Stressful Interviews

Now that I sit and think about it, how the hell did we end up wearing what we are wearing now? I mean our clothes in general. Of course there are countless geographical, social, cultural and plain stupid reasons. But hey man, what ever, the point is.. dressing up for an interview is such a pain. I know I need clothes. All of us need clothes to protect our junk and to protect others from passing out after seeing our junk. But still, interview clothes make me feel like Hannibal Lector all locked up in that iconic poster. The fake smile I have to wear is like his mask. Why can’t we be happy with less clothes? Like Charmi in most of Krishna Vamsi’s films or Gandhi during our freedom movement. So there I was tucking in my shirt for an interview that kept me waiting for more than two months. I admit I worked hard (relative) for it and wanted to do well and nail it. But things got stressful like always.

Did your ever feel like the universe suddenly shifted mode and started behaving like most customer care helplines offering no help whatsoever when you need it the most?

“Please press 3.4.8.2.9.1.5.3.3.3.8.8.1.7.2 then do three push ups and later brush your teeth to talk to our customer care unit as your call is so valuable for us.”
“Hahaha.. Fuck me.”

It turned out to be one of such days for me. I should’ve guessed it when the venue shifted from an old office building to the best star hotel in the city. But little did I know that it was just an attempt at giving the term “royally fucked” a new meaning. For half an hour outside the main gate, I waited alone rehearsing my greetings and smile, practicing my answers for all the standard questions, reviewing my paperwork and checking if I tucked in my shirt properly. However, there is nothing I could do to the zipper design that always made it look like I was having an eternal boner but let’s just leave it there. Hard to deal with now (no pun intended.) As I walked into the certificate verification room, I noticed all the other participants sharply dressed. By sharply I mean, can make me seem like a hobo sharp. Some guys were even suited up. What.the.fuck. I am an idiot.

“Please give us an undertaking as you don’t have the original graduation certificate. We’ll take the provisional for now.”
“Ok”
“Why haven’t you applied for it till now? It’s a long time ago.”
“Heart break. You have no idea what I had to deal with in that city lady. Too many memories. I could vey well be killed by an overdose of nostalgia if I ever stepped in that campus again.” Ok I didn’t actually say that last line but implied all that with a smile and shrug.

Thank god, making conversations with the fellow participants is not a criteria they look for in an interview or else I would’ve been black listed from every interview I have appeared. As one can imagine, I sat there in silence (as much as possible) watching the beautiful paintings and designs on the roof and floor (star hotel man) I promised to myself that I wouldn’t go near the coffee table as one might assume that I might be a lower grade hotel house keeping staff. Goddammit. I should really start being at least a little sophisticated. It wasn’t long before I was called in to meet the panel. Luckily.

The interview itself did not feel that bad. It was over pretty fast and frankly I don’t remember even half of it. Something about crude oils prices, banking sector, off spinner bowlers and database systems. My initial feeling after coming out the room was confusion. I didn’t know how I should feel about the interview. Strangely however I felt a pain in my chest soon after I left the room. Is it a sign of some sort? After wishing the other participants in the waiting room all the best (immediately realising that it wasn’t going to help my chances) I left the venue and untucked my shirt right away. I also wanted to get back into my shorts but that had to wait.

Here’s the thing with these interviews. You know that feeling after ending a stressful relationship and after the initial blame game on the other person, you slowly sit and realise how there were signs all along that it was going to end some day. You were just blind to read in between the lines. That was exactly how I felt sitting in the bus while returning. My interview went terribly bad. Fuck. Shit. And some other curse words later, I move on and started listening to Manisharma’s mass numbers. It’s not the end of the world. I already have a fun job (read less pay but fun anyways) Only one thing can bring back joy to my life at that moment. International quality fried chicken made using several herbs which makes it crispy and juicy. Whose recipe has been kept a secret for several decades and also which is finger licking good. God bless colonel sanders. If any one deserves those 72 virgins in heaven, it is that man.

“One fiery grilled rice bowl and four piece hot and saucy chicken.”
“Time padathadhi Saar”
“Grilled aa?”
*nods*
“Parla nenu dhaani kosame ocha..”

I sat there in anticipation and disappointment. Anticipointment…(Applause) While I waiting there, I saw an old man trying to bargain the prices with the cashier. He had a very normal face. A face whose name could be Venkateswarlu or Satyanarayana and I swear to god, it was one of the most funniest and yet saddest things I’ve seen. I almost felt like paying his bill but didn’t want to put him in that awkward position. The cashier fellow was a calm chap luckily. Anyways after I got ready and was about to eat, I felt that tingling sensation in my heart once again. Am I having a stroke? Fuck. I’m still 25. Should I stop eating junk food. But but.. KFC.. That Advani is like a billion years old and he’s still alive. Several other meaningless thoughts later I finished my meal and got back home forgetting about the interview once and for all, immediately planning my next moves and how I should execute them. Like I said, it’s not the end of the world. At least I’m alive and I have the capacity to love which is the greatest gift of all. Yes I just said that.

Back home, as I sat and started my PC, I felt the pain increase. It was as if a needle is being used to dig a small hole in my heart and then hot wax is being poured into it. I thought I should stop and do something about it but still proceeded to logon to twitter. There it was. The reason why I was feeling that pain all day.

Trisha got engaged.

How can the day get any worse… I mean damnit. Have some mercy god. There’s no point in doing anything in life anymore. Who the hell is that guy. That blessed bastard. It’s not like I had a chance anyway. If you really love her, you should let her go. What the fuck idiot are you crazy… And so on happened for some time. I also contemplated the idea of digging a deep pit and burying myself on a permanent basis. However I recovered like always as my heart is prone to such feelings and has developed a response mechanism on its own. Listening to “Omana penne” I wrapped myself in my rug and tried to sleep… in my shorts.