The Interview

       I have been a stay at home mom for almost 12 years.  During that time period I have fought the demons that have haunted me over the years about attempting to return to work.  How would I ever find a job?  What would I put on a resume after all this time out of the workforce?  What would I use for money to hire a babysitter??  I took the ideal option and stayed home with my kids vowing I would return to work when they went to school.  What holds me from going back to work?  It is fear with a capital F, plain and simple. Fear of rejection, and fear of the unknown.


      Despite the fact that someone noticed me enough to want to meet me in person, my confidence level plummets.  I have always hated the interview process.  I can just imagine the anxiety going up about 10 notches.  What would I say??? Panic would grip my heart! Dear G0d, what would I wear??  I have a great wardrobe for a stay at home mom who writes in her pajamas, but it isn’t that appealing for the working world outside my front door.

        Assuming someone would call me in for an interview I can just imagine how the events would unfold.  First I would be overjoyed that I was being considered and being given a chance.  Then reality would begin to set in.  I would begin to panic as I threw first one outfit then another out of the chaotic hell hole that is my closet. Oh woe is me!!  I would try on several different ensembles in front of my curious assembled menagerie of pets.  “Oh hell no, this is so 11 years ago!!”  “Oh $hit!  I look like an elephant in this!” The panic would escalate as I burrowed deeper into the recesses of the closet.   After repeated exclamations and dismissals I would be left with maybe only one outfit that might do.  I find one black shoe, and then another.  I wonder what the hell I wore when I did work. I don’t honestly remember!!  A quick trip to buy the one thing I would never wear otherwise, pantyhose, and I would be set.

      The day of the interview dawns entirely too early considering I tossed and turned all night and was plagued with a nervous bout of diarrhea every half hour throughout the entire night.  At least they can’t accuse me of being full of $hit.   As I look into the one mirror that came with the house I realize I look as if I had been through the wars.  I scrub my face and search the bathroom for the discarded makeup from yesteryear. Let’s face it; there is no earthly reason to wear it when you never go anywhere.  I slap on some rouge and lipstick and realize that I look like a cheap wh0re who is trying entirely too hard. Oh L0rd!  After scrubbing my face until it is bright pink, I go for the less is more theory.

        Finally I am on my way!!  I arrive early, announce myself to the receptionist, and settle into the farthest chair possible to wait. My palms are hot and sweaty.  My knees are knocking so hard I am sure the efficient little receptionist can hear it clear across the room where she sits staring at a computer. I begin praying and making deals with G0d if He would just help me get the job.  If he would just let me survive this ordeal in one piece!!  Why am I here again, think, think, think??  Do I really want to go back to work?? My brain is a jumble as I wait. The money sure would be welcome my brain tells me.  I hate this!! Why am I here, again??? I want a job. I want to make money again.  The door opens. They will see me now. Oh $hit…here I go!

         All of a sudden I am hit with the question I have dreaded most. “So, what have you been doing in the past 11 years?” The interviewer’s eyes bore into my very soul.  I sit up a little straighter.  “Aside from wiping noses and a$$es you mean?  Did I just say that out loud?”  By the look of the interviewers face, I must have.  The interviewer’s expression is priceless.  I bite my tongue trying hard to contain myself. Tears form in my eyes. I can’t take it anymore.  The fury is unleashed!  The giggles spew forth.  The interviewer looks shocked, smirks, and then discovers the giggles are contagious.  The truth is out.  You can’t UN ring a bell.  I apologize profusely, and thank the interviewer for their time.  In my embarrassment I make a hasty retreat. 


        

       I wake up hyperventilating, drenched in sweat and realize it is only 3 am.  Shaking I comprehend my interview is scheduled for 10 in the morning. OH NO! It is back to the bathroom again until next time when I give you another glimpse into the life of a trucker’s wife.