The Job Interview

As soon as I graduated high school I left home. The freedom I felt was like heaven, I never had to answer to anyone again except myself and especially not to my overbearing father. There were so many lessons ahead of me that if I had known what I was going to experience, I would have been furious with my father for raising me like a man, and not telling me how to be one.

My first apartment was great. As tiny as it was I loved it; I miss it to this day. It would be in this place that I began learning about myself, what I wanted, and how I finally had the power to choose my own path. It was here, I would pursue my dreams of becoming an artist, a writer, and gain everything the constitution promised. Unfortunately, It didn't take long to realize I had exchanged an authoritarian father for an authoritarian country. I won't be too hard on my Dad, he subsidized my income until I found a job. As smart as he was, why did he not prepare me for what America was really like? He died young therefore, I will never have an answer to this question, nor the thousand others I have roaming around in my brain.

The first job interview I went on was just one of the craziest experiences in my life. I remember sitting in the waiting room so many years ago. My hair was cut into a bob, my makeup was impeccable, and I wore the most beautiful dress I borrowed from my sister. I knew this was going to be the job for me. I picked a very well-known newspaper in the area. Writing was going to my choice through which I would determine my own future.

After waiting over two hours, and every daydream endemic to my brain spent, my name was finally called. I remember being so nervous about what I would say, how I would answer his questions, what headline would I go after first, and was I dressed ok. Ahh youth; we just don't get life until we are thrown in the middle of it without a life preserver. Following closely behind his assistant, thoughts of success invaded my mind. I knew I would get this job. I was raised to think this way, my father made certain I got whatever I wanted.

His assistant stopped so abruptly at his door, I almost ran into her backside. Clearing my throat, something I always do when nervous, I quickly regained my composure and entered the smallest office I had ever seen. Looking around seemed so surreal, my Dad's office was huge; I began to wonder why I wasn't applying for a position with my father's company.

Mr. Hornito (I kid you not, that was his last name) greeted me by extending his arm for a 'shake' which caught me off-guard. Shaking hands with a man was a first for me. I extended my arm as well, anticipating a full handshake, like I saw my father exchange with so many men while growing up. In no way did I expect Mr. Hornito to 'swipe' my hand, as if it were crystal and would shatter if he attempted a legitimate handshake! I chuckled within, and quickly sat in the chair across his desk, which had to be the oldest known to man. I refuted negative thoughts, choosing instead to be positive. After all, this was the company I would make great.

My future boss began this interview by telling me the backstory of his company, how it came to fruition. After walking slowly from behind his desk he opened a small cabinet, reached in and grabbed a bottle of alcohol, pored himself a drink and began to speak. He told me how his father crossed the dessert from Mexico, his father wasn't from Mexico he just ended up taking a wrong turn during his voyage to America, where he knew he'd find freedom. He explained how his dad fought the tortuous hot temperatures in the desert heat, without water or direction to the U.S. While in the dessert he dreamt of this company. He would make it great! The most magnificent news reporting business where truth would guide every word from every reporter who worked for him. He suffered day and night, and the only thing that pulled him through, was his dream of this. Mr. Hornito waved his arm across the room as if he his arms enveloped the largest company in the world. He was a dictator in his mind.

His rendition of his father's dream continued with an occasion when a rattler bit his dad's ankle, causing him hallucinations, extreme thirst (no water), which made his father's dream that much greater. He slowly walked toward a window glancing out as he continued. "After my father crossed the border, he began the task of trying to borrow funds from many different banks to help finance his dream." After five denials he went onto the sixth, knowing in his heart someone would help him. Every place he went turned him down. He described how his wife, his son (which was Mr. Hornito) were living on the street and he couldn't feed them. Nothing he said seemed to work with any American bank, each one told him no. "After fifteen years of living in boxes on the street, my father never abandoned his dream, this dream." he said.

He looked directly into my eyes while beating his hand against his chest, his drink spilling everywhere, and said, "My father's dream, after his death, became MY DREAM." I interpreted this to mean Mr. Hornito had no other choice or dream. "All the hardships my father went through -almost dying...", he shook his head and yelled; "My mother and I at his side when he died. We both felt his last breath; she lying next to him and I near the window." He slammed his fist (this time) on his desk and stated, "At four years old I understood my father's dream." At this point I'm desperately trying to envision how his father's "last breath" was felt by both him looking out the window and his mother lying next to his father... He continued, "I began to own my father's dream of success. I knew while crossing the desert that together, my father, rest his soul, and I would make all this come true." I was desperate now, trying to see what "all this" was.

Why I was shocked by yet another sudden move by him, as he withdrew quickly from the now infamous window, the cramp he created in my neck has never been forgotten. Looking into my eyes as if he would kill me if I dare say the wrong thing, he asked me, "And so, why do you want to work here?"