Fred Aiken Writing

Vicky realized she would be late to the job interview the moment she woke up. It would not matter how quickly she rushed through her morning routine, nor the steps in her routine that she could shorten, like using a Listerine strip rather than brushing her teeth for a full 2 minutes like her dentist had recommended back in the 10th grade when she went in for her sixth cavity of her childhood.

So, while Vicky sat in traffic on I-729, or, as her mom would colloquially refer to it as, Molasses Lane, she thought it wouldn’t hurt to take a small swig from the flask her ex-boyfriend got for her 2 Christmases prior. He hadn’t been her ex when he gifted her the flask, though. In fact, they had been in a happy relationship for the past 3 years, and she had even considered marrying him, if he had asked. But alas, he had not. Rather, her ex-boyfriend had found it more prudent to cheat on her with a coworker of his instead of asking Vicky to marry him. Now all she had to remember him by was the flask, and she used it quite regularly to forget about him as much as possible.

But she does not have a problem with alcohol. 

So she keeps telling herself.

She figured she could take a couple of gulps from the flask in the parking lot right before rushing into the door. Perhaps the liquor would give her the confidence to come up with a brilliant excuse as to why she was running late and why the company should still hire her despite her running late.

First impressions. First impressions. A small voice dawdled through her head.

A part of her also consistently chose chaos, and she assumed that because she was running late to the job interview, she might as well take the edge off and let out the sting of not being hired once again. Essentially, reject the job before the job rejected her. Something like that. The logic was definitely nestled somewhere in what she convinced herself of. Also, the liquor helped with the searing headache.

A warming calm washed over her. She pulled down the sun visor and checked herself in the mirror. She noticed beads of sweat washing down her face, ruining what little makeup she had on. But nothing too noticeable. She knows she looks a mess. Though perhaps it will be to her benefit. She’s both received a free beer or two for either looking pretty and looking disheveled, depending on the night. So maybe she would get a sympathy hire. One could hope, she thought.

Another swig for good luck.

Good luck, she said into the sun visor.

The interview was a complete mess. She didn’t need the hindsight of sobering up to realize that. She slurred her words. She was pretty sure the hiring manager looked deep within her soul to be able to tell that she was a no good, lying, piece of shit, or perhaps he was amazed someone’s eyes could be as blood-shot as hers that early in the morning. At the end of the interview, she expected to get up as gracefully as she could in her condition, shake the guys hand, and walk out to her car where at least she could take another sip from her trusty flask that never judged or cared how much she drank.

Instead, she heard the words she was least expecting to hear that day. “Welcome aboard. We’re glad you’re here. We think you do well.”

The man in a white lab coat shook her hand and then had Vicky sign a stack of papers before ushering her into a brand new role to fill. A new job, a new life, a new everything, she imagined. Perhaps she would finally be able to get control.