Loved, Solvent, Alive

Casey Alexander

A hostile-looking woman flickered onto the screen. As the established employee, Erin enjoyed the privilege of drabness: she’d thrown a cardigan over her nightgown. Anne, on the other hand, was corporate glam to the waist: gray blazer, pearl earrings, a subtle touch of eyeliner.

The first interview would take place online; deserving candidates would be invited to drag themselves to the office for closer examination.

“Can you hear me?” Erin asked. Actually she said this a few times, just to get the ball rolling, though Anne had said yes right away.

The candidate was poised to begin. There she sat, pen in hand, ablaze with vigor and charm; she said her name, said that it was a real pleasure. Braced herself for a harrowing hour.

“So why don’t you tell me something about yourself?” Erin began.

Anne hesitated. They already knew what jobs she’d had and where she went to school. What else might they want to learn? Broadly speaking, her humanity was of no interest, but a bit of whimsy might be endearing. She could say that she made a marvelous teacake, or mention a pet by name. Alternatively, she could go bold, say something which meant “I am the solution, whatever the problem might be.”

In the end, she hit a few highlights from her letter of introduction: she was experienced, eager, easy to instruct (and, her smile said, a guaranteed boost to morale).

She was lavishly prepared and hoped that this would shine through. In an effort to know her interviewer in depth, she’d requested a blood sample or equivalent specimen to analyze before the meeting. The company hadn’t responded, but she hoped that her initiative would be noted. She had done the relevant research. In addition to the woman’s school and work history, she knew her childhood nickname (“Budgie”), what she’d brought to the Rotary picnic, that she supported several charities devoted to the welfare of birds. She’d also found out everything she could about the company, Philips Linoleum, absorbing all of the facts to be had. Dead founder, debt concerning, customer reviews lukewarm (but how excited could anyone get about floors?).

“Could you tell me something about your educational background?”

This was on her résumé, too. Why did she need a live-action recital of this same information? Perhaps she was screening for twitches or an ominous stare, or making sure Anne could say “I went to college” in a genial, non-threatening manner.

She did her best to look harmless, said her studies were a solid foundation (not unlike a quality floor). She wondered if an essay on Proust in the Pygmy imagination, dated spring ‘99, would do anything for her cause.

Erin asked what had prompted her to seek the position, to reach out to the firm at this time. What specifically had set them apart?

“What I’m really asking is, why Philips Linoleum, and why now?”

Anne had learned of its existence a week earlier, when she spotted the job ad. Having been out of work for three months, she was careening toward destitution; dozens of bespoke cover letters had fallen into the void. Two interviews had yielded nothing: she was insufficiently something, or perhaps excessively something; she’d been outcharmed by a rival. Possibly the offices had perished in an explosion, effectively ending the search.

These people had responded to her inquiry; they were willing to give her the time of day. “Actually I’ve had my eye on Philips for a long time,” Anne said. She spoke of a years-long fascination, a sort of crush she could finally bring to fruition now that a position was vacant. As the object of her admiration, Philips was one in the world: it was the company’s singular magnetism that had brought her out of the woodwork, not some need of her own.

She tried to project nonchalance, like a person acting cavalier on a date: she was what, who, and where she needed to be already, but would welcome additional laughs. She had come to the firm bearing greatness, not seeking some kind of relief. In summary, though she was intrigued by Philips Linoleum, she was complete on her own. On the other hand, if they wanted to form an alliance in the name of mutual profit, that was another matter.

Fictitious as it was, she rather preferred this version of things. Her imminent eviction was small potatoes; expertise was going to waste. The world had needs; she could meet them, and had an obligation to do so. Plus, only simple folk worked to ward off starvation; the learned sought opportunities.

“Are you employed at the moment?” Erin asked. (The thought of wresting her away from a less spectacular suitor was more appealing than taking her off of the stag line.)

Anne wasn’t currently working in the pay for unpleasantness sense, but she was exerting herself and said so: she was exploring her options, evaluating her skillset, trying to find the right medium for her talents. (Sitting on the sofa with her head in her hands.)

“Why did you leave your last position?” Erin asked suspiciously.

Anne described what was clearly a no-fault dismissal: the company had gone under when demand for pipe cleaners collapsed. “Anyway,” she added quickly, lest she be seen as a flop by association, “I felt it was time to move on.”

“So why do you think you’d be a good fit for this position? What can you bring to the Coordinator of Coordination role?”

