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“I don’t want the job.”
She’s either nuttier than a Christmas cake, or no one’s told her this isn’t the way to ace a job interview.
“Sorry?”
“Working in the tasting room is not the job I want, but it’s a job I’m willing to do. Mainly because I’ve dotted my last “i” and crossed my last “t” as a receptionist in corporate America while taking online classes at San Francisco Wine School to become a sommelier. I studied everything I could, but the only real way to learn is by apprenticing and working with wine in person.”
Stretching my legs under my desk, I school my expression so she doesn’t see that she’s surprised me with her directness. But I can be direct, too, and this interview is over.
“You’re overqualified, and in my experience, that never bodes well for an employer or an employee. You’ll get frustrated, and that’ll make me frustrated.”
She huffs. “I get the feeling that’s your natural state. Besides, I won’t be working for you.”
“Indirectly, you will be. I handle the business side, and employees are my business.”
“Then you should know I’m an excellent employee. I have a plan. Pay my dues in a tasting room, work my way up to sommelier, run my blog, and make my own wine.” She pauses and seems to weigh her words. “I mean, I’m already doing that, but whatever,” she mutters dismissively.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You just said you make your own wine. Is that true?”
She shrugs. “Yeah. Closet winemaker. Literally.” She points to herself.
“What’s that mean?”
Pressing her lips together, she assesses me, maybe wondering how dumb I really am. “It means I make wine in my closet. I pressed a batch of grapes last night and strained out the juices. But this morning, I checked the hydrometer that sits in one of my fermentation containers to see if the sugar levels looked right.”
“And if they don’t?”
“I run the risk of making vinegar instead of wine. But you know this, being a vintner, of course.” She side-eyes me as if making sure I’m not a wine impostor.
I’m still stuck on the last three things she said. “You make your own wine,” I say, ensuring I heard her right.
“Yup. Science nerd here. Making my own wine. Don’t judge.”
I shake my head in disbelief. But I’m riveted. “And how was it?”
“What?”
“The sugar level.”
“Just below one, which meant I needed to add a little extra sugar. The grapes I chose were risky because they’re a more sour variety, but I’m experimenting. That’s the whole point.”
“You just dump in some sugar, and you get wine?” I know a lot more about wine than I’m making it seem, but I want to know her methods.
“Not exactly. I dissolved granulated sugar in warm water and added it little by little until it seemed right. I may have rushed the process because I needed to get out the door and on the road. Which is why…” she says, looking down at her lap, “I forgot to bring my change of clothes for the actual interview. These are what I slept in.”
I should be a better guy and not look right at her chest, where it’s now quite apparent she isn’t wearing a bra, and at her slim legs, which I’ve been staring at since she got here.
Either she doesn’t notice my salacious look or she’s used to it because she keeps talking.
“Anyhow, I figured I could explain all that to your brother and tell him about my other experience, so hopefully, I’d get the tasting room job I want.”
“Bad idea,” I tell her.
“Excuse me?”
