Chapter 2
I sipped my coffee as I circled the most appealing Job ads on the newspaper. Events. That’s what I’d specialized in. I actually wanted to become an event manager but that dream was a bit too far-fetched, I realized, once I had graduated. Every year, many graduate, in hopes of becoming rich and famous but only a few succeed. I know that we should think positive, but sometimes we also need to be realistic. So after one month of proper job hunting, I decided it was time I went for a lower position.
As I scanned the ads, I came to a stop at one particular ad. It was the most appealing of all. The trading company called Muzor was opening a branch in Whitvale and they would be hosting business meetings or parties every once in a while and they required people—event people. I circled it nearly fifty times before grabbing the phone and calling the number.
“Hello,” a very firm voice spoke.
“Hi,” I said in my most confident tone. “I’m Amy Wilson and this is regarding the ad in the newspaper.”
“Oh, yes.”
“Is the offer still open?” I asked, even though it was obvious.
“Yes. The interview is at 12 this noon. Please be dressed in formals and bring an upgraded CV with a photo along.”
“Thank you,” I said, hanging up.
I looked at the wall clock and it was only ten. I still had an hour so I quickly finished my coffee while I re-read the ad to make sure that I was going for the right job. Yes. They require event people. I couldn’t believe it. I have such a good feeling about this, I thought, as I took a shower and scrubbed every inch of my body especially my face.
After I was done, I went through my wardrobe and pulled out a white crisp shirt and black slacks. I slipped it on and buttoned up before pulling up the slacks. I then took out my coat and put it on. Well, I looked presentable and that’s all mattered. I, then, quickly put slight make up on my face that didn’t look too light or too dark. It was neutral and it did make my face look good. After I straightened my brown hair, I switched on my laptop to upgrade my CV.
And that’s when all my hopes shattered.
My work experience area was basically empty other than the volunteering jobs I had taken up at college. I had no experience in the events field at all. I started hyperventilating, wondering, what the hell I was going to do. I had to bluff, I knew that, but I hated lying—but at the same time it would probably be the only thing that would get me through. I mean, for my previous jobs, the first question they asked was-
“Do you have any past experiences in the event’s field?”
“No,” I said before adding, “But how will I get experience if I’m not given a shot at it?”
“True,” the interviewer said. “But this is for an event manager’s position you have applied for. If you have no experience then I’m sorry.”
“Can I at least have other positions?” I asked, pleadingly.
“No, I’m sorry. We require experienced people only.”
Well, that explains my hyperventilating, even though this wasn’t exactly a manager’s position I was applying for. So, half-heartedly I type out a fake job experience back in UK with some company’s name which I haven’t really worked for, and after that I go on google and type Muzor’s name. It’s always good to study about the company a bit before going for an interview.
As it turns out, Muzor’s Trading Co. is owned by a fifty-eight year old David Muzor and recently, half of the company was inherited by his twenty-six year old son, Sam Muzor. I didn’t bother reading much biography; instead, I skipped to the important details where they mentioned about events organized by the Muzor’s. It was considered their way of networking. As I skimmed through the pages, I realized, there wasn’t really anything much for me in it. I mean, I was going for an event’s job interview for god’s sake, not for some PR interview.
Giving one last look to my CV and its fake job experience, I take a print out before putting it in a transparent file. I re-checked my face in the mirror before going downstairs and leaving a note for mom who had gone to the grocery store. I know, it’s weird but I didn’t want her worry about me since she was mentally weak already.
I left the house, feeling a very positive energy burst through me. It was almost as if I could feel the sun shining through my ass as I took a cab, and that was until I entered into the white sandstone lobby and realized that it was a walk-in interview where there were nearly fifty men and women waiting to be interviewed.
I was screwed.
What the hell was I going to do? I felt my confidence go down the drain and my legs felt wobbly when I went to the receptionist and gave my name.
She smiled, sweetly, typing in on her computer. “Amy Wilson.”
“Yes,” I said, hoping she’d say ‘Lucky you, you’ve already been selected’. Funny, since that would never happen in a million years unless I was some five-star event planner.
“Please, wait. We’ll inform you when your turn comes.”
“Uh…” I hesitated, slightly. “How many people are already waiting for the interview?”
She smiled, again and typed, “Around seventy at the moment.”