Anne didn’t know what the job was exactly (the description had been vague: “The C of C will facilitate communication, act as a liaison, and help the PL community thrive”), but she assumed it would involve writing emails, making phone calls, going to meetings and fussing over meaningless data. She would get drawn into fights about trifles; she would be offered bagels on a regular basis. It was a game that she knew, and one that changed little from office to office, whether the business made weapons or Styrofoam peanuts.

She said that she was detail-oriented, goal-oriented, literate and used to dealing with people; when it came to coordination, her skills were unsurpassed. Whenever disorder arose, she was there to arrange things (the pencil drawer in her last desk was a shining example of this). In various roles, she’d dealt with interpersonal discord as well. She told a story involving two colleagues and an ice cream bar, the ownership of which was disputed. (Her intervention in the matter had fostered community and helped the two of them thrive).

Whatever its makeup, a well-ordered group always moved her: “Is there anything more striking than a murmuration of starlings, for instance?”

“Right,” Erin said blandly. “So what excites you the most about flooring?”

“I’d say the universality of it.” Bingo halls, barber shops, houses of worship, houses of pancakes: one came across floors in them all. From a personal standpoint, Anne said, flooring was always beneath her (literally speaking; figuratively, of course, they were equals), sustaining her in good times and bad. It was a source of reassurance, a constant in a chaotic world.

She also identified with linoleum in a lot of ways: she too was bright and resilient, versatile and good in the kitchen. She too had had her ups and downs but looked forward to a promising future.

Between questions seven and eight, a silence settled upon them. Erin stared at her as if she were a sailboat on the horizon. This was to test the quality of her nerves. (In this spirit, another interviewer had cried “Look out!” in the middle of their conversation).

It was critical not to get rattled, not to speak out of turn. Instead, Anne imagined that the woman’s eyebrows were a series of hills and she herself a tiny mountaineer with a stick. The bridge of her nose was a river that she would either ford or fish in, depending on the strength of the current; if necessary, she could make camp at the summit. Meanwhile, Erin wondered if her hair was a wig.

The standoff lasted a minute and seventeen seconds, at which point Anne coughed diplomatically and conversation resumed.

“Tell me about an obstacle you overcame at one of your previous jobs.”

Anne spoke of dislodging a bullet from her own shoulder. (Actually it was a bee sting incurred at the company weenie roast, but some embellishment seemed to be called for).

“How do you see yourself five, fifteen, forty-five years from now?”

Anne thought hard. What was the proper response here? The real answer—loved, solvent, alive, living in a place without snow—would cast her in the wrong light. What could she say instead? Something to reflect the dual nature of the dazzling worker: both fully committed and dying to leave. She would juice the fruit of this job, as it were, then seek out something more appetizing.

She spoke in vague terms about skill utilization, being a lifetime learner, challenging herself and others. Career-wise, she planned to rise until the altitude killed her. “And someday I’d like to visit Hawaii,” she threw in as a personality note.

“I see,” Erin said, drawing a palm tree in her notebook. “Do you work better alone or as part of a team?”

When called upon, she could perform Twelve Angry Men on her own, but given the choice, Anne said, she preferred to be part of a team. She was one flute in a symphony, a single crouton in a salad. A lone thread in a cable-knit sweater.

Furthermore, her respect for the team could not be overstated, and she knew how to ensure its cohesion: it was a question of valuing input, stimulating output, exalting the muffin over each crumb.

“How do you feel about lupini beans?” Erin asked suddenly.

“What?”

“Lupini beans. How do you feel about them?”

Anne had heard questions like this before (the zany non-sequitur designed to shake her composure): Whether she thought O.J. had received a fair trial, why shoehorns were underrated, how she might have felt when Hirohito surrendered.

“I think they have a lot of potential,” she said, taking a sip of her water. “Speaking of potential, I really feel that I would be an asset to this firm.”

“Sure,” Erin said. “We just need to make sure that the person-we-hire’s skills and our needs are a match.”

The choreography was stale, but they were faithful to it, each performing the steps in her turn. Neither knew who had called for this spectacle or who their audience was. One thing, however, was clear: somehow they’d be permitted to go on living if they performed their part in this dance, if they kept up the pretense of caring.

Participating in this and similar scenes, they felt dignified and foolish. Was there any sense to the effort? Were they part of an intricate system (opaque but noble in aim, somehow sustaining them all), or were they jesters to an unseen king?

Erin looked at her watch. According to the employee handbook, the interview was to last a minimum of forty minutes; besides, once it was over she had to reprimand a salesman who’d exceeded his weekly cocoa allowance. (This was his second warning; the odds of him going berserk were rather high.)

“Let me give you a sense of how things work around here,” she said.

