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Curriculum Vitae

No way I wasn't going to get it. I mean, just no way. The other guys waiting when I arrived were pathetic. Total dickheads, I'm telling you. One of them was reading one of the women's magazines on the table. Fuck's sake! I thought, you can just get up and leave right now, because that's the only thing you're getting from this place. He knew it too. When I came in they all looked up, frozen. After, they all tried to pretend, but they all knew they were out. Wasting their time.

When I was called in I wasn't even nervous. They'd already seen the others. I could've just sent my C.V. and I'd have got that job. It was a done deal. And then I saw who was standing up from behind his desk to shake my hand. Talk about icing on the cake!

His hand stopped half-way to mine. It was only for a second, but I saw it. He was still scared of me, even now. The other two on either side of him didn't notice it. But I did. This was even better than I thought. I was going to have some fun.

"Hello Alan." That was all it took. I don't understand it, but that was how he did it. Before my arse was on the seat he'd twisted it around. I think it was the way he smiled afterwards. As soon as he said it, he grinned as if he was really happy to see me. The other two must have thought we were bosom buddies. No wonder one of them asked if we knew each other. Actually, now that I think of it she asked him if he knew me. It sounded like I was something inert, like a town. "Have you visited Alan? I hear he's quite nice in Spring." Cow.

"No, not really", he says, grinning all the time he's looking at me. "I was at primary school with Mr Ryan. But we haven't seen each other since." This was clearly distant enough for him to stay and he sits down, already starting to look at my application.

Your C.V. is very good, he says and then drops my name at the end of the sentence. If he'd left it out it would have been fine. Or if he'd just said "Good work Alan", I wouldn't even have noticed it. What killed me was the tiny gap before he said it. Too short to point to, but it left me with my mouth open to speak before he was finished. I had to snap it shut not to interrupt him. My lips smacked against each other with an obscene sound. I knew that they were going to open like a champagne cork popping. But the silence was singing as they waited for my response.

I doubt you'll see anything as varied, I said. This is my usual opening line and its familiarity gave me my confidence back. What was this shit anyway? I used to make this guy- this guy in the suit, behind the desk- I used to make him cry. I was his nightmare every night. The teacher told me that he'd had to tell his mother about me because he'd screamed so hard in his sleep. How's that for a C.V?

He looked up. You're a qualified accountant, he says. Where did you study? So I tell him about Goodman and Lambert's. They're the best firm in the country, the best. And what's he playing at, asking me these stupid questions anyway? Its all in front of them. Interviews are meant to be about character.

And then he does it again. He's going for my throat. The fucker turns his head sideways and raises his eyebrow at the guy on his left. The message is clearly "Oh dear, Goodman and Lamberts", but there's no reason for it. Except the stooge won't remember that. All he'll know is that at some point in the interview, one of his colleagues said Oh dear. I know that kind of trick well enough to spot it. IÃve worked with enough morons to know how to work them.

Did you enjoy your apprenticeship? What kind of question is that? Its the stress he puts on apprentice that tells me what he's doing. He's screwing me up. That's what he's up to. He's wrecking my chances of getting my job. Its mine by rights. I had that job when I walked in here and he's gradually taking it away from me. Well fuck him. I remember his face when I broke his clay squirrel in the vice on the bench at the back of the class. I just crushed it in front of him as he demanded it back, and he couldn't do anything. His eyes just locked on the brown crumbs and dust and filled with throat-blocking water. He'd been really careful making it, and we'd all had to wait a week for them to harden. Mine had split after two days.

I imagined his face collapsing from the inside like that now. I told him I had felt that the practical route was more useful in the long run than a college training. That was a hit, I could tell. The bastard had always had student written all over him. He'd probably done English or some other piece of artsy crap and wasted three years in some bedsit, while I was already earning thousands. He was always sitting by the window when it rained at lunch, reading one of the tatty books kept in the classroom. He couldn't even hit the slithor with a hurley when we played rounders. He had to use a tennis racquet, like the girls.

He tapped his teeth, audible over the silence, as I enjoyed his discomfort. He's got no more questions. And when I get this job, I'm going to give him hell for trying to mess me around like that.

"Dr. Walsh?" She leans forward when he says it. I've hardly taken it in before she's saying that a university education broadens the mind. A doctorate! The fucker knew he'd catch me out as soon as he looked at the C.V. I suddenly felt my back go cold. He'd done more than recognise me when I'd come in. I'd thought his hesitation was fear, but I couldn't have been more wrong. He still hated me all right, but my interview was a dream for him. He was crushing my future in front of my eyes.

She waits for my reply, but I'm trying to say something that won't keep me labelled as a narrow-minded philistine in her mind. And all I can think of is the sight of the leather ball, a black dot against the June sky. He'd been standing out at the back, praying the ball wouldn't come near him as usual. Except I could hit it further than anyone else. I was so big that our teacher once told my mother that she was scared of me herself. And he just looked up as it hit him in the mouth. Everyone else had laughed at the look of comical shock on his face as it came towards him. But I was the only one who didn't stop when he fell. My God, I'd hated him.

I hated him now. My response had been limp, an attempt to move the subject on. I mentioned my computer training and he smiled widely again, as if reminded of something delightful. I saw the tiny chip in his bottom row of teeth. "I believe you've done a Diploma in DOS programming?" A cert, but if he wanted to bump me up I wasn't going to correct him. I was already getting careful, checking everything that entered and left my mind for one of his booby-traps. "Three years experience, and I'm entirely familiar with Windows as well." He tapped his pen on the table and my blood froze. What now?

He said he was sure that I was excellent in my field. But they used Macintosh computers, so my PC training wouldn't be immediately applicable. He always liked to use big words, the cunt. He liked using them against me, then and now. He used to make me look stupid in front of everybody and I wouldn't be able to say anything to get back. I remembered that bright smile now. These were his old tricks. I'd had him do this to me before. Everyone standing in a circle around us, laughing at me, every time he said anything. And all I could do was say "Shut up you". Over and over, I repeated it. He didn't just make me look stupid. He filled me with so much hate that he was right. I was stupid. All I could do was tell him to shut up. His smile danced with his words around me and I couldn't even hit him. My fists clenched, but the class loved him, not me. I never got to hit him once.

"Mr. Ryan, have you any ideas on what your role in this company would be if you were successful in your application?" I couldÃve kissed the stooge for throwing me this lifesaving cliche. I turn to the left and outline my last two jobs, my style of team-management. "I am a hard driver", I tell them, "but I know the importance of putting in the hours with your team. I earn respect." I can hear the interview specialist on the tape in my ear- Sell yourself, because they'll want to buy you. I can't look at him now. He makes me flash cold and then blush with frustrated anger.

The woman asks me how I work with people over me. When I show my teeth it feels nothing like a smile. I stop, awkwardly, and tell her that I haven't been my own boss yet, but I've never had any complaints. He twists his head at this, registering surprise. They both look at him. And then I realise that she fancies him, and so had they. He was better looking than I was now. And even then, he been more comfortable than I had. The image of our class's Confirmation photograph rose before me. We'd been put beside each other, in the centre. My arms drop stiffly down, my shoulders made more boxy by my bad suit. I hate my younger self, wearing a ridiculous bow-tie. He stands beside me, curves where I'm straight lines, with his hands in his pockets, pushing his jacket back carelessly. That was how I'd wanted to look, not like my father in his wedding photo. But the real difference was in our eyes.

He looked at me across his desk, his eyes measuring me up. I look at them, and can see the fear reflected there. Now IÃm sitting outside his office, waiting for him to buzz me in. 

by

Simon McGarr
4/4/2001

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