“Oh,” I faltered at that thought. I turn around and scan the lobby for an empty space to sit. The whole lobby was practically filled until a man emerged from the lift holding a clipboard and pen and he called out a few names, asking them to follow him. As soon they left, a few places became vacant and I hurriedly went over and sat on the single-white couch before anyone else did.
And waited.
Minutes felt like hours. Hours felt like years. It was like waiting for the year 2060 to come. Almost three hours had gone by and I had practically finished going through every magazine that was there. The clipboard man emerged from the lift and kept calling out another fifteen to twenty names. Each time the elevator would open, I would see people coming out looking sad or excited. Some of them probably did get the job and some didn’t. I was worried that I was going to be one of those who wouldn’t get the job.
Finally, he came out and said, “Amy Wilson.”
I literally jumped up from my couch, holding my CV tightly. Now that I was a nervous wreck I realized I didn’t know how the interviewers would be like. Would there be one? Or would there be two? I felt sweat form on my forehead as I followed the clipboard man.
He was a round-short bald man who looked like he was in his thirties. I smiled at him as a way of greeting and he did the same. I and a few others followed him into the elevator which could hold up to twenty-five people max. No wonder he called out more than ten names at a time. Once we all gathered in, he pressed 3 and I felt my breathing quicken. A lady next to me shot me a dirty look but that didn’t help one bit. I was so terrified. I had gone for interviews before and they didn’t turn out so well, over that I had faked my CV--which is bad. Like really bad. If I would get caught, I’m sure they would blacklist me or something.
As soon as the lift stopped on the third floor, we were all ushered out and into a waiting room. Here the interior was slightly differently from the lobby downstairs. Its main color was light grey instead of white. I sat down on an empty chair, feeling my stomach tie itself in knots.
Okay, I should run.
Now that I had finally come up, I couldn’t believe what my mind was suggesting. Run? After waiting for hours, I should run? I was scared, I admit, but I wasn’t going to run. The clipboard man kept calling names after every five minutes and I couldn’t help but look through the glassed walls that surrounded the waiting room, at the ones who had already finished the interview. Some looked really anxious and some really very sad. There were a few who looked happy. Only a few, I noted.
When my turn came, I knew I had to put on a confident look. He led me to a room which was a bit farther from the elevators. Taking in a deep breath, I knocked once before entering. It was a medium sized room with a desk placed at the center and stern-looking woman with rimmed glasses sat behind it with her laptop. And behind her sat a man who was busy typing away on his Samsung Note. I couldn’t see his face since he was facing the window, and I assumed that he was going to be the silent interviewer. The one who wouldn’t talk and just stare.
“Please sit,” the stern-woman said.
“Thank you,” I said, politely, handing over my CV.
Her eyes immediately flew to the work experience section. I saw her fingers scan through and stop right at the event’s experience I had faked. Shit.
“I see you have past experience in events?” she looked up, staring at me through her rimmed glasses. But for me it looked as though she was analyzing me.
“Yes.” I replied, curtly.
“Midlands Event Management Company?”
“Yes.”
“I see,” she says. “And you have studied at the University of Manchester in UK.”
“Yes.”
She gazes at the CV thoughtfully before looking back at me. “I want you to tell me a few things you have learnt at your previous job.”
I swallow hard. You can do this, I mentally chant. “We—uh—I learnt that timing is everything as well as planning. Everything needs to be pre planned and we must brace ourselves for the disasters that may follow.”
She raised an eyebrow, “so you’re saying that there will be disasters even if you pre plan?”
“Of course,” I said, feeling sudden confidence rise. “Things always go wrong at one point or another.”
“You’re actually one of the few who has admitted that things can go wrong. Most of the applicants were so sure that with thorough rechecking—it can be avoided.”
“They were bluffing,” I blurted, instantly regretting it.
And for the first time, the man behind turned around to take a good look at me. I could feel myself sinking in the chair. He stretched one hand and picked up my CV, reading my name.
“Amy Wilson.”
I nodded, mutely, not knowing what else to say.
“What position did you hold at your last job?” he asked.
I was so intimidated by his voice that I nearly squeaked, “Assistant.”
He raised both brows like he wanted me to continue and I felt my face go pale. Shoot. I didn’t know what to say. I mean, I didn’t bother to check any of the event managers’ names. Well, this is what you get for lying, my inner voice said and I shut it out.
