I sent my resume to twenty companies. Got calls back from eleven of them.
All the interviews went well. The typical questions revolved around the extent of my experience, what my skills were, what I enjoyed doing, miscellaneous bits of info like whether I played softball. I’d been to a million of these since I’d lost my job and I felt more comfortable there than I did talking to my own wife. The nuances of a game subject to the inquiries of the slave master, a firm, a corporation, a meandering salesmen, trial by majority decision, conviction by a few proper friends, the morning stink of mints several notches too strong.
There was the morning arrival, a woman from HR called to the lobby. She would wear a pristine business suit, smiling with gestures practiced every morning in the mirror, firm handshake, nice to meet you, the smell of dry cleaned carpets pervading. Would you like coffee or an espresso? Do you like it with sugar? The ambassador coaxing through intimated sexuality and a professional servility that wreaked an awakening havoc on an otherwise unsuspecting body. A conference room and an oak table, monitors for teleconferencing on the wall. Streams of managers and directors and supervisors pouring through. Names remembered as quickly as they were forgotten. Assessing who really had authority and who was just a figurehead. A vigorous greeting, a bright expression, avoiding negativity in general while crafting a politically savvy answer to both humor and impress.
When I got a phone call from one of the most prestigious firms in the country, I was thrilled. A buddy of mine had a sister with a friend whose wife had a nephew that worked there. He was the one who’d turned in my resume.
“The job is so yours,” he said. “The guy who has the position is a total freak they’re gonna fire. My boss saw your resume and thought you’d be perfect. The interview is just a formality. Remember to ask for the number you wanted.”
I thanked him profusely.
The next morning, the interview went more smoothly than I could have imagined. The CEO of the company was the first to meet me.
“So what do we need to do to convince you to come?” he asked.
And from there, we talked about everything but work. Thirty minutes later, the lady from HR had to remind him that his allotted time was over. He left five minutes later, at which point another manager entered. The day went seamlessly. They weren’t asking questions about me. They were asking when I could start. After my last scheduled meeting ended at 4:30, the manager said, “I’ll go let Gena in HR know we’re done… I really hope you decide to join us.”
I was grinning. Not only was I getting a pretty big pay spike, but I felt I was going to finally get the respect I deserved. I was so excited, I was even tempted to call my wife. As I flirted with the thought, another manager came in the door.
“Hi,” I said, smiling, putting out my hand to shake his.
He took a seat, ignoring my hand, then said, “My entire family got into a car accident and died this morning. My wife, my two kids, and my brother are dead.”
I stared at him, startled. “I’m sorry to hear that,” I said.
“No you’re not,” he snapped, then tapped his pen on the desk while looking over my resume. “So I take it you’re the guy they’re hiring to replace me?”
“I hadn’t heard anything about that, but…”
“Spare me the fake sympathy. Two weeks ago, my grandpa got gored to death by a pack of bulls. A week before that, my older sister died of breast cancer. Let me ask you something — what is the meaning of life?”
“Excuse me?”
“What is the meaning of life?”
“I… I don’t know. I haven’t… I haven’t really considered it in a while.”
“Why’s that?”
“Uhh… the question just hasn’t come up.”
“You’re saying you haven’t even thought about the purpose of your existence?”
“Should I have?” I wasn’t sure what his tactic was. Was he trying to see how I handled pressure?
“You don’t think it’s important that you figure out why you’re living and why you do the things you do?”
“It is very important.”
“Are you married?” he asked.
“Yes. Why?”
“Are you happy in your marriage?”
“Wha — I think so,” I replied.
“You think so or you are?”
“I am.”
“Have you ever cheated on your wife?”
“What kind of question is that?”
“Just answer the question.”
I shifted uncomfortably. “I might have, once or twice.”
“Why did you do that if you were happy?”
“I… look, I find this question very awkward.”
“Why?” he wanted to know.
“Why what?”
“Why do you find it awkward?”
“I don’t see how it bears on my position,” I responded.
“Okay, I’ll ask you another question then. Why do people have to die?”
I shook my head. “Umm… I don’t know…”
“How many people that you know have died?”
“Several of my friends passed away, my grandparents.”
“Have you ever wanted to kill anyone before?” he asked.
“I don’t think so.”
“Never?”
“I don’t remember if I did.”
“What did you want to be as a kid?”
“I… I wanted to be an archaeologist,” I answered.
“Why didn’t you become one?”
“It didn’t pay very well.”
“So you dictated the course of your life based on pay?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Then why didn’t you become what you wanted?”
“It was more complicated than that.”
“Was it?”
“Look, where are you taking this?” I asked.
“Is this an interview? Are you the one asking questions or me?”
“You are. But I don’t get the point of the questions.”
“But you would get the point if I asked you questions like, What was your previous job like, how is your day, what’d you do last weekend?”
“Yeah.”
“But not if I ask you anything that’s important or worthwhile?”
“That’s not what I mean,” I replied.
“Then what do you mean?”
“Well how about you? If you’re so intent on finding things out about me, I want to know something important about you.”
“Okay. I didn’t love my wife. I married her only because I was afraid of being alone. But when she was gone, I realized that I actually liked her a lot. I probably loved her more than any other person I could have loved.” I was surprised by the tone of his voice — candid, sincere, hurt. He noticed my reaction, smiled, and asked, “Do you have any regrets?”
“About me and my wife?”
“Or anything.”
“Who doesn’t have regrets?”
“What are some of yours?”
“I–I…” I thought about it. “I like to live my life in a way so that I don’t have regrets. But of course I have a ton. I wish I’d left my old company earlier. I was there for 12 years and I don’t even know why. I think getting fired was the best thing that could have happened. Otherwise, I would have just sat there, waiting for my 401k to accumulate.”
“Do you want more in life?”
“Who doesn’t?”
“Why?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why do you want more in life than what you already have? Why not less?”
“What would be the benefit of less?” I asked.
“What would be the benefit of more?”
“Happiness?”
“What is happiness?”
“It’s a state of being content,” I said.
“So if you had more, you’d be content?”