I applied for a position some months back as an administrative assistant in a small publishing house. The work was pretty simple, and it was an entry-level position in a field I hadn't done before. Something new, something nice, as long as it wasn't more long hours rushed off my feet in a cafe.
I got a call back, asking if I could come in for an interview. Very polite on the phone, we set up a time and I went in all polished up and ready to impress. The building itself was a fairly nice establishment, quaint and well decorated. I was asked to take a seat in the reception area, and was still kicking around forty-five minutes later when a portly gentleman entered the room, asked the secretary something, then turned to me.
"Ah, so you're Zazi then?" he asked, then put forth the wettest, coldest handshake I've ever experienced. If he hadn't just walked in from outside, I'd have assumed he just finished building an ice cream from scratch, "I'm Jonathon Parks- you can call be John, if you'd like. Come this way."
He led me past a few doors and into a small office with windows on three sides; one to the street and two on the walls to adjoining rooms. He gestured for me to take a seat on a small plastic chair (one of those ones bought surplus from or for primary schools) in front of his desk. He took a pull from a flask retrieved from under the desk, and put it away again before turning to me.
"Sorry I'm late, big line-up on King William, tram line's still underway, you know how it is."
"No problem, it's been a good opportunity to calm my nerves a little."
"Not nervous are you?"
"Uh, not so much anymore. Just get a little tense for interviews."
"Ah, no worries. Just relax. I've had a look at your CV and you seem rather well qualified for the position. It's nothing too groundbreaking, but we do expect our employees to be at least intellectually stimulating, confident, able to articulate themselves, so on and so forth. So, to get this underway, how's your game, boy?" He gestured to the wooden chess board set down to the side of the desk. I was thrown off a little by this, but tried to avoid stammering as I worked out that it was just him trying to make conversation and calm the atmosphere.
"Pretty good. I don't go playing tournaments or anything, but I do like a game here or there. Although I can't read the notation for the life of me."
"Excellent, excellent. I find a good game is perfect for cutting away all the unnecessary fat of a conversation. Lets you focus more on the important details. Do you mind?"
He put this forth more as a statement than a question, really, because I was barely able to nod out a bemused 'Yes' by the time he'd pulled over the board and was setting up the pieces. He let me take white, since he had what he called the 'home team advantage'.
I should mention that I'm of a fairly one-track mind. When playing chess, for instance, I find it difficult to concentrate on anything other than my moves, making sure I don't miss anything obvious. Doubly so, in this case, as it seemed my position here was at least gently resting on my abilities to perform under pressure.
A few moves in, he starts asking the usual interview questions: Why did you leave your last job, what's your five-year-plan, what would you do if you encountered a particularly scathing email directed at the publishing house, et cetera. For all the apparent flaws in his plan, I admit that I found it a good deal easier to answer his questions in a truthful, professional sounding manner while my mind was focussed on the game.
We took a break after about half an hour wherein he told me he wouldn't ask me any more job related questions until we resumed. We went for a walk around the office as he showed me where everything was and introduced me to a few of the people on. We grabbed a drink from the break room and went back to his office. As I sat down, I noticed a few people standing on the outside of each of the windows facing the adjacent rooms. Apparently we'd accrued an audience for the game. I also noticed that John had started adjusting himself rather uncomfortably as soon as he sat down.
The game continued, and I took the center of the board to my advantage. I took a look around- our audience had grown quite large. More people were watching than I remembered seeing in the office, and John's questions had become breathless, almost laboured. His moves had been coming quicker and quicker, giving me less time to think about each of mine in turn. Finally, he released a loud groaning yell and slumped forward onto the board, panting. Our audience gave us a small applause and the trance was broken. I looked over at John, his p***s purple and swollen in his clammy mitt, then over to our slowly dispersing audience.
I decided that it was in my best interest not to further pursue employment with their company. I stood up, put my jacket back on and turned to leave. As an afterthought, I moved my bishop into checkmate.
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