The Night Before
Preparing for an interview — the anticipation
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I have ironed the same shirt three times. It does not need ironing a third time. It is a very ironed shirt. But I put the iron down, walked to the kitchen, came back, and ironed it again because I needed something to do with my hands.
The interview is tomorrow at ten o'clock. It is now eleven-fifteen at night and I have read the company's website so many times that I could probably recite it. I know their mission statement. I know the name of the CEO. I know that they won an award in 2019 for something I could not entirely understand but which sounded impressive.
I have written out answers to possible questions on small cards. What are your strengths? What are your weaknesses? Where do you see yourself in five years? I have answered these questions so many times in the mirror that my reflection looks bored.
I set three alarms: 7:00, 7:05, and 7:10. This is perhaps too many alarms. I set a fourth at 7:15, just in case.
I cannot sleep. I lie in the dark and my brain, helpfully, begins to generate every possible thing that could go wrong. I could be late. The train could be delayed. I could say something strange. I could say 'you too' when they wish me good luck. I could trip over something in the reception area.
I make tea at midnight. I know this is not going to help. I make it anyway.
In the morning, the first alarm goes off at seven and I am already awake. I have been awake since six, watching the ceiling.
I shower. I eat breakfast that I do not really taste. I check the route one more time even though I have checked it five times already. The journey takes twenty-five minutes. I leave an hour early. I arrive so early that I sit in a café across the street and drink another coffee I do not need, watching the building's entrance.
And then, at nine-fifty, I cross the street. I push open the glass door. A woman at the reception desk smiles at me.
'I'm here for an interview,' I say. My voice sounds completely normal. I am surprised.
She nods. 'Please take a seat. They'll be with you shortly.'
I sit. I breathe. Outside the window, the city carries on exactly as normal. Nobody knows that this might be the morning everything changes.