Roommate's Virgin

“What did you say your job was again?” I asked.

Simon Coney turned out to be a tall, lanky guy with bright red hair, freckles that covered most of his face and large ears that stuck out noticeably. He looked like a cartoon character.

“I work in Sales,” Simon replied. “For this big pharmaceutical company.”

“Huh,” I said, trying to suppress a smile. “I used to be a salesman too.”

“Yeah?” Simon said, looking interested. “What did you sell?”

“Pot,” I replied.

Simon looked at me for a second and then burst out laughing. “Good one,” he nodded, obviously believing I had just been joking. I let him think that; I wasn’t in the mood to get into my sordid story just yet.

He was the third person who had come to see me regarding my apartment and he was by far the best. The first two had been a complete write-off and I had rejected them on the spot. I decided to put Simon on the short list. If someone less annoying showed up in the next two weeks, he was out, and if not, he was in.

“So… how do you feel about parties?” I asked.

“Parties?”

“I have people over often,” I said. “I wanted to know if you’d be ok with that.”

“Oh,” Simon said, and I saw reservation creep into his eyes. “The thing is… I’m taking a few courses as well… just part time, but I need to study, so I kind of need quiet as much as possible.”

“There’s a library close by.”

“I like being in my own space when I study.”

I knew right then and there that it would never work. Simon seemed to understand that too because he thanked me and left right after. Sighing, I went to my room and rummaged through my drawers for something presentable to wear to the second interview I had lined up in two days. I had community service to report to in the evening, so I hoped the interview wouldn’t run too long.

I found a white shirt, and then I paired it with dark pants. I dressed quickly and looked at myself in the mirror. I looked very presentable… but I also looked like every other working schmuck out there, and I hated that. There was no sense of creativity or individuality in my appearance, and I felt like a sellout, as I got ready to leave for the interview.

I was interviewing at a marketing firm downtown. They were a small company but they were rising within the ranks, and I wanted to get my foot in the door before they grew so large that they would raise their standards. I was already worried that it was too late. I was sent to the third floor of the building, and after speaking to the receptionist, I was told to take a seat with the other candidates.

There were two other men sitting in the waiting room. Both were dressed just like me, and that made me feel even worse. Was this what the corporate life would do to you? It was the very reason I had chosen the arts. I wanted to celebrate differences; I wanted to create images of all those things… people and moments that were unique.

I had to wait an hour, and I kept checking my watch nervously. I could only afford to wait another fifteen minutes. If the interview itself took longer than half an hour, then I would be late to the station. I would either have to risk being late for my community service or I would have to cut the interview short. Screw it, I thought. I would just get late to the damn fire station, and the boys would just have to deal with it.

None of them had really warmed to me, but after Seth had spoken to them at least they had stopped the outward hazing. They just barked orders at me and then criticized me afterward whether I did it right or not. I didn’t care… their opinions didn’t matter to me. What did matter to me had nothing to do with any of them.

My thoughts had been preoccupied of late by Zoey, the beautiful green-eyed girl that had walked into my life with a box of cupcakes. I had hoped to hear from her in the next few days, but I had been sorely mistaken. She had disappeared just as suddenly as she had appeared and I found myself wondering if I had just misread all the signals. Maybe she wasn’t as into me as I had initially thought.

I decided that it was for the best. I had a lot going on right now, and I didn’t need the added complications. Even as I thought it, I knew I was just being sour about it. If she appeared tomorrow and asked me out, I certainly wouldn’t turn her down.

Finally, I was called in for the interview. The room I walked into was smaller than I had expected and the woman sitting behind the desk was looking at me with the kind of judgmental gaze I had prepared myself for.

“Mr. Danvers… am I right?”

“That’s right,” I nodded. “You can call me Devlin.”

“Great,” she nodded. “Take a seat and let’s get started.”

“Ok.”

“I read your resume,” she said, glancing at the paper in front of her.

“Ok?”

“It’s painfully limited,” she said. “Do you have any marketing experience at all?”