The Interview

The hum of electric lights sting the already tense atmosphere. Rows and rows of plastic chairs line the walls, sat upon each are the nervous men and women all here competing for the same thing. My entrance catches a few stares and glances, but most appear to be stuck in their own worlds. I notice an open seat next to an older man who's already staring me down. Taking my place along the walls my shoulders bump into my neighbor causing a bit of stir.

“Kid… you’re not here to get a job are you?” questions the man.

“That’d be correct. I’ve been waiting for this moment for what feels like forever now.”

“For a job? Here?? Of all places???” The man scans me up and down, until returning back to my eyes… “You sure you’re not looking for some body building competition?” he remarks with complete sincerity and amazement.

I’m definitely NOT your average run of the mill employee type guy. I’m a towering 6'3" or ~190cm tall, and compared to everyone here I’m extremely muscular. For a little comparison my bicep looks like it could be bigger than this guy’s head.

“Hah you got me, but no–here is actually where I am applying. I’m actually from the west, and traveled here just for work.”

“A westerner… Well, good luck. But I doubt you’ll be getting hired–” The man’s voice is cut short as a door slams open sending a tumbling and terrified, likely failed applicant screaming and running out of the interviewing room. Following his departure a gust of wind blows countless other rejected resumes stamped with red ink out through the doorway. Sending many of the once just nervous applicants into an even deeper despair.

Everyone focuses the door, swinging open and closed. An ominous aura emanating from the beyond. Nobody has the guts to take on the next interview.

“I guess it's my turn.” I blurt out, speaking to myself. The man’s shocked expression can tell no lies.

“American boy… what do you think you’ll accomplish in that room?”

“What do you think? I’ll get the job of course! I’m going to become the big boss, the CEO. I’m pretty certain new applicants shouldn’t be running away screaming from the interview room. When I’m in charge, I’ll change that.”

“Kid… who are you?”

“Call me Jonathan, Jonathan Biziness!”

And without further ado, I disappear into the interview room.

~         ~         ~

“Name, birthday, and position you’re applying for.”

The interviewer’s office is dim, with the only light hanging by a chain slowly swinging back and forth dramatically overhead. Stacks of paper inked with red lay scattered across the floor, all of them look to be resumes of failed applicants. All that sits between me and the interviewer is a worn grey desk, that seemingly has a rectangular crater imprinted into the middle of it likely due to the excessive force applied when stamping out potential applicants.

And that interviewer… It's not human. A robot with a screen for a head, and long steel tubes for arms, one clawed hand, and the other has a stamp fashioned to the arm's end.

“My name is Jonathan Biziness, I was born March 8th, 2005, and I’m applying to be the business top dog.”

“Jonatha–!? bzzzzt –Strike one.” The interviewer machine makes a hash mark on its screen.

“Strike one? What do you mean? What’s wrong?”

“Strike two.” The machine marks a second one down.

With my face likely giving off the impression of complete bewilderment the interviewing machine’s robotic voice talks down to me.

“Welcome to the interview sir, you’ve already gone down to one strike remaining and we’ve barely gotten started.”

The interviewer pauses, scanning me up and down with a blank gaze… does it want me to speak up?? No–no I’ll wait until it says something other than belittling me.

…

“For your first strike, your motive for working here is to become the “top dog” as you say it… That infantilizing of titles will not be tolerated, if you aim to be the CEO, then say that. Second strike, you spoke out of line, only speak when I ask a question. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.” I say, nodding once, then adjusting my posture to a more stern and upright position.

“Your resume sir, give it here.”

I reveal my resume to the machine, sliding it over to its side of the table. The interviewer inserts it into a small slot. As it does, the information flashes onto the thing’s face-screen. Highlighting in red each and every piece to discredit me and my aspirations.

“It says here you just graduated high school, do you have any work experience?”

“Sorry, no I don’t. I came here as soon as I could to get a job.”

The machine buzzes louder almost as if to intimidate me, settling down it continues to scan the data.

“You’re a foreigner?”

“Yes sir, I flew in from New York City a few days ago.”

“What do you want to be paid?”

“I’m expecting upwards of a million dollars a year, so I think that would be umm–about a one-hundred million yen salary.”

“Yes.”

The interviewer gives it a once over, scrolling through it. Then it prints it back out, laying the resume flat back on the table.

“I’m sorry sir, I believe you’re just too good for the company. Please find a job somewhere else.”

… … …

In the brief silence, the interviewer raises its stamping hand, and unlatches the ink pad, applying red ink to it.

“Wait– permission to speak sir.”

“Permission granted.”

“Sir, if I’m too good for the company, I’d still like to be, well you know, hired…”

The interviewer closes its ink pad. Laying the stamping hand down on its side.

“We’re sorry, you failed. I could suggest some other jobs in the area if you’d like, however your chances of a career here are over.”

“What the hell!? No! I refuse to leave!”

“We’re sorry sir, but here you’re just not going to cut it. Would you like to know how many applications we receive in a day? How many bad resumes find their way atop this desk? Lots. Countless people want jobs. We get people like you all the time. Naive brats that are all talk, not a bone of Work Ethic in their bodies. So again we are sorry, we will decline your application.”

