The story "How I passed the interview"

Usually my friends and I discuss interviews, companies, questions, test items. In those cases, of course, when it is permissible.

And so, in the morning on Skype:

Write the story “How I passed the interview,” and I’ll go to work before)

I took it too literally.

Under the cut Friday post in the genre of noir. Actually the story of the interview, filled with cynicism and hopelessness. I hope that the interviewees do not recognize, at least they will react with due humor, otherwise I would like to get a job for them ...


It was getting dark. Heavy clouds dropped on the concrete anthill of the city flakes of wet snow. I walked, pushing the blizzard, towards the future.
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This city is like a solid ghetto. Already five minutes from the subway, I saw prostitutes and drug addicts, drunken fights and a freezing homeless person. I wanted to throw everything, pour whiskey on two fingers and forget the heavy sleep of the sinner. But I could not stop.

The three-story building hung over the workers' quarters like a child above the mother's corpse. It attracted me like a sign shit eatery in a quiet village attracts unfortunate hard workers, for whom it is the only cure for this world.

On the second floor, two windows gleamed feverishly, like a beggar’s dim eyes. I knew that they were waiting for me there. And they knew who they were waiting for. I don’t think they poked ice there and opened the bottles.

Behind a gauze mask that supposedly protects against colds, but in reality only the leader who was hiding his face hid their leader, who called me. His assistants had nothing to hide. Their faces have long been known in the district and only the most naive could doubt the nature of their occupation.

Masky's right hand, who called himself a Manager, was tall and slouching. Black hair and beard perfectly reflected the darkness of his soul.

The third was a private in this office. In appearance, he was young and inexperienced, perhaps even good-natured. Because of his neat hairstyle and gold-framed glasses, he seemed to be a boring clerical staff member, but the icy sheen of his dilated pupils did not deceive him.

Began inquiries. Nobody recommended me to these guys and I could only count on my own language. They wanted to squeeze me like a lemon, dig a lot in my guts, scrape my skull.

The questions fell one after another, insidious and slippery. I felt that I was balancing on a high-voltage wire over an abyss.

What did I do before? With whom, did you work with storages? Did you send packages? Intercepted packets? How long have I been in? It was clear that they didn’t need a courier. Yes, I was not a courier.

Shortly answering questions I was preparing for the main thing. To why I came.

Such matters require caution. Before taking me to the team, they will want me to show how I can throw the ball. And beat him, of course.

Mask and the Manager bombarded me with their shitty reservations, and the third was silent. It was a feverish silence. The silence of the watchdog wolfhound before the throw. He was waiting. And I knew what he was waiting for. And he knew that I knew ... Adrenaline began to rush in the air. Everything went to the final.

The questions were already delayed, like a five-hour train at the south station. And the Third began to act.
Politely, with a smile, he moved closer to me and, playing with his pen, looked straight into my eyes. The entire ice abyss of this damned city looked with it. I was sure that he chooses exactly which pupil to stick his damn pen to me. Nerves were on edge.

- What do you know about sorting? He asked with a mad gleam in his eyes.

I burst out laughing. I knew about sorting everything. And he began to tell him this. Mad tea party, delirium fallen into the rabbit hole. Somewhere outside the window, a homeless man died, heroin flowed through someone's vein, a whore moaning bored under a client, a corrupt policeman took a bribe, and I told this psycho about sorting. As if it was worth it.

Judging by the confusion of the Mask and the Manager, they also did not expect this. Damn them, damn them with all. Now it's over, anyway.

The web vibrated under the efforts of the entangled wasp, and the spider was afraid to approach it.
The first could not stand the Manager, he muttered something about the case and left.

The third was sitting and bored. After the adrenaline rush, he was like a drug addict in the morning. He wanted to go somewhere so that no one would touch him and the blissful darkness of oblivion would take him into his arms. He was blown away.

The mask was left alone. He understood this with all his skin, with each hair bristling over his forearm. And I decided to stop. He suggested that I go through the office. He showed guys in dark rooms, a punching bag, a smoking-room.

And while leading to the exit. To the desired return to the icy belly of the street.

An icy wind threw a handful of snow pellets into my face. No lantern around. Silence, only distantly blasphemed the station loudspeaker.

What is all over? I dont know.

The city hid like an ink animal, spread like a bloody stain on the concrete of reality. And I'm just a parasite on his disgusting body. A drop of blood on the concrete. But I'm waiting for a call.

Mask asked for a week to think. Yes, and I also wanted to calmly assess whether I am ready to sell my soul to these guys.