Let's talk about the coffee.
The coffee you made a big show of pouring for yourself and you didn't ask me if I wanted any. I've been sitting here for five hours. I've gotten a little sleepy. I would have really enjoyed a cup of coffee.
What's that now, a styrofoam cup? Where did you even find one of those in this city? Don't you know that every time you drink out of one styrofoam cup, you kill one whale? One sweet, innocent, intelligent, cute, endangered baby whale?
But you're not really drinking out of the cup, are you. I've noticed that. You ask me a question and as I struggle to answer you'll take the cup up to your enormous mouth and sort of dab it against your lips. When the cup returns to the table there will be another ring of lipstick on its rim but the coffee level remains the same.
Let's talk about that lipstick. What's it called- Dusky rose? Chocolate valentine? Ebony Blush? I'm curious. But then again, I'm not the one allowed to ask the questions here, am I.
Lady, this is not how normal people drink coffee. Most of us have figured out how to, by a complicated-yet-not-unattainable process of tipping the cup, relaxing the jaw and swallowing, get the stuff out of the cup and into the system where it belongs. Just what is your deal that you haven't picked up on that yet?
You ask me what my proudest moment is. We're about 3/5 of the way through the interview. Sorry-through your portion of the interview. The interview is seven hours long. But before this there was three months- THREE MONTHS- of phone screening. Writing tests. Applications. Forms. And now here we are.
What is my proudest moment. 'Like, ever? In all of life?' I dare to ask. You look at me for a calculated second. One brick short of a load, is what you're thinking. You purse your lips. "Please just tell me your proudest moment." (I VILL DO ZE QVESTIONING!!!) Your hand reaches for the styrofoam cup. Dab. Dab.
I have many proudest moments! I'm quite accomplished, a real self starter, a go-getter, my nose has practically been whittled off my face from being on the grindstone, I've never missed the forest for the trees and I have never, not once, not ever thrown the baby out with the bath water.
Ah, here's one! I relate to you my proudest moment. My voice is what I call confident powerhouse with the appropriate amount of wistful. I silently congratulate myself for nailing it.
You are unimpressed. My GOD but you are unimpressed. You fold you hands in front of you on the table. Blink slowly. Lady your robotic engineer did an excellent job this morning of programming you with equal parts exasperation and patience. My compliments. "Why don't we find another example." Is what you say.
Yes. Why don't we.
My proudest moment, in nearly twenty six years, is having somehow developed the iron will that is keeping me right now from telling you how incredibly ugly you are. That maybe if you'd pressurewash some of that make-up off or chisel a half pound or so of those rocks from your fingers maybe I'd be able to stomach you. I am very, extremely, exceptionally proud that I can sit here and not reach across the table and throw that cup of coffee into your face.
What? Oh come now. It's not scalding. It'd get the message across without those nasty assault charges.
You know what. Perhaps I feel differently. Actually, the fact that I continue to sit here, straight spine, wielding a smile and not doing any of these things, this is in fact the least pride I've ever taken in myself, ever.