The Job Interview

Suddenly it had gone from a hot summer's day in Prague to a cold dark winter's night in Cardiff. Cars ploughed though the driving rain, their headlights glistening in the gloom like fairy lights. Those caught unawares were sent scurrying for cover as rivers ran in what once were roads. Summer dresses clung to bodies, sandals proved inadequate protection while soaked shirts revealed hairy and not so hairy chests.
I was sheltering under a bus stop watching my counterparts on the other side of the road being splashed by careless drivers cruising too fast down the river. The poor things had thought they were safe under the shelter, they hadn’t figured on the cars drenching them.

I had a decision to make, and finally I knew how The Clash felt; should I stay or should I go? If I stayed, I would be late and that would not make a good impression but if I go, I'd get soaked to the skin also not the best look for a job interview. I looked at the sky for a clue to the weather, the majority was dark grey slate but one corner was a glimpse of light; enough to take a risk? Maybe. But then again the wind was whipping in from the west and the brightness was away to the east and moving further away from me; escape was impossible.

Why hadn't I brought my brolly I mused, not that those with umbrellas were faring much better; the combination of wind and rain was making resistance futile.

Time was ticking, I had to make a decision. It was now or never. I decided to go for it. I hopped across the puddles on the road and already I was regretting my decision. I could feel my shirt sticking to my skin as it was immediately drenched in water, my hair clung to my face and my socks were already sopping wet in my waterlogged shoes. But it was too late now, no turning back, I was wet I may as well get wetter. It was only a five-minute walk but it felt like 5 hours. I tried to avoid the puddles but it became clear that there were no puddles, just one expanse of water. This was a foolish escapade but I had to get to that interview.  

I squelched into the posh building looking like a failed contestant on Total Wipeout. Rain was running down my face, running down my legs, there wasn’t one part of me that was dry. The receptionist looked at me askance when I told him why I was there. What did he expect? Had he never seen anyone wet before? Could he not see it was Armageddon outside? I was shown to a waiting room and managed to nip into the toilet and dry my face on a paper towel before being called into the interview room. I apologised for my look and they said they quite understood but I could tell by the tone of their voices they didn’t.

The interview was awful, the aircon was on full blast and I sat shivering in my wet clothes trying to answer questions while trying to control my breathing. Eventually it was over and I wrote it off as a soggy waste of time. And so it proved to be, by the time I’d walked home, drying off in the now beautiful sunshine, they’d already managed to send me a rejection message, I’d half expected to get it in a bottle.