Job Interview 'pickles'

I decided the safest plan was to go about my day pretending nothing had happened.

Spoiler: this was a terrible plan.

The next morning, I got up early for a job interview — my first one in months. The company, Brightside Marketing, sounded respectable enough, though their job description was so vague it could’ve been for a cult recruiter or a pyramid scheme. But I needed the paycheck, so I ironed my best shirt, brushed my hair into something that almost resembled intentional styling, and practiced smiling without looking like a mall mannequin.

Everything was going fine. Until my left eyebrow started twitching.

I don’t mean the normal kind of stress twitch you get after too much caffeine. No, this one had rhythm. It pulsed like it was trying to tap Morse code onto my forehead. And, to make it worse, my hiccups were back — the squeaky, rodent-like hiccups I’d first noticed in raccoon form yesterday.

I tried to hold my breath while the receptionist led me to the conference room. Bad move. You know when you try not to hiccup and your body decides to overcompensate? I made a sound halfway between a squeak toy and an angry squirrel.

The two interviewers — one in a suit, the other in a cardigan — looked up sharply.

“Are you… alright?” Cardigan asked, in the careful tone people reserve for strangers muttering to themselves on public transit.

“Yes!” I squeaked. “Fine. Just… allergies.”

Allergies don’t explain the tail.

Yes, a tail. Somewhere between “tell me about a time you overcame a workplace challenge” and “what are your salary expectations,” I felt a sudden weight shift at the base of my spine. Something brushed against the back of the chair.

I froze.

Don’t panic, I told myself. Maybe it’s… a fold in my shirt. A cord from the chair. Something normal.

Then the tip twitched.

I did what any rational person would do: I tried to shove it under my shirt while maintaining eye contact and pretending nothing was wrong. Unfortunately, my shirt was fitted, and stuffing a raccoon tail under it made me look like I was smuggling a ferret up my back.

The cardigan guy kept glancing down like he’d spotted movement, and I could practically hear the mental HR red flag checklist being ticked.

“So,” Suit Guy said, “what do you consider your greatest strength?”

I panicked and blurted, “Pickles.”

There was a long pause.

“…Pickles?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said, leaning in as if this was a deep and intentional metaphor. “They are… versatile. Much like me.”

The rest of the interview was a blur of me stammering through answers while trying not to swish. I practically sprinted out of the building the moment it was over, forgetting to shake hands.

---

By the time I got home, the tail had vanished, and so had any lingering hope of landing that job. My phone buzzed — a message from the friend who’d set me up with the interview:

> How’d it go?

I stared at the screen for a moment, then typed:

> Let’s just say they’re probably not hiring anyone with a rodent problem.

Before I could set the phone down, another message popped up:

> Weird thing — the guy in the cardigan said he’s seen that “tail thing” before.

I blinked.

> What “tail thing”?

No reply. Just the three little dots. Then the typing stopped.

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Diary Entry #2

Dear Diary,

Public skinwalking = 0/10. Do NOT recommend.

Today I learned the following:

1. You can’t control when or where parts of you shift.

2. Tails are impossible to hide without looking like you’re shoplifting a raccoon.

3. “Pickles” is NOT an acceptable interview answer unless you’re applying to work at a deli.

Also, I’m starting to notice that the cravings hit hard right before the changes happen. I passed a food truck on the way home and almost ordered a bucket of pickles just to “be safe.”

Tomorrow I’m going to research what the hell is wrong with me before I accidentally sprout whiskers in a public bathroom.

— Me