CH01 - naoya & the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad interview

“No experience at all?”

The man in front of me seemed way too sharply dressed for a convenience store interview. The typical dark suit and polished shoes of a businessman that belonged in the financial district, and a gleaming watch that probably cost more than my wardrobe. All I could hear was the steady tapping of his pen, somehow louder than the old air conditioner struggling in the corner.

I glanced around the room, wondering if I had somehow walked into the wrong building.

The sign outside had said KONBINI L&F, and the sudden beep of a microwave confirmed it.

“I haven’t worked at a convenience store before,” I said with a smile. I had read online that being likable was more important than your qualifications, especially during the interview.

He looked down at my application.

“So this would be your first job.” He gave me a stiff look.

I blinked.

“Well, I’m a high school student. Isn’t that normal? Does that matter?”

I immediately bit my tongue. I wanted to reach across the table and shove the words right back into my mouth.

Great.

I was ten minutes in, and I was already getting smart with the person who might become my boss.

“I mean,” I quickly continued, “I thought most people applying for summer jobs wouldn’t have much experience. It’s not like I’m trying to become the CEO or something.”

The silence that followed told me that probably wasn’t the right thing to say either. He stared at me, his eyes swirling with some combination of disappointment and frustration.

I was starting to hope I could apologize, thank him for his time, and quietly disappear before I made things worse.

“Most applicants,” he finally said, “would choose their words more carefully during an interview.” The man was soft-spoken, but his words were drenched with annoyance.

“That’s true,” I admitted quietly.

His eyebrows twitched slightly. I couldn’t tell if I was continuing to ruin my chances, but I kept going.

“I just…” I gestured randomly with my hands, trying to formulate a sentence that could save me at this point. “I don’t want to pretend I have experience when I don’t. My grades are fine, and I work hard at what I do. I’m applying for a summer job because I need one.”

He stopped tapping and leaned back in his chair.

“You’re very honest.”

“Is that bad?”

He didn’t answer immediately.

“Well, I guess it depends.”

“On what?”

“Whether you’re thinking about the person listening.”

I definitely messed up. I could feel it—a lecture was incoming. Years of living with my parents developed that instinct. I braced for impact.

“Honesty is important, but there’s a difference between saying what’s true and saying something in a way that makes someone regret asking.”

I fiddled with the edge of my shirt.

“I see.”

This interview went horribly. I had already accepted defeat. There was no point trying to recover from this. I just wanted to go home, collapse on my bed, and pretend this never happened. Actually, before that, maybe I’ll buy something on the way out. It was unbearably hot outside, and an ice cream would probably keep me from melting right into the pavement.

I was surprised that nobody really seemed that interested in stopping by to cool off.

The man sighed and picked up my application again.

“I’ll be honest with you. Your grades are average, you have no relevant experience, and your answers were…” He searched for the right word.

“Bad?”

He mulled it over.

“Unfiltered,” he muttered, flipping through my materials again. “Honestly, I’m not sure why you were chosen.”

“Chosen?”

Before I could ask what he meant—and register the strange expression on his face—a voice came from behind us.

“I think he’s fine.”

An elderly woman had walked in with a tray of tea. She was short, with silver hair tied neatly behind her head and a plain cardigan that looked like it had seen better days. There was nothing particularly intimidating about her. If I saw her outside, I’d assume she was someone’s grandmother out for a walk.

The man rubbed his temple.

“I was conducting the interview.”

“And you made him think he had already failed!” she replied with a chuckle. “He was only being honest.”

“So was I,” he mumbled, adjusting his tie.

She placed the tray down on the table and looked at me.

“So? Why do you want to work here?”

I hesitated. Unlike the man in the suit, she didn’t seem like she was waiting for the ideal response.

“I need money. To save up for things like cram school. I guess.”

Silence.

For a second, I wondered if I had somehow managed to make the interview even worse.

But her smile widened, and she laughed. It was light, musical, not the polite kind adults did.

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting money. A job is a job.” She looked at me with gentle eyes. I relaxed slightly, though I was unnerved by the fact that she seemed to be able to tell what I was thinking.

“But this store isn’t only about money.”

She rested her hand on the man’s shoulder. He looked like he wanted to object, and the tired expression on his face made it obvious this wasn’t the first time they had gone through this conversation.

“This one helps people find things they’ve lost.”

“Lost?” I glanced behind me. It was difficult to see the store from the back office, since I was only looking through a doorway. Most of the aisles were hidden from where I sat. Still, I tried to remember what I had seen when I first walked in. Strangely unclear.

I could picture the counter and the usual things near it, like candy or drinks.

But the shelves themselves? Fuzzy. Nothing specific came to mind, but maybe I just hadn’t been paying attention. After all, I had been too busy worrying about the interview.

“Things people lose,” the woman repeated softly, bringing me back to the moment.

I smiled awkwardly.

“Like wallets?”

She laughed.

“Sometimes. But the things people lose aren’t always things they can hold in their hands.”

Before I could ask what that meant, she turned and walked away.

“We’ll see you Monday, Naoya.”