Just another job interview

"Good morning! I'm glad so many of you came!"

I do so like cheerful people in the morning. Obviously I started sniggering at the choice of words and was frowned upon for doing so by many of the other job-combatants.
I don't use the word combatant lightly either. Hell no, it's a dog-eat-dog world out here and one must use one's claws and teeth if one wishes to work!

The job interview was for a vacancy in a restaurant. Or a pub. Or a bus station; it wasn't too clear from the start.
I'm sure I read on the application form that it was for a restaurant, but the interviews were going to be held in a pub and 80% of the gathered looked like they were bus drivers. It was all terribly confusing, so I was improvising from the start.

"Why do you specifically want to work for us?"

What can one answer when one doesn't actually know what one is applying for. I used the old Viet Cong manoeuvre of keeping quiet until the time to strike is at hand.
One of the combatants raised a hand and meekly answered: "I love serving drinks."
"Aha!" escaped my lips like Frank Lee Morris from Alcatraz. Again a couple of warmongers were giving me the evil eye. But, at least I could scrap bus station from the list!

The intervieweress (sort of like a Mistress in a bondage film, dressed slightly different, but still entitled to whip you into submission) was asking everyone this question and soon my time would come. I nearly panicked, but then I remembered the wise words I'd heard once in a documentary about hitchhiking: "Don't panic." And so my mind wandered to fields of roses and the soothing sounds of waterfalls.

"Mark?"
"42."
"What?"
"Oh yes. Well. I love serving drinks as well!"
A crafty improvisation, I'm sure you'll agree.

As the interview progressed I began to realise that not all was as well as it seemed. Somehow my wittisms and giggling were not achieving the reaction I expected. The intervieweress wasn't throwing herself at my feet and saying: "Take me like a big horny sex machine!"
Indeed, I got the distinct impression she was snarling like Gollum when she spoke to me. I decided to take that as a good thing anyways, no need to be negative. Is there?

"I think you're over-qualified for the job."
"mhmmmm... yah. I've heard that before yes."
"I don't think you're the sort of person we're looking for."
"Now look here!" I demanded, "Just because I'm not a complete imbecil like the rest of the bus-driver's association here," I said, sweeping my arm around the room at the people gaping at me in disrespect, "doesn't mean to say that I'm too over-qualified to serve fucking drinks. Alright!"
"I think you have anger problems as well." She said defiantly, but I sensed her falling for my charms, so since I was on a roll I decided to continue:
"I don't have fucking anger problems!" Then I took a deep breath and continued in a lower tone of voice: "Ofcourse, if you don't give me the job I'll probably rip your head off and shite down your neck. Let's not go there okay? You power hungry fucking freak!"

I don't know if I got the job or not, because I woke up.
But let me ask you this: "Is it healthy to have nightmares about job interviews?"
I think not.
It's clearly a sign of me losing the plot, cracking up and about to do something horribly drastic.

Oh well. Best fill in another application form then.