Rude Boss

Great. More reprimands…

I sigh. Like my car that’s sitting in the parking lot on E, this interview ain’t going nowhere. My high hopes have slowly filtered down the drain. I’m already thinking about the other companies I’ve applied to.

Just to entertain his constant degradation of me since I’ve been in his presence, I ask, “What’s wrong with shaking somebody’s hand while I’m sitting?”

“It’s impolite.”

You’re impolite!

“I’ve never heard of that before,” I tell him. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

For my next interview.

He turns up the bottle again, staring at me while he quenches his thirst. I catch a glimpse of his watch – a white gold, Audemars Piguet – and his well-manicured fingernails. I smell his sweet cologne. It’s more potent since he’s sitting closer to me.

I look away from him and glance at my watch. It’s not as elegant as his, but it gives me the time just the same. It’s 9:37, and I’ve accomplished nothing. I’ve decided that this interview is a waste. You live and you learn, and I’ve learned that every opportunity isn’t for everybody. This one can’t be for me. It can’t be. It’s time for me to leave.

I reach for my folder and say, “You know what…I don’t think—”

“What happened to your blouse?” he queries.

I look down at my blouse. It’s actually Ella’s blouse. I don’t own clothes this nice. My last job required that I wore navy blue uniforms. I rarely shopped for clothes. My wardrobe consists of many pairs of black leggings and old jogging pants from years ago.

Mr. DePaul grins and says, “Looks like the shirt of a toddler after her chocolate ice cream fell out of a ridiculous cone.” He releases a semblance of a laugh and continues, “I never understood why people eat ice cream from a cone. It’s messy, and it makes them look silly.”

I say, “It wasn’t ice cream—”

“I didn’t say it was ice cream. I said it looks like ice cream.”

“If you must know, I spilled coffee on myself while waiting for this ridiculous interview.”

I stand, take my folder, and say, “I don’t think I’m right for this position, so I’m going to leave.”

“Ms. Bailey—”

“And I don’t need Shanice to show me out. Trust me. I’ll find a way, even if I have to jump from a window.”

“Ms. Bailey.”

“What?” I snap.

“Do you always run when you’re challenged, because if so, there isn’t a firm in all of Florida that will hire you?”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. I’m very well connected. Now, instead of running, why don’t you stand your ground and tell me why you’re the perfect candidate for this position?”

“I’d rather not. You didn’t like me from the moment I walked through that door, so I know you’re not interested in anything I have to say.”

“Not true.”

“It is true. You literally told me to be quiet. Then you made me wait as if to prove a point when I didn’t get here late. So you can click your lil’ stupid pen all you want. And if I want to shake somebody’s hand sitting down, that’s what I’ll do. I’m out of here,” I say and storm off toward the door. I push it. The door doesn’t budge. I push and push and push and ram it some more. It still doesn’t open.

He says, “You have to pull it.”

I roll my eyes, embarrassed and angry at the same time. I snatch the door open and, as I step out into the hallway, the right heel of my shoe breaks.

You have got to be kidding me!