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Description

  I stood before the small office building, shivering in the cold winter weather. This was my last chance, my last opportunity to convince my mother not to kick me out of the house. I had to nail this interview and get this job or else I’d be out on the streets. I had enough money saved up to get my own apartment, but I just wasn’t ready to move out. My mom said that if I go to university, she’ll let me stay and even help pay the tuition, but it doesn’t interest me. My friends say that I should just go, regardless, but I’m as stubborn as a mule and so is mom. This was the only thing I’d budged on.

  Getting a job.

  The process had been a long one, trying to find a list of places that were looking to hire, and my pickiness definitely didn’t help. What can I say, though? If I’m gonna have to wake up at six a.m. five days a week, it better be for something I enjoy doing.

  So now I’m here, at the last place on the list because every other one said that I wasn’t what they were looking for. It’s kinda ironic too, that my least favorite option happens to be the only one I have a chance at.

I walked up to the front of the convenience store and open the glass doors, the bell on the handle jingling as I entered. The clerk glanced up when he heard the door shut, looking me up and down. After a few moments, he asked, “You lookin’ for somebody? Or do you need an invitation to come in?”

  I gulped and said, “No, I’m here for the cashier job? I was told to come at two-thir—”

  “Yeah, yeah, now I remember,” he interrupted, waving my words away with his hand. “Follow me; I’ll take you to the manager.”

  Without another word, he left the cash register unattended and led me to the back of the store. There was a door there with the words “staff only” engraved into the wood. He knocked on the door and told me to wait for the manager to call me in, and then left to go back to his job.

  I probably stood there for twenty minutes in the empty store, waiting for this guy to call me in. I was getting impatient and starting to think that moving out might be a better option than waiting another minute for this lazy dude, when, finally, the door was opened from the inside.

  “Come in, please,” a soft toned voice said from inside the room.

  So I did. I didn’t know what I expected the manager to be like; maybe a bald, fat, middle-aged man with glasses and khakis. What I saw was completely different from that image. She wasn’t bald, fat, middle-aged, or a man. She did have glasses and wore khakis, but they looked good on her. The woman before me had strawberry blonde hair and tan skin. She seemed to be fairly tall from what I could see, but she was sitting down so I could’ve misjudged. Underneath her rather modest clothing, I could see tiny hints of some of her curvy features.

    I didn’t realize I was staring until she cleared her throat. I blushed furiously, mentally slapping myself for thinking those kinds of thoughts, especially about a woman who might end up being my boss; not the best first impression.

    Keeping my eyes averted from her, I walked over to the chair in front of her desk and sat down. She extended her arm toward me and I handed my application over. When she took it, I looked up at her and almost laughed. She looked almost cute, the way she rubbed her nose with her thumb as she read. She must’ve seen me looking at her because her ears turned red. Good God, this girl is adorable, I thought.

    “Your name is Jackson Fermon?” she suddenly asked, still not raising her head from the paper.

    I cleared my throat before answering, “Yes, it is ma’am.”

    “And you are twenty-two years old?”

    “Yes.”

    “Do you have any roommates or other people living with you at your current address?”

    I raised a brow, confused. “Y-yes, but--if you don’t mind--why do you need to know that if I’m just going to be a cashier?”

    She looked up for a moment before bringing her eyes back down to my résumé and application form. “People who live with others, mostly younger applicants like yourself, tend to give their roommates ‘special deals’ on prices here and rip us off. I’m not saying everyone is like this, but it has been a reoccurring theme in people your age. I hope you understand that.”

    Relief flooded me. I didn’t have to worry about that, at least. “Oh, well if I’m completely honest, I live with my mother, so…” I drifted off when I saw her expression. “What?”

    “I didn’t say anything,” she responded, sounding amused. She paused for a second before continuing, “You don’t have a degree and haven’t gone to college, not that it really matters here, but you graduated high school, so that’s something, I guess…” She flipped the page. “No criminal record, that’s good…” Suddenly, she frowned. Glancing up at me, and then down at the form again, she said, “You don’t have any past employers names or numbers?”

    “Uh, no. This would be my first job, if I’m hired,” I chuckled dryly.

    “Ohh, I see…”

    The interview continued like this for another fifteen or twenty minutes before she politely told me that I should go home and wait for her call. It ended rather abruptly, so I was a little worried when I walked out of the store and out to my car. The ride home was silent, me not being in the mood for music when I was anxious.

    At home, my mother bombarded me with questions like “how’d it go?” and “did you get the job?” It took me ten minutes to make her understand that I wouldn’t find out until the manager called me and told me. She told me that she found an apartment building with decent rent. Good to know that you believe in me, Mom, I thought afterwards.

    That night I was packing a few things away and looking at pictures of the apartments my mom was talking about, just in case the woman called to tell me I was outdone by another applicant, when I heard my mom say, “Hold on for a sec, miss; he’ll be right here,” and then, “Jackson! There’s a woman on the phone for you!”

    When I heard those words, I ran down the stairs lightning fast. On the last step, I almost tripped and fell on my face, but I caught myself just in time. Snatching the phone from my mother, I took a breath before saying into the phone, “Hello?”

    “Hi, Jackson? This is the manager of--”

    “Yeah, yeah, I recognize your voice,” I interrupted, eager to know my fate. “Did I get the job?”

  She chuckled softly on the other side and said sweetly, “Yes, the other applicant didn’t show up on time, and you did. Can you be here at eight tomorrow morning?”

  Now, looking back, I know that the huge victory dance I did when I heard the word “yes” was very embarrassing and that my mother will never let me forget it, but it was with glee that I replied to her with, “You got it, see you tomorrow morning.”

