, creating a hole. A powerful sunray shoots down through the gap, right into the hottie’s left eye. He shuts it and keeps peering at me with his right eye.
The woman on his left asks the next question. “If you had the opportunity, what public figure or celebrity would you invite to dinner?”
“J.K. Rowling,” I say without a moment’s hesitation.
“Why her?” she asks.
“Because I’m a Potterhead forever.”
