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The Interview

There were three interviewers. One was a woman. Her blouse was white and well filled. The buttons showed signs of strain. Her skirt creased when she sat. It was of good quality and able to resist the physical demands made upon it. The man on the right had a world-weary visage. He had a Karl Malden nose. The man in the middle was the decider.

"So why did you leave Alice Springs?"

I would have thought the answer was bleeding obvious. I racked my brain to think of a plausible answer. "It was too hot". I said, feebly. It was true. After a while, the heat gets to you, that and the dry air.

"But you stayed there for 12 years. When did you decide it was too hot?" I blinked. Did I say, "Huh?" I can't remember.

"Does your partner work?" "Yes", I said. I was becoming uncomfortable. Where were these questions leading?

Then came the question that made me realise I wasn't going to get this job, "Did something happen in Alice Springs?"

If they knew they didn't want to hire me, why ask me to interview? Did they merely want to put a face to the name? "No", I answered. Obviously, I was at an interview. It wouldn't do to be impolite.

After I left, I removed a name from my resume, and replaced it with the name of an old and very dear friend. The next day, I went for an interview with a university. I had worked at two other universities previously. This time I believed I might be lucky.

Before the interview, I received a second telephone call. "We feel you may be over qualified for the job; should I tell you the salary and see if you are still interested?" asked the Dean of the School. "Overqualified? I'm unemployed. I have to start somewhere". They told me the salary. It didn't sound too bad. It was the same amount as I had been earning in my last job, which I left because but that's another story. It was going to come out sooner or later, but should we dwell on these things? I mean, how are you ever going to get over anything, if you keep bringing it up?

But what if I don't get a job, ever again? Am I being over-pessimistic about my chances? I mean, how long has it been? I remembered a time when I got every job I applied for. But I was younger then, and I had been beautiful, or so I'd been told by people too numerous to name. I had never exploited my so-called beauty. It had felt like a burden. Why don't people treat me normally, I used to moan. Well, beauty fades, and now they were, and I wished I'd capitalised on the beauty when I'd had it, or so they'd told me.

What would

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