White shirt, turtle-shell tie to bring out my eyes
Black pants, black shoes, black belt (bought, not granted)
Early arrival to find the place, wandering the mall
Free body scrub trial on my hands, sea salt
Gael rubs my hands with one and my chest with the other,
Looks into my eyes until it’s clear I’m not buying,
Then we part ways, Have a nice day

Corner location near the Macy’s at the far end,
the sign’s right but the time’s wrong, an hour early.
Still, book-in-hand, I take a seat and read:
Hand and Will plan an adventure without research,
settle for Greenland, forego the malaria shot,
might not make it all the way to Rwanda anyway.
“It’s awful to see you two,” Pilar says.

Kayla takes me ten minutes early. She’s not “the boss,”
who’s “out” she says, so it’s up to her, clicking her pen.
“Are you working now?”
“No, I’m not working now.”
Eyes my application.
“You worked at your school?”
“Yes.”
“Tutoring?”
Clearly never read my résumé.
“Teaching.”
“Oh!”
“Yep.”
“What’s your availability?”
“Um, all?”
“So, open?”
“Open.”
“What brought you in here?”
I stumble through the answer: something about how frozen yogurt is relatively healthy, how I’m a people-person, how this is the kind of job I’m suited for—I know I’m talking too fast but can’t seem to slow down. The Xanax in my pocket goes unutilized, though it would have been optimal now.
“Hm. And what do you hope to get out of working here?”
Curveball. I should’ve thought of this. “What do I—
I hope to work here for a year,” I flail, unprepared.
“I consider myself a writer. I’ve just written a novel, and I’m hoping to get a good response—and poe—” my throat catches, “poetry and short stories, sending those out, hoping…”
“Okay…”
“I’m trying to go back to school,”
I lie, betrayed by my avoidant eyes.
She doesn’t ask why.
“I’m looking for a place with an opportunity to advance.”
I explain my past job, the circumstance.
“It takes hard work,” she tells me.
“Yeah.”
“It took two years for me to work up to where I am.”
“Yeah?”
Should have said congratulations. Should have more to say.
“Are you looking for part-time, temporary…?”
I can’t hear what I’m saying, focused on her writing, hiding.
When is she going to ask me about myself?
Where is this question: Tell me about yourself.
It seems like the most obvious one,
But when the pre-req is warm body—
“So you have no experience in customer service,”
might be a question, so I answer:
“Teaching is all customer service.”
She smiles. I smile. I talk too much:
“Food service, no.” Shut up. “I worked as a bus boy for a couple months.” Shut up. “I refereed all through college, but I didn’t put it down there because who cares.” Exactly. Who cares? Luckily, I’m out of things to say.
She writes some more.
“Well, we can’t give you a yes or no right now… but we’ll call you tonight.”
“Tonight? Great!”
“Yeah, we’re training on Thursday, if we get enough people.”
I’m willing to be multiple people, I want to say, if it will get me the job.
“All right, awesome,” I say. Awesome?
We thank one another over a handshake; five minutes before my interview was supposed to begin, I’m on the move again.