Wrong Resume

After six months of mailing resumes all over the city, you finally have a bite. Though under-qualified for the position, you attend the interview anyway because you desperately need work. As the boss starts to ask questions, you notice that he’s not reading from your resume—it’s someone else’s. Instead of correcting him, you go with it. Write this interview.

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  1. kathleenmagner

    “Mr. Eddy?

    Spencer sprang off the padded cushion of the lobby’s chair. Catching himself, he forced his charge to slow and took his time collecting his portfolio from the glass table. The bespectacled brunette seated across the way offered a half smile.

    “Good luck.”

    “You too.” Trading the leather bound papers between suddenly sweaty palms, Spencer turned to the frosted entryway where a coifed blonde secretary tapped an impatient toe.

    “This way, Mr. Eddy.”

    She held the door open until he could prop the panel himself and then marched along the carpeted hallway. Hurrying to follow, Spencer matted down his slicked hair, straightened his tie and tested his breath against his fingers. The remains of minty mouthwash rebounded and he rake his tongue over his teeth double-checking his morning brush.

    Meanwhile the secretary led him through a maze of opaque walls, the clack of keyboards and murmurs of conversation ambient. The corridor ended at a pair of onyx doors, and she wrapped her knuckles on the entrance before seizing the latch. When she pulled the door ajar, the rustle of paperwork greeted them.

    “Let him in,” said a husky alto.

    “Yes, Dr.” Pulling the door wide, the secretary motioned him inside.

    “Thank you,” said Spencer.

    She nodded curtly and when he strode past, closed the door.

    Spencer froze on the office’s initial strip of gunmetal tile, avoiding the square of oriental carpet stretched beneath a pair of wingbacks and a mahogany desk looming before a wall of blank monitors and architectural drawings. Resting a hand on the paunch threatening to droop over his belted slacks, Spencer set his sights on the frosty-haired woman filling in the lone leather chair as amply as her steel-gray suit. She closed a folder and stood, offering a hand over the stacks of neat paperwork arranged around her desk’s blotter and the name placard identifying her as Dr. Korposky.

    “Mr. Geddy?”

    “Ah, Eddy,” said Spencer, stepping forward and taking her hand.

    She hummed thoughtfully, and then lowered herself back into her chair. “The G must be silent.”

    Unsure how to reply, Spencer simply held his tongue.

    “Have a seat,” said Korposky. Plucking a pen, she pointed its ejected tip at the twin wingbacks.

    Spencer perched on the edge of the one on the right and hoped he’d made the right choice.

    With her face a passive mask, Korposky interlaced her fingers above the folder and leveled him with her gaze, one as solid as the wooden barricade between them.

    “I know most interviews start with pleasantries, explanations of the position, an overview of the corporation, but I’m not one for such niceties. I expect anyone who’s gotten this far to have done their homework.”

    Running his finger along his portfolio’s edge, Spencer sought an agreeing grin.

    “You know what we’re about,” said Korposky, “so why should I choose you over any of our other candidates?”

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