I found this website with a list of writing exercises/starter sentences. Once suggestion was to write a scene about being in a waiting room and only describing the other people's shoes. This is what it turned into.
4/30/07 - Untitled
Based on your resume, it looks like you've held a variety of jobs in the past," she says.
I can't stay in a job for longer than a year because I am predictable. At every job I have held, I am enthusiastic for month one and two, start to hate coworkers at month three and four, and start to question my existence at month five through eight. By the time I get to month nine, I am strolling in late, not muting my IM sessions, and making up excuses to leave early (my parents have each died about twenty times).
I answer something and it must have been the right something, as she is nodding her head in agreement and moving on to the next question.
I want to ask what the dress code here is, but that's an after the offer type of question. It's hard to tell. The guy out at the front desk was in a polo and jeans, with visible holes in his ears, nose and lip where he must have recently removed all his piercings. This lady was in a black suit. She started to tap her foot against the aluminum chair frame. Her shoes were ultra-pointy, neon yellow-green patent flats. I wanted to ask her where she bought them, but that's an after the offer type of chit chat to establish a positive bond.
"There is a person in the office that we have had issues with." She tilts her head, as if thinking how best to phrase this. I lean forward in my chair and then pull myself back, not wanting to look eager to hear office gossip about an office I wasn't even in yet. "She has made it a habit to come in late and she takes long lunches."
She's complaining about behavior I aspire to. Maybe I really don't belong here. Maybe her bringing this up in the interview is a sign. I glance over her shoulder and out the window. She has an unobstructed view of the city skyline. I wonder what she must have done to land a view that good.
There is a knock at the door behind me, but I don't turn. I stay focused on her precision cut, dead even bangs.
"Good." She stands up. "This is my husband, David. You're interviewing to be his assistant."
I twist to see the person behind me and am about to offer my hand. I see the faded scar that cuts across his left cheek and before I can say anything, he stops me.
"Karen," he says.
"You two have already met?"
I turn back around to face her. I frantically think of something to say. He enters the room and stands next to her. Stands next to his wife. He has a wife?
He smiles that obnoxious, cocky half-grin and replies, "We actually know each other quite well."
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