"Look, calm down," I moaned as my friend, Kelly sat, quivering on the sofa. My voice rang out in the empty room and echoed strangely around the recently renovated walls of the Youth Centre. We were alone, except for one of the teachers, who had quickly popped to the toilets. She fiddled nervously with her blouse, and I sighed.
"It's just like a questionnaire, but you're directly telling people your answer," I assured her. However, all my words of comfort seemed lost as the first pair of interviewers walked through the door, giving us looks of interest and expectation.
A few minutes later, and I was summoned. I gave Kelly a confident smile and waved a silent good-bye while she waited nervously for her interview in the room nearby. The elderly gentleman who had sent for me was holding the heavy, badly-painted door open for me, and, excitedly, I gave him a small grin of thanks.
By the time I was seated and had shakily smoothed down my blouse, I found myself instinctively putting on a false smile of expectation. I don't know why - despite all my words of comfort to Kelly, even I was starting to feel a little put out.
The woman opposite me was obviously a vicar of sorts: with the distinctive white collar and a large crucifix dangling precariously around her neck. She was not unattractive, but you could certainly tell she was old. The gentleman who had shown me in took a seat beside her and together, they scrutenized my every move.
It was hard to maintain eye-contact with them, as they seemed to be looking through your very mind, searching for any dark secrets... or waiting for you to slip up. However, they seemed pleasantly surprised once I got going, and listened intently as I spun them a length of yarn that even I wasn't aware of. I over-exaggerated my experiences with animals, for the mock interview was for my placement at the dog training department at an RAF base. I also quickly thought up a question to ask them once the long, tiresome interrogation had ended. This impressed them deeply at the speed at which I replied, and they scribbled hurriedly into the scrap on their clip-boards, where they had hoarded all the information and paperwork. And then, at long last, I heard the words, 'you can go'. It was like the bars of my bird cage had melted away and I could fly away from the stress and fear that had struck me upon entering the room.
Ten minutes later, and me and Kelly were reunited. Still excited from my apparent success, I raced down the high street, calling back to her, like a small child who, after working, had been set loose outside for the first time that day. By the time we had made it back to school, I was out of breath, but relieved. Now that I thought about it, the interview hadn't been so bad... actually... heck, I'd do it again gladly! I stood: looking up at the school, the place that would decide how well I'd do in the future.
Bring it on.