Aug 2013
“So what makes you the best of all potential employees?
What makes you stand out from the crowd?”
He need not speak his mocking of me out loud
As he leans back to rest in smirking self-ease.
But who can blame him, in all honesty?
Who could respect my bumbling and fumbling?
Every answer eluded me, with each question came crumbling
Down any confidence I had of interviewing successfully.
I begin in a voice almost inaudible:
“Kind sir, though my interview skills are hardly laudable,
When I'm in my element, I'm pretty nice and friendly...”
He interrupts, “Speak louder, son, we're in a factory!”
My family said list what qualifies me
When asked such questions, list them: 1, 2, 3...
So I take a deep breath, lean forward in my chair
And look straight in his eyes through my emo-cut hair.
“Good sir, I'm dedicated, in early, out late..
Um....yeah, I mean, I'll work no matter my state.
I'm always working for something; I think I'm pretty motivated...
And people tell me I'm smart, like, I'm educated,
Uhm, yeah, all that, and also, I'm organized,
Like I'm really pretty OCD, I line my pencils up by size...”
“Yeah yeah yeah, I've heard this all before,”
He says as before I can think of something after number 4.
He looks at me with his hand ready to dismiss,
But suddenly I discover I've a heart to resist,
And more than resist, a heart to defend,
My person from this man who isn't worth my rear end.
“Before I leave, good sir,
I pray you allow,
One more list of words,
This one about the crowd.”
He rolls his eyes, but says, “Go on.”
And so I begin as though nothing's wrong:
“Sir, I think you might be right,
The crowd is indeed more dedicated than I:
They pursue whatever they see in sight
And they'll stop an nothing, they'll leave you to fry.
I can tell you also they cling more to their motives that I to mine,
But theirs are rooted in the love of money, *** and wine.
My motives, I fear to tell, are more easily given up
Once I recognize my errors and find bitter taste in my cup.
Moreover, I am less educated than the crowd
In matters concerning **** and prison life and crack;
I wonder at the courage my naivete to speak aloud
Or admit to you the great amount of knowledge I lack.
Finally, I'm less organized, to a great degree,
The crowd is much more cunning than me
And they plan out things so much better than I,
What ever will I do if things go awry?”
“Good sir, if this makes me less in your eyes,
Then the job you offer I'd likely despise.
So give me a call, take me or leave me,
But never, never, never dismiss me.”
What makes you stand out from the crowd?”
He need not speak his mocking of me out loud
As he leans back to rest in smirking self-ease.
But who can blame him, in all honesty?
Who could respect my bumbling and fumbling?
Every answer eluded me, with each question came crumbling
Down any confidence I had of interviewing successfully.
I begin in a voice almost inaudible:
“Kind sir, though my interview skills are hardly laudable,
When I'm in my element, I'm pretty nice and friendly...”
He interrupts, “Speak louder, son, we're in a factory!”
My family said list what qualifies me
When asked such questions, list them: 1, 2, 3...
So I take a deep breath, lean forward in my chair
And look straight in his eyes through my emo-cut hair.
“Good sir, I'm dedicated, in early, out late..
Um....yeah, I mean, I'll work no matter my state.
I'm always working for something; I think I'm pretty motivated...
And people tell me I'm smart, like, I'm educated,
Uhm, yeah, all that, and also, I'm organized,
Like I'm really pretty OCD, I line my pencils up by size...”
“Yeah yeah yeah, I've heard this all before,”
He says as before I can think of something after number 4.
He looks at me with his hand ready to dismiss,
But suddenly I discover I've a heart to resist,
And more than resist, a heart to defend,
My person from this man who isn't worth my rear end.
“Before I leave, good sir,
I pray you allow,
One more list of words,
This one about the crowd.”
He rolls his eyes, but says, “Go on.”
And so I begin as though nothing's wrong:
“Sir, I think you might be right,
The crowd is indeed more dedicated than I:
They pursue whatever they see in sight
And they'll stop an nothing, they'll leave you to fry.
I can tell you also they cling more to their motives that I to mine,
But theirs are rooted in the love of money, *** and wine.
My motives, I fear to tell, are more easily given up
Once I recognize my errors and find bitter taste in my cup.
Moreover, I am less educated than the crowd
In matters concerning **** and prison life and crack;
I wonder at the courage my naivete to speak aloud
Or admit to you the great amount of knowledge I lack.
Finally, I'm less organized, to a great degree,
The crowd is much more cunning than me
And they plan out things so much better than I,
What ever will I do if things go awry?”
“Good sir, if this makes me less in your eyes,
Then the job you offer I'd likely despise.
So give me a call, take me or leave me,
But never, never, never dismiss me.”