She provided an overview of their management structure (who reported to whom, who kept files on what). Flexibility was the watchword: the company had reinvented itself any number of times as tastes and technology changed. To emphasize this point, she gave a detailed history of flooring trends over the past fifty years, pausing at times for dramatic effect.

“Wow,” Anne said reverently. (She alternated between this, “That’s interesting” and “That makes sense” as they marched through the years).

“Moving on,” Erin said, once she’d run out of steam. “Could you describe a situation in which you’ve taken on a leadership role?”

Anne had removed a dead plant from the office. She’d chosen the restaurant where drinks were had several weeks in a row. She’d told her boss that a mole on his arm looked suspicious (and indeed it was so).

Weariness had set in. Erin skipped the question on strengths and weaknesses; it was a given that Anne was too honest, too creative, too likely to work herself into an early grave. Her strengths were every quality Erin requested, plus the ability to play the piano.

“Well,” she said, “I think that’s about all I have. Do you have any questions for me?”

It was vital to show further interest, to seek details no research could have produced. Anne had planned to ask about professional development, but the woman had covered this in her speech (benefits included tickets to the East Coast Coordinators’ Convention and a subscription to Foundations, the industry magazine). Her backup question involved performance evaluation, but she’d talked about this as well.

The questions that she did have (What does the job pay? Is there any light in the office? Are you as mean as you look?) could not be asked at this stage, so she said the only thing she could think of: Did the company supply those squishy things that sat at the edge of a keyboard, or did employees provide their own?

Employees were issued one per calendar year.

“Well I guess that wraps it up,” Erin said. “We’ll be in touch if we decide to move forward.”

The possibility was a remote one; she wasn’t sold on the woman. She seemed unaware of key events in the company’s history (the wax lawsuit of 1979, the brief foray into carpet, last year’s fistfight between accounts payable and accounts receivable), and she’d barely mentioned Christopher Philips, their illustrious founder, now gone some twenty-five years. A glowing tribute was called for (if not completely deserved: word was the man was a volatile drunk who’d collapsed onto more floors than he sold).

More to the point, she wasn’t sidekick material. In real terms, the position to be filled was that of fun lover, pal, willing participant in the day’s conversations. The outgoing C of C had been a friend of hers; Erin didn’t want to replace her with a stick-in-the-mud who would provide no entertainment.

There was also the staff to consider. They could get by without genius (the job was mostly sending out meeting reminders), but temperament was important. After all, the hiree would be hanging around all the time. Erin had to protect the sanctity of the space, minimize aggravations (audible gum chewing, the injudicious use of perfume). She’d developed a keen eye for weirdness, but mainstream pains in the rear were somewhat harder to spot. Anne hadn’t struck her as the unbearable type, but she had an “Oh, it’s you” quality that would put everyone off.

Erin had a few more people to see. There was an applicant with a master’s degree in logistics (if this didn’t say coordination, she didn’t know what did!) She would get a look at him and see if they hit it off. She could keep Anne as a last resort in case the man was a dud.

Anne thanked her and promised to furnish two references now that the request had been made. This would set her apart; few candidates could find two people willing to vouch for their soundness (and pretend not to be relatives, if needed).

“Have a good rest of the day,” she said.

She signed off, exhaled, and set about writing an email.

Dear Ms. Ratzmiller:

Thank you for taking the time to meet with me this morning. Receipt of these forty minutes was an indescribable honor. Learning more about flooring and the people who sell it has enriched me beyond measure. I am confident, now more than ever, that should you extend me the privilege, the partnership between us will be a glorious one.

Please find my references attached. Should you wish to discuss my talents in greater profundity, do not hesitate to drop me a line.

Devotedly yours,

Anne P. Williamson-Flag

Anne rose from the sofa and shed her interview costume. She’d answered all of the questions, had shown interest during the salute to the floors of the past. Was it enough to win the woman’s approval, to move her to the next stage? For a few days she could enjoy the assumption that she was going to be chosen and the relief that it brought. (This would be a high point whether or not it was true: with jobs one rejoiced in the getting until the having set in). In time silence would drive her back to the search, but she was keen to ignore this: to dismiss the whole matter and take pleasure in the forgetting.

Since she was on the way to an offer, the bathrobe interval became a vacation. A break between contributions; half a step for herself. There was no disgrace in taking the afternoon, in ceasing to worry as long as the problem was solved. She would keep refreshing the job sites, but less often, and with a joyful sense of detachment.

She put Budgie out of her mind, put on some water for tea. Shortly she’d retake her place in the system; for now, a component at rest, ready to forget that flooring existed.