Short story: Job Interview



I ashed my cigarette all over his desk pretending not to notice the angry red "no smoking" signs.

He was angry.

"That's fucking extortion." He said.

"Well, that's the price they'll pay on the mainland, take it or leave it" I blew back, clomping my shoes up onto the table.

"We'll leave it, I think." He said, trying to smooth over his forehead and get ready for the next one, trying to keep his cool, trying to get in one last hit.

"You know it's a misdemeanor offense to smoke in public buildings, right?" He enquired.

"Sure, but I'm not staff... and not gonna be. Hell, you don't even know my real name!" I scoffed, and hightailed it out of his office, slamming the door. I glared at all the potential candidates, looking scared, nervous, trepidatious, uncomfortable, wronged...

I slumped down in the elevator, breathing deep sighs of relief. I hate job interviews.

What if I actually get one?

This is the result of a fifteen minute writing exercise. The only constrictions were the time limit and five randomly selected words from the dictionary. Today the words were: misdemeanor, staff, extortion, mainland, and ashed.

Image courtesy of Augapfel.