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DEIRA
For the third time since I'd sat down in this lobby, I looked over at my reflection in the glass window and checked that I looked okay. It was a nervous habit, made worse by how expensive everything in this company looked. I took a deep breath and tried to calm my nerves.
My phone dinged and I checked it, grateful for a distraction. It was a message from Dani. "You got this!!!" it said, followed by a string of what I assumed were meant to be encouraging emojis.
I took another deep breath.
I almost had not applied for this job. When Dani showed it to me, I insisted that there was no way I was qualified. Especially once I saw the pay. It wasn't extraordinary, as far as executive assistant salaries go, but it was well above what I'd ever made at a job.
"What's the point?" I asked Dani. I was sure that this job would go to someone with connections, someone whose father or aunt or business college mentor knew the owner.
"What's the harm?" Dani had countered, and I had to admit that there was none. So, I'd filled out the application, sent it in, and thought nothing about it. Three days later, someone called and asked me to come in for an interview.
That was two interviews ago. I'd never been through such a strenuous interview process, but I'd also never had such a positive experience. Both people who interviewed me were friendly and direct. They explained the whole process. The first interview was about my skills. We'd talked over my experience and I'd taken an assessment. I was surprised to find that I had a lot of the qualities they were looking for. The HR interviewer smiled and said, "We find a lot of people mistake their qualifications for their abilities. This interview process is designed to evaluate both."
I had been impressed and had quietly started to hope I might have a chance to get this job.
I kept submitting other applications, though, and going to any interviews that would have me. It was starting to feel like interviewing for jobs was my full-time job.
The second interview with this company had been about whether or not I was a good fit for the company itself. The interviewer had explained the various facets of the business, the biggest one of which was the management of warehouses all over the country, and a few in other countries. She'd talked about how the owners of the company had started it when they were in college, and grown it from a local business into a nationwide enterprise. It all sounded very impressive, which made me nervous—especially when I found out the position I was up for was as the executive assistant to one of the owners. Still, the interview had gone well, and they'd asked me to submit information for a background check.
I filled out the form for them and dared to hope a little bit more, but then I hadn't heard from them for almost a week. I thought it was best to give up hope at that point.
I'd gotten a different job offer, working the overnight shift at a laundromat. It was far from ideal. The pay wasn't particularly good, working all night would make it hard to also keep my job during the day at the florists, and of course, that meant I had to find someone willing to stay with Makayla during the night. That was a big ask of a friend, which probably meant I'd have to hire a sitter. Once I accounted for that expense, what was left over would be barely worth my time.
It was my only solid prospect, however, and so I was close to convincing myself to accept it when I got a phone call from an unknown number.
Ever since the hospital, I'd let all unknown numbers go to voicemail. I silenced the ring and put the phone down, turning back to my budget calculations. I was just on the brink of figuring out how we could possibly squeak by if I could make the laundromatandthe flower shop work. The call stopped, and a minute later, a notification for my voicemail popped up. I unlocked the phone and dialed the voicemail.
"Hi, this is a message for Deira Wilson. This is Anna, from S&R Management. You interviewed with us for the executive assistant position last week, and we'd like you to come in for a final interview..."
I went a little numb and my heart started pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. A final interview? That meant I was close. Really close. The thought of this job—one job, with reasonable hours and decent pay and even benefits—was extremely tantalizing.
I was so excited I had to listen to the message three times before I was sure I'd understood everything she said. After that I called her back, my hands trembling, and confirmed that I was still available. She scheduled my interview for the next day, which seemed too soon. But also, I was technically supposed to give the laundromat my answer by the end of the day today.
I called the laundromat and convinced them to give me another day, hoping that if I did get this other job, they'd be speedy with letting me know. And then I immediately started obsessing over what to wear.
It wasn't that I cared so much about what I looked like. It was just that I knew the right impression was important for these sorts of companies. Especially now, when I was meeting the man I would actually be working for. The final interview was with him, and my impression was that it was just down to his personal preference. There was no predicting that, but there was a good bet that he wouldn't pick someone that he thought looked unprofessional.
That night, Dani, Makayla, and I had laid out all my clothes and decided on the best options: plain black slacks paired with a dark green blouse. The blouse was a soft, shimmering material that could have been mistaken for silk if you didn't know any better. I added my trusty pair of black dress shoes and small pearl earrings. Makayla proclaimed that I looked "like a businesswoman" and Dani ran her eyes over me critically and gave me a nod of approval.
"You look good, but not too good. Very neat and professional. Pull your hair back, but not too severely, and do your makeup so that it looks like you're not wearing any. That way, you're very appealing but don't suggest that you're looking for anything besides work."
"It's terrifying to me that your mind works that way, and even more terrifying to me that you're probably right," I said. Dani shrugged.
"I told you I'd help. An honest visual assessment is my contribution at this stage of the process."
"I see," I grinned as I went back to the bedroom to change out of my clothes.
And so here I was, waiting for the interview. Checking my appearance for the third time.
Make that fourth time.
"Ms. Wilson?" A man in a nice suit was standing a few feet away, looking at me.
"Yes, that's me," I jumped up, and hoped he hadn't seen me checking my reflection. He led me to an elevator, and we went up an impossible number of floors.
"Is this whole building your operation?" I asked, hoping that was acceptable interview small talk. He shook his head.
