I was asked to fill out an application in the hall. There were chairs outside her office. It was a long hallway lit by overhead fluorescent lights. The waxed tiles reflected the depressing light back up and I was somewhere between the light and its reflection. I was in elementary school, waiting in the hallway to talk to some authority figure.
She called me in at some point. She was very smiley and perky, but in a totally not real way, a way in which human resources employees are somehow trained to be when they are interviewing you. I have some sort of sickness coursing through my body, my body probably resisting being back in New York, this its way of saying Fuck You And Take Us Back to Florida. I have a fever and a sore throat. I don't think it was actually that hot in her office but I was sweating profusely, my shirt sticking to my chest underneath my sweater, beads and beads of sweat racing down my forehead. Whenever she glanced down at my resume and application, I would do my best to covertly wipe off the sweat soaking my forehead, tried my best to look cute despite the sweat pouring down my face.
She asked me questions, the usual bullshit questions they ask you at hotels. I did my best, despite my sickness, despite my fever which made me very angry with everything she said, with the lighting, with the goddamn heat - I did my best to volley these questions back with thoughtful and clever answers. This was my second interview I have had for this job that may not even be a job. They are still unsure whether it would be a temporary position or a permanent one - it's all kind of dependent upon whether a pregnant employee is taking maternity leave or quitting for good. There would probably be two more interviews she told me - one with the general manager and one before a panel. It seems like a lot of hoops to jump through for a concierge position, but it does pay about twice as much as I make at my current job, and so I guess these hoops are worth it. It feels like a waste of my time though, that I want to be done with hospitality, and should not be putting this much work into it.
I came home, drenched in sweat, took off my clothes, and looked at porn. I listened to my neighbor, my nemesis, scream at my landlord, who screamed right back at her. I looked at pictures of Miami and of Los Angeles and dreamed of running away. I looked at sexy ripped bodies and hard dicks and dreamed of running away.
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