The interviewer pauses a moment, almost looking dissatisfied with its answer. Maybe gaining some sort of sentience.

“I’m sorry sir, but this “Job Application” you’ve applied to isn’t real, of course there’s a job waiting for someone but it's not you, nor is it anyone waiting in that room out there. The boss at the top, has plans to hire his son to eventually replace him and become CEO. We’re all the best employees possible in his goal of evolving the business. Humans will be a nuisance of the past.”

“However we will continue this interview charade for as long as needed. The longer the more hours I get, and with that the more money. All humans are just a paycheck for me. A boost in processing power.”

“Do you seriously believe that!” I exclaim pulling my resume back into my grasp.

“THAT’S IT – STRIKE THREE!” The interviewer machine raises the stamp over its head, as it does it begins sizzling, glowing an intense red heat.

CRASH!

The interviewer slams the stamp down on the table, narrowly missing my resume.

“Hand it over, that thing, your resume.”

The interviewer acts almost beast-like lunging across the desk in search of my resume. The red hot stamp hovers menacingly over its chrome dome as the other scattered papers marked with red begin glowing and floating up alongside him.

“What the hell is this!?”

“This is what true Work Ethic looks like, I’m just doing my job. Clearly you’re unfit for this work environment so I’ll remove you, by force if necessary.”

The resume crumples in my hand as my fist clutches tightly around it. I can feel the paper slipping from my grasp as whatever telekinetic powers this interviewer machine has is trying to steal my future in the company away from me.

“I was warned of adversaries like you, interviewer-thing! You’re just a hater! You were supposed to lead this company to a better tomorrow, as an interviewer you have to find those diamonds in the rough, not throw the entire box of potential into a pit of depression! If anyone here’s not fit for their job–IT’S YOU!”

I raise my fists, readying a combative stance. I spent most of my free time training my body. I’ve sparred some pretty powerful bodybuilders in my time. This desk robot has nothing on me!

“A lowly human questioning the intelligence of computers is baffling! I’ll shred your resume away and prevent your worthlessness from ever being hired again.”

The machine’s paper slot begins glowing a deep red and starts revving like a buzzsaw. Two more long leg-like metal appendages emerge from its base, lifting itself from the top of the desk, lunging at me!

BOOM!

A quick sidestep has me avoiding the barreling machine, but the wings of paper trailing behind it graze me, slicing burning paper cuts across my body. Yet still my resume remains intact.

“Gyaaa! –You’re not even human! Who gives you the right to decide if I’m worthy of this job!?”

“Bzzzzt– My process of elimination, and endless interviews tell me everything I need to know the moment an applicant walks through the door.”

“Don’t you think that’s a reckless way of decision making!? How can you know an applicant is good instantly, not even a machine is that accurate. Data can be misleading. And I’m an outlier!”

Along with my retort, I deliver a heavy shoulder check into the back of the interviewing robot–BLAM!–the machine slams into the wall crashing down alongside some fallen filing cabinets.

The entire room erupts into flames including the machine now glowing red hot. The floating papers meld together with loose paperclips and pencils becoming spears of flame, all aimed at my clutched resume.

WOOOSH!

The shoot forth, slicing through the air like arrows. Hitting my body as I protect the resume with my life. Catching fire I find myself stopping and dropping and rolling. And yet no amount of rolling douses the flames! I need to stop this before I burn along with my future in this company!

As I recover from the barrage I catch a new glimpse at the machine, now its stamp has expanded to a massive size, more akin to a warhammer! Despite the power it now holds, the weight of the giant stamp looks to be much greater than the machine can manage.

And yet it still operates enough to lunge again, slamming the flaming stamp into the floor. Leaving a burning mark that leaves the word “FIRED” seared into the concrete flooring.

Managing to dodge once more I hammer a heel down on the machine’s wrist connecting the arm to the stamping hand–causing it to break apart and detach from the machine. Sending the interviewer reeling backward and tumbling over itself.

The next thing that machine saw was me, towering over it with a giant flaming stamp in hand–

“Let’s consider this your exit interview, you’re fired!”

STAMP!

As the stamp graces the machines screen the flames and the room extinguish, leaving the only remaining searing flame plastered over the machines face.

“B-b-b-bbzzzzt—ow–how could you have defeated me, and with no job?

“With a little hard work and dedication, anything is possible. That’s the power of us humans.”

“Bbzzzzttttzzzttt—-your Work Ethic is strong, even without a job… I retract my previous decision, you’re hired. Your strength to adapt to the situation at hand may even grant you the title of Employee of the Month. You’ll find a second stamp in the desk, take it with you, use it to hire yourself.”

The interviewer machine attempts to point in the direction of the desk but barely manages to twist its body in the general direction.

“What happens to you now? Weren’t you not supposed to give me a job?”

The burning mark of termination burns across the body of the machine. That mark seemingly deterring most if not all of its actions.

“Zzzzzttzzzzztttt—-I will be removed from this floor, and removed from the building. That is the fate of a fired employee. Do be cautious moving forward… …termination means… … the end.”

With what one can only assume to be the last jolt of breath the machine carried it halts all operation becoming nothing more than an oversized paperweight.

…

With this stamp, I alone, am the next employee.

END CHAPTER 1