Monday, I went for a job interview that altered my life as so many things do change our lives. Below, you’ll find the gist of the conversation that left me smiling from ear to ear.
I ambled into an office to meet the interviewer. The room was devoid of any knick knacks that would make a place homely. He greeted me with a firm handshake and motioned for me to sit in a bland steel chair. After sitting down in the frigid chair across from him with an island of industrial black cracklin’ steel between us, I handed him my resume.
His eyes skimmed the first page, then, he proceeded to put on his glasses and flip to the next page. After a very intense minute of peering through my work record with a blank countenance, he said, “Oh, this is interesting”.
“What’s that, sir?” I pleaded, whilst reaching over the enormous desk.
“It says here that you are a photographer and poet”, he answered, as his eyes journeyed from the paper to me.
“That is correct, sir.”
“You?”
“Yes Sir”, I exclaimed with sincerity.
“Published?” He enquired, whilst grasping a pen from the middle desk drawer.
“A few of my photos are in the process of being published locally and a few of my poems have been copyrighted”, I replied.
“Well, this has no relevance to the job we discussed….”
“Indeed.”
“I’m just curious…”
“Curiosity killed the cat…”
“Are you calling me a cat?” He asked, whilst leaning back in his black leather pleated chair.
“I don’t know, am I?” I demanded whist roaring with laughter.
“Speaking of curiosity, what’s that there that you’re holdin’?” He inquisitively asked whilst leaning over the desk.
“Ah, that’s my portfolio.”
“Portfolio?”
“My best poems, photos, and drawings”, I responded, as I nervously handed it to him.
His eyes lit up like a chubby kids on a hot summer day, when he or she hears the tasty tune of an ice cream truck.
His eyes weaved from line to line only stopping to glance at me, as he flipped the pages.
His complexion transformed from a pale white to a lively red, as his eyebrows twitched up and down with every stanza.
After a few minutes of intense studying he leapt from his chair, and muttered, “I’ll be right back”.
I glanced around the room to discover a few empty frames and an oil painting of a lovely amber and jade colour leaning up against the wall.
He and his lovely wife rushed through the office door expelling a cool scent of spring from outside.
She laid my portfolio down on the frigid desk with sharp corners, and demanded, “You drew these drawings, took these photos, and wrote these poems?”
“Yes Ma’am”
With enlarged eyes and mouth agape, she turned back around and whispered something to her husband before leaving the room.
Mr. McMurray (that’s what we’ll call him) sat back down, pulled himself up to the desk, and asked, “Why do you want to work for me?”.
“Because I need a job, sir.”
“Bullshit”, he yelled, as he leapt from his chair.
“I’m sorry…”
“Do you even realise what kind of potential you have?”
“Yes Sir.”
“I don’t think you do, because if you did, you sure as hell wouldn’t be wanting to waste you life away working a mundane job for me”, he said, as he reached in his dress shirt pocket and pulled out a card.
I wanted to smile but didn’t want to blow any chances I might have, so I just stood there with a black look.
While scribbling on the business card, he muttered, “Here is a number to a friend of mine at the local paper…He owes me a favour…You should get in contact with him ASAP”.
“You are an unpolished gem my boy, and you don’t even realise it…My God man…You should be having exhibitions in New York, not here, asking me for a job”, he hollered, whilst handing me back my portfolio.
“Really?”
“Jaysus boy, be confident about your work…You have more potential than half the monkeys out here having exhibitions and getting paid millions because someone made a face at them when they were children.”
“Thank you, sir”, I yelled, whilst saluting him.
“I’ll pass your info along to my brother”, he said, as he patted me on the back and lead me out the door.
“Your brother?”
“He’s a senior professor at MICA (Maryland Institute College of Art) in Baltimore.”
I stopped dead in my tracks, and mumbled, “Brilliant – My cousin attended MICA”.
“Then you know of its history.”
“Yes Sir.”
“I’ll send him your info and get the ball rollin’ for ya.”
“I can’t thank you enough, sir.”
“Sure you can…When you get famous throw a little fame my way.”
“Will do”, I replied, as we both laughed and shook hands.
I left his office with a feeling of euphoria that I’ve not felt in quite some time. I woke up this morning knowing that something fantastic would happen, and it did. Still, I feel that something even more grand is just around the corner. I can feel it in my bones.
I’m just a mere humble country boy. I don’t mean to toot my own horn but somebody’s got too! 
I don’t mean to sound vain, but I am anything but a plain ‘Merkan white boy.
There is a multitude of people that can draw better, take photos better, and write poetry better than me. But, none of them, none, can do it quite like me.
Crikey, if I’d told him my life story, I might still be there or on a plane for New York or Baltimore!!! Mr. McMurray is an extremely down to earth fellow but worth millions and smart as a whip!
Welp, it has been a long a glorious day!
I’m totally psyched people!!
I’m going down to the local paper tomorrow and demand that they give me a job! I’ve got other plans if they don’t so know worries. Anyway, I may find work across the Atlantic. You never know ’bout me.
Have a grand week all…
P.S.: I smile, when I sleep. At least, that’s what I’ve been told.
P.P.S.: Planning this trip is driving me nuts!
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Wonderful! I am dancing up and down with delight for you!
Hey good luck with the paper. . .I think I dribble in my sleep!
Grannymar, thank you very…very much. You are a sweetheart!
Baino, me too!