Think for a name. Think for the most common name in UK. Oh god, by the looks those two were giving me it was obvious they were catching up with the fact that I was lying. I searched my brain as much I could before blurting-
“Victoria.”
The man frowned, “Victoria. Last name?”
“Jones,” I said, recalling a friend’s name.
This time he gave me a skeptical look, “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” I gave him an equally steady look.
“The last time I checked I don’t remember any Victoria Jones. You see, we always hire Midlands for our events there.”
I felt myself go crimson. This is it. He knows I lied. But he put it in such a kind way that I could not help but look away. I didn’t know what to say and I heard the paper being pushed toward me.
“I’m sorry,” the lady said, sounding sympathetic.
“I’m sorry too,” I said, taking my CV. I was about to get up when the man’s voice stopped me.
“I liked your confidence but I did not like the pride you carried about how others are wrong and you are right.”
I swallowed, feeling extremely mortified. I felt the tears pricking at my eyes as I said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—“
“I know,” he interrupted. “You want to fake your CV, go ahead. But never talk about others like you are better than them or much more honest.”
I stared at him, feeling anger build up. As I kept staring at that arrogant man’s face I could not help but snap, “Honesty? When I am honest about my work experience, no company wants to hire me because I’m a fresher. You want honesty, here it is. I am an event management graduate who has no work experience in that field whatsoever. Will you hire me now? No! you won’t because I have no experience. Well, how would I get experience when none of you are willing to give me a bloody shot!”
I knew I crossed the line but it felt good since the arrogant recruiter was talking as though he was some holy good-ass recruiter who believed in honesty and did everything right. The woman looked clearly pissed off and the man was expressionless.
“You have crossed the line, Miss Wilson,” she said. “I’m afraid; we aren’t going to consider you.”
“Fine,” I said, not bothering to take the CV and walking out.
Instantly, I regretted everything I said. I was way out of line and she was right, they would not consider me now. I shouldn’t have faked my CV, not when it was a walk-in interview. But as I thought about what happened, I realized, I could have ended the interview a little more dramatically by saying, “you know what? I don’t give a damn anymore!”
I walked out of the building, feeling the sun hit my skin, making it warm. I sighed, walking over to the taxi stand where there were already so many people waiting for a cab. So, instead, I decided to walk back home.
Wearing black under the sun isn’t fun, especially, when it sucks all the heat to your body, making you feel hotter than you have felt in life. Feeling weak, I kept walking that is until my phone started vibrating in my bag and I realized that I had turned on the vibration instead of keeping it on silent. I quickly zipped open my bag and pulled out my phone to see a number, I didn’t recognize, calling.
“Hello?”
“Hi, can I speak to Amy Wilson,” a steady voice spoke on the other end.
“Speaking.”
“I’m calling from Muzor’s Trading Co. You have been selected for the event’s job and you would be required to sign a contract before which you will be given details about the job,” she paused to see if I wanted to say anything.
Well, I was in too much shock to say anything so all I said was, “Go on.”
“When can you come to sign the contract?”
“Uh—now?” I turned back to look at the familiar building.
“That would be great Ms. Wilson. When you arrive please come to the reception and you’ll be informed then.”
“Sure. Thanks,” I said and hung up.
A feeling of pride and joy surged through me and I could feel myself grinning like an idiot as I walked back to the office. Most of all I was in shock they considered me after my outburst and I secretly thanked God that I did not say anything too rude like I’d wished I had.
“Hi,” I grinned, stopping at the reception desk.
The lady behind the desk smiled up, “How can I help you?”
“I’m Amy Wilson. I’ve been selected—“
“Ah. Yes—“ she interrupted politely. “Go to room number F2 on the first floor. Miss Catherine will direct you further.”
“Thank you.”
I walked through the lobby, feeling excitement bubble inside of me. I pressed the button for the elevator and waited. As soon as one opened, I entered before a voice called out to hold the lift.
I pressed the ‘door open’ button and waited until a familiar face entered the lift and I felt shockwaves through every nerve of my body.
It was Troy McKenzie.
As soon as he registered my face, he breathed out two words, “Oh Shit.”
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Leave your thoughts! would like to know if your enjoying this story so far or feeling sleepy hehe! I'm hoping people would like this as much as they liked The Model Nex Door or maybe more, but it's just hopes so lets see how far it takes me. xD