II

My college years ended, and my life was still aimless, but the only thing I knew for sure was that I hated my major so much I had to dedicate the rest of my life to something completely different.

So I started looking online for all kinds of jobs. First I applied for salesman at my favorite bookstore—my dream job, for the moment. After sending my résumé a couple times I got a job interview. I went to the store, told one of the salesman the reason of my visit, and he asked me to follow him to the main offices. We walked through a hallway and went up some stairs. There were piles of books at every step of the way, so I had to walk very carefully to avoid knocking them down. We got to the second floor and entered one of the offices. There were also piles of books everywhere.

The salesclerk then he asked me to wait for a moment and left. Minutes later, another salesclerk came, and the interview started. He asked me first why I wanted to work there. My answer was that I loved books and that was my favorite bookstore and it seemed like a nice workplace to be.

He then raised his brows for a moment and stared at me with a condescending expression, like he wanted to tell me: "oh, boy, you have no idea of how wrong you are."

That expression worried me a bit, but I decided to ignore it.

He also asked me about my expectations, my experience working at my college´s library, my favorite books, and I answered him as honest and calm as I could. Then, he asked me about my favorite genre.

"It's just that each one of us is like an expert of some area, so we can recommend a book to a customer when needed."

And that made sense, but the thing is I didn't have any idea of how to answer; I just read whatever I wanted. Sometimes I was into science fiction, sometimes into the classics, and sometimes into Latin American writers of the XX century.

So, from that point on, every answer I gave felt like I was only saying: "I read a lot, and I really like this place and I buy a lot of your books, so hire me, please."

Then the interview ended with a handshake and a promise of a call back.

I left pretty sure I didn't get the job.

And I didn't. I was so mad at them for rejecting me and embarrassed for being rejected that I didn't go back to that library in six months.

Meanwhile, I started to look for another job options. There was a call center that was always hiring people, and basically the only request they had was to be bilingual—english and spanish.

And because I had studied English for a couple years in one of those language schools and I consumed a lot of english media—books, YouTube videos, movies—I was so confident of my skills I sent my résumé and immediately received a phone call from them. I talked with an interviewer in English for a bit, and my pronunciation was… mediocre, at most.

But the interviewer didn't seem to mind, and we scheduled a face-to-face interview for the next day.

So I gathered all the documents she asked me to, and then… I started wondering. The idea of me, an extremely-and-quiet-and-frequently-strutting introvert, receiving phone calls all day long wasn't very appealing, and they were always hiring people, so I could apply there whenever I want, and my english was good enough, so they'll probably hire me.

Long story short, I didn't go the job interview, and saved the call center option as my emergency plan.

If I couldn't get a job anywhere else, I could just apply there again.

Anyway, I kept sending my résumé to different places I didn't really want to work in, thus, my dissatisfaction and anxiety about my future started growing and growing; those stress-induced stomach aches were more and more common in my daily life, and the idea that I'll end up in one of those jobs I applied terrified me more and more. Every time I send my résumé someplace I barely could sleep for the next few days, and if I didn't receive any answer on a week or so, I always felt so relieved that I started looking for any excuse to not send my résumé or go to a job interview or even reject a job offer.

One time I applied for a job as a sales clerk in a convenience store. The owner looked at my résumé for two seconds and told me I was too prepared to that job and I could do better, but if I still wanted it, I could start the very next day.

I didn't. I convinced myself I would find a way better job in no time.

And, besides, I had to wake up every day at 6:00 or even earlier to arrive there on time, and the pay was so low it wasn't even worth my time.

Because I started dedicating my time into something else.

You see, I loved literature, and my loneliness and my constant dissatisfaction with life meant I have imagined unrealistic scenarios throughout most of my life.

And those scenarios were nothing but fiction.

So maybe I could be a writer.

Everyone had always wondered what would happen if I released my full potential.

And now I could show them, so I started buying books about grammar, punctuation, storytelling, and I was so immersed into reading and writing I barely had any time or reason to keep looking for a job.

And I just stopped.