I ajusted my cheap, red tie which seemed to be too loud for the understated five star hotel-the venue of the interview. My suit, I felt was a shade crumbled and short and out of sync with the neatly pressed attires of a dignified interview panel. There was a Charlie Chaplin complex within. I was at a disadvantage; one of uneasiness as I started off.
I did not know the answers to the first five questions. That perhaps made me diffident.I picked up confidence out of that diffidence. That prodded me to draw them to what I knew rather than their asking me things I did not know. The Chair of the Panel, a very dignified old man seemed particularly patient. He said he appreciated my efforts to put things in a proper perspective. There was a lady member who seemed soft towards me. Or was it sympathy… One member seemed downright hostile if not contemptuous of my dearth of knowledge.
When I left the room, I was not sure if I would get the job… I did not care…All that mattered to me was that I had been honest.I had not bambozzled them with b***sh** even if I had not baffled them with my brilliance. I had recovered lost ground. I thought it was fifty fifty.
You win some… you lose some…
Would I get selected?
storiesofmigrant 