Seeking the Immortal Dao

A hot afternoon after I'd spilled orange juice in my pants, my father told me that the ability to hide awkwardness was one of the greatest virtues of a human being. I crystal-clear remembered following each and every single one of his words, ignoring stickiness, stares, and giggles as I hung my pants over my shoulder and walked without them.

I was seven at that time and as such the sight and deed wasn't as impressive as it could have been as a teen or even older. However, as a teen or older, I would prepare by ensuring never to spill orange juice on my pants, ever again, in the first place.

And as I remembered my father's words, I soon realized that the woman in front of me was the inverse form in the flesh.

She couldn't stop shuffling. She creased her business suit three times by now, adjusting her collar four times, dragged her skirt to her knees twice and her fingers entered a trademark steeple that could have been used in a body-language book as the picture for nervousness.

All the signs of a person who knew very little about interviewee etiquette engraved on her.

"Miss..." I stole a brief glance at the paper below. Disappointing. I'd seen strippers with larger résumés. "Rosevelt... was it?"

"Y-yes?!"

Closing the documents, I crossed my arms over them. "I must inform you that the hiring procedure here is unique. Oftentimes... glowing 'recommendations' and accomplishments mean less than the parchment they are printed upon. So, I'm going to be brief."

I gently and with perfect etiquette raised my wristwatch. The precious piece - evidence enough of this blooming society's Era - with a black and smooth surface quickly changed to show the time after a slight touch of my part. A digital 5:00 greeted my eyes.

"You have ten minutes to impress me."

With all honesty, if I had given her more at least ten years, she would have still failed. I counted six self-boasts, - of which I bet my life on that most were fake, if not all of them - three textbook-interview statements, two anecdotes and eight pauses with I then stopped counting after the two redundancies.

The only redeeming aspect she possesed was how much she amused me with the long, aching valuable seconds of silence as she racked her brain about things to say. Needless to say, she struggled from beginning to end.

The five minutes ended, sharp and rapid. Beeping too, as Miss Rosevelt flinched at the noise. She stared at the device as if it were pranking her.

"Miss Rosevelt."

"Y-yes?"

"Yes, sir."

Ah, there it is. The wonderful inability to hide her facial expressions. Her grimace was stunning in its readability, with almost all honesty.

"Yes, sir?"

"I will be brutally honest with you." I adjusted my rectangular glasses, taking it off and reaching into my breast pocket for a neatly folded white handkerchief. "You are utterly ill-suited for this job."

"I -"

"Do not interrumpt me."

She cowed.

An almost inexistent sigh escaped my lips, though she did not seem to notice it. "Not only do you lack the necessary minimum qualifications, you are also admittedly - by your own accord - incapable of utilizing the mandated computed software and your proficiency at several duties is nonexistent."

I wiped the glasses, slowly, once, twice, smoothly - in clean motions. I then placed them back upon my nose, adjusting them with my index finger. "Indeed, it seems the only reason you applied to a job that you did not possess the skills or aptitude for, and actually believed that I would not immediately feed your application to the nearest shredder is because...?"

Biting, seemingly subconsciously at her lower lip, her gaze tried it's hardest to avoid mine. "I-I need this job. My... my financial situation isn't very good." She grimaced, again. "No - it's horrible. I... I'm desperate."

I folded my handkerchief and then returned it to my breast pocket. "If only desperation could grant people employment."

"Please I -" She bit down on her lower lip. "I'm willing to do anything."

A stretch of silence followed her declaration. She leaned forward, clearly. I noticed her blouse seemed to have one of the top buttons mysteriously undone. Cleavage bared in my chest, a small tattoo of a bird's wing popping up as she locked her gaze with mine.

Again, I took off my glasses. Again, I brought out my handkerchief. I began cleaning my glasses in counterclockwise motions with my hanky.

This was either a very deliberate ploy by my brother and father in order to test the integrity of my hiring process, a trap conducted by individuals who possessed grievances against me in order to see me removed from my position, or potentially the least likely, a woman who believed she could spread her legs and use them to soar the corporate ladder.

I settled my glasses on my nose. "Miss Rosevelt." I began. "The word anything is rather damning. Are you certain that is what you mean?"

Her cheeks flushed. "Yes. Anything. I'd do anything."

"Would you mind telling me who hired you?"

Miss Rosevelt falters. "Hired me?"

"The person responsible for making you put on this façade. Was it my brother? My father mayhaps?" Her brows furrowed deeply. "You genuinely seem confused."

"I don't understand. I wasn't hi -"

"Shh." I stopped her with a palm. "I'm still talking."

She flinched again.

"It seems you were not indeed hired." I let my fingers steeple against each other on the desk. "Why are you here then?"

"I need a job -"

"No, you do not." I corrected her. "Your pitch was lackluster and halfhearted. Your credentials are heavily lacking, and you did not even attempt to do basic spelling corrections on your Curriculim Vitae, which - might I inform you - is spelled with two R's rather than one."

"A person truly desperate for a job would have lied tremendously on their application with the hopes that they never get caught. They would be far more meticulous in their design and planning, and would never waste valuable seconds scratching their index finger across their scalp eight times. If anything, I am more inclined to believe that you came in here with the full intention of failing this interview. So, I ask again, why are you here?"

Valuable seconds passed. She seemed intent on paying attention to the floor, as though it were a television set playing an amusing sitcom.

"Very well." I acquiesced. "That will be all for this interview Miss Rosevelt." I gestured at the door. "I have other applicants to attend to."

She rose, stiffly. I paid no heed to her expression as she left, nor did I bother myself with it. Rather, the inconsistency of her performance amused me. Shy, meek and barely confident women did not suddenly turn around and attempt to use sex as a bargaining chip. No professional would make that mistake, so it ruled out the possibility of this being a set-up by my brother or a trap by his competitors.

Perhaps if she had gone for someone more sex starved than I was, with considerably less self-control, it would have been a different matter.

However, there was nothing she possessed that I required or could not attain on my own.

A young fidgeting man in a gray business suit entered next, and the curious case of Miss Rosevelt slipped from my mind. Instead, plans of a new challenge began to stem forward.