…While He’s Interviewing You
Okay, I don’t know how your application got this far, but since we have to maintain the appearance of fairness for legal purposes, we’re doing this interview. But I’m just going through the motions, because we only hire our friends here.
You’re obviously qualified and talented; I was actually impressed with your work. But you’re a stranger, and the presence of a stranger might affect my comfort level. If I’m not 100 percent comfortable at all times, I might find the creation of this important entertainment product slightly less enjoyable. And we can’t have that.
See, I made friends back when it was easy, back when you’re supposed to—in structured situations like college, and the small, acceptable handful of transitional years afterwards. Those friends, and occasionally their friends, are the only people I feel I should have to be around on a daily basis. Meeting people now only interests me if those people can either help my career or enhance my image. You are a job applicant who is not related to a celebrity, so you can’t do either.
Let me spell this out for you: if you weren’t in the dorm lounge with us the night of The Amazing Beer Pong Shutout, you can’t expect me to give a shit about your weekend plans while we chat around the Keurig OfficePRO. And if you weren’t even in the back line during my improv group’s legendary December 5th 2010 show, you simply have not earned the right to wash your hands next to me in a WeWork bathroom.
So, I guess you slid an iron over that shirt and allowed yourself to get excited about the prospect of landing this gig and maybe starting your slow climb out of debt, or fulfilling a lifelong dream, or whatever. And sure, I’m maintaining eye contact and acting like I’m paying attention while you talk—I’m not a monster! But don’t worry about emailing me a thank-you note after this interview, because I won’t be giving you my direct email address. And don’t expect to hear back from anyone in this organization, because we only hire our friends here. ❏
Karen Lurie lives in Brooklyn and writes comedy, lyrics, scripts, and games for TV, radio, podcasts, websites, apps, and… you? Her previous pieces in WryTimes include Guided Mediation for Sloths and A Memo from Trey, your CEO/Founder Regarding Zoom Meetings in 2021.
