You walked into the kitchen, and saw your best friend - Luisa, seated at the dining table, having her breakfast. Not only was Luisa your best friend, she was also your roommate. The two of you shared a house together, and things could not have been better.
"Good morning," you laughed as she stuffed a piece of bacon into her mouth.
"Morning," she mumbled before pointing to the microwave. "I made some for you," she said with a mouthful.
You grinned and walked over to the microwave, opening it.
"Thanks," you said before taking the plate of food out, setting it down on the table and sitting down across from your best friend.
"So," she took a sip from her glass of orange juice. "How's the hunt for jobs going? Found any yet?"
You groaned and shook your head.
"No," you sighed. Luisa worked as a sales representative for the local pharmacy, and recently - you had lost your job as an international bank officer, mainly because the respective bank had run into bankruptcy. "But I have an interview today," you bit your lip. "For the job as a personal assistant to Michael Jackson,"
"Oh my God," her eyes widened. "The Michael Jackson?!"
"Yes," you shrugged.
"Ah! I'm so excited for you! Is he going to be conducting the interview?"
"I don't know," you responded. "But I hope I get the job - my savings can't suffice forever,"
"I have faith in you!" she exclaimed. "You'd be better than all the candidates! I know it!"
"Thank you," you laughed. "I really hope I don't screw it up,"
"Ugh, if you get the job - I'm going to cry," she giggled. "Michael Jackson!"
"Well, I'd love to stay and converse with you, but I'd better go and get ready for my interview!"
"Good luck, sis!"
About an hour after you had gotten ready, you had made your way down the studio, the venue where the interview was going to be held at. When you walked in, you saw hundreds of different people - all waiting in line.
You inhaled deeply and clutched your bag close to you as you walked up to join the line. Several heads had turned in your direction, but only because you were stunning.
You had on a black coat over jeans, and your hair was teased - making you look like something straight out of a magazine.
Suddenly, you saw a nearby door open - a man walking out. Instantly, it had clicked to you that that was where the interviews were being held.
A fairly chubby man was standing at the door - as if he were a security guard.
Your hands were cold and sweaty, and your nerves were getting harder to control.
"Next,' the chubby man said. The next person walked into the room before the man shut the door.
This was going to be a long wait.
After several hours had passed, you were now at the front of the line - waiting for the person inside to walk out. No one was behind you, as you were the last candidate.