Description

  I stood before the small office building, shivering in the cold winter weather. This was my last chance, my last opportunity to convince my mother not to kick me out of the house. I had to nail this interview and get this job or else I’d be out on the streets. I had enough money saved up to get my own apartment, but I just wasn’t ready to move out. My mom said that if I go to university, she’ll let me stay and even help pay the tuition, but it doesn’t interest me. My friends say that I should just go, regardless, but I’m as stubborn as a mule and so is mom. This was the only thing I’d budged on.

  Getting a job.

  The process had been a long one, trying to find a list of places that were looking to hire, and my pickiness definitely didn’t help. What can I say, though? If I’m gonna have to wake up at six a.m. five days a week, it better be for something I enjoy doing.

  So now I’m here, at the last place on the list because every other one said that I wasn’t what they were looking for. It’s kinda ironic too, that my least favorite option happens to be the only one I have a chance at.

I walked up to the front of the convenience store and open the glass doors, the bell on the handle jingling as I entered. The clerk glanced up when he heard the door shut, looking me up and down. After a few moments, he asked, “You lookin’ for somebody? Or do you need an invitation to come in?”

  I gulped and said, “No, I’m here for the cashier job? I was told to come at two-thir—”

  “Yeah, yeah, now I remember,” he interrupted, waving my words away with his hand. “Follow me; I’ll take you to the manager.”

  Without another word, he left the cash register unattended and led me to the back of the store. There was a door there with the words “staff only” engraved into the wood. He knocked on the door and told me to wait for the manager to call me in, and then left to go back to his job.

  I probably stood there for twenty minutes in the empty store, waiting for this guy to call me in. I was getting impatient and starting to think that moving out might be a better option than waiting another minute for this lazy dude, when, finally, the door was opened from the inside.

  “Come in, please,” a soft toned voice said from inside the room.

  So I did. I didn’t know what I expected the manager to be like; maybe a bald, fat, middle-aged man with glasses and khakis. What I saw was completely different from that image. She wasn’t bald, fat, middle-aged, or a man. She did have glasses and wore khakis, but they looked good on her. The woman before me had strawberry blonde hair and tan skin. She seemed to be fairly tall from what I could see, but she was sitting down so I could’ve misjudged. Underneath her rather modest clothing, I could see tiny hints of some of her curvy features.

    I didn’t realize I was staring until she cleared her throat. I blushed furiously, mentally slapping myself for thinking those kinds of thoughts, especially about a woman who might end up being my boss; not the best first impression.

    Keeping my eyes averted from her, I walked over to the chair in front of her desk and sat down. She extended her arm toward me and I handed my application over. When she took it, I looked up at her and almost laughed. She looked almost cute, the way she rubbed her nose with her thumb as she read. She must’ve seen me looking at her because her ears turned red. Good God, this girl is adorable, I thought.

    “Your name is Jackson Fermon?” she suddenly asked, still not raising her head from the paper.

    I cleared my throat before answering, “Yes, it is ma’am.”

    “And you are twenty-two years old?”

    “Yes.”

    “Do you have any roommates or other people living with you at your current address?”

    I raised a brow, confused. “Y-yes, but--if you don’t mind--why do you need to know that if I’m just going to be a cashier?”

    She looked up for a moment before bringing her eyes back down to my résumé and application form. “People who live with others, mostly younger applicants like yourself, tend to give their roommates ‘special deals’ on prices here and rip us off. I’m not saying everyone is like this, but it has been a reoccurring theme in people your age. I hope you understand that.”

    Relief flooded me. I didn’t have to worry about that, at least. “Oh, well if I’m completely honest, I live with my mother, so…” I drifted off when I saw her expression. “What?”

    “I didn’t say anything,” she responded, sounding amused. She paused for a second before continuing, “You don’t have a degree and haven’t gone to college, not that it really matters here, but you graduated high school, so that’s something, I guess…” She flipped the page. “No criminal record, that’s good…” Suddenly, she frowned. Glancing up at me, and then down at the form again, she said, “You don’t have any past employers names or numbers?”

    “Uh, no. This would be my first job, if I’m hired,” I chuckled dryly.

    “Ohh, I see…”

    The interview continued like this for another fifteen or twenty minutes before she politely told me that I should go home and wait for her call. It ended rather abruptly, so I was a little worried when I walked out of the store and out to my car. The ride home was silent, me not being in the mood for music when I was anxious.

    At home, my mother bombarded me with questions like “how’d it go?” and “did you get the job?” It took me ten minutes to make her understand that I wouldn’t find out until the manager called me and told me. She told me that she found an apartment building with decent rent. Good to know that you believe in me, Mom, I thought afterwards.

    That night I was packing a few things away and looking at pictures of the apartments my mom was talking about, just in case the woman called to tell me I was outdone by another applicant, when I heard my mom say, “Hold on for a sec, miss; he’ll be right here,” and then, “Jackson! There’s a woman on the phone for you!”

    When I heard those words, I ran down the stairs lightning fast. On the last step, I almost tripped and fell on my face, but I caught myself just in time. Snatching the phone from my mother, I took a breath before saying into the phone, “Hello?”

    “Hi, Jackson? This is the manager of--”

    “Yeah, yeah, I recognize your voice,” I interrupted, eager to know my fate. “Did I get the job?”

  She chuckled softly on the other side and said sweetly, “Yes, the other applicant didn’t show up on time, and you did. Can you be here at eight tomorrow morning?”

  Now, looking back, I know that the huge victory dance I did when I heard the word “yes” was very embarrassing and that my mother will never let me forget it, but it was with glee that I replied to her with, “You got it, see you tomorrow morning.”