My son had his first-ever job interview today. When he scheduled the interview, I immediately texted Ian and my mom: “OMFG he has an interview on Thursday!” Ian said “cool” and I said “yeah” but in reality I was like “How is this cool? I have a child who is actually old enough to have a job interview. I’m a freakin dinosaur. This is SO not cool.” Have I ever told you about how when I was a kid I had to walk uphill both ways to see my grandparents? True story.** I guess it’s not really relevant to this story; just another bit of evidence that I practically have one foot in the grave.
But before I could join a Bingo league or shop for dentures, my mom put it all in perspective by replying to my text with these words: “I’m old.” And that’s when I realized my mom is old enough to have a child who is old enough to have a child who has a job interview. I would jump for joy, but I’m afraid I might break a hip.
In an attempt to distract myself from the reality of my mortality, I helped my son practice for the interview by asking him all the lame standard questions which every interviewee hates, and every corporation loves to make interviewers ask. We started with the obvious.
Me (as interviewer): Tell me about yourself. *holds pen over notebook in anticipation*
Son: Well, I’m Batman.
Me: *snort laugh*
Son: Just kidding. I wouldn’t really lead with that.
Me: Oh no, you should TOTALLY lead with that.
I was surprised to find that I really enjoyed our fake interview. I shared some helpful tips which I knew he would probably forget in the interview due to nerves, and he pretended to file my input in his brain for easy access. We had some laughs, did absolutely no yelling or crying, and I think he may have actually learned a thing or two which will be useful to him. It was like an actual family moment.
The real interview was scheduled at 4:30, but Ian and I both had to work until after 5 so he called the reserve chauffeur (aka Grandpa) to arrange for transportation. He arrived in time to avert a potential wardrobe malfunction before meeting the manager. After a grueling and intensive 3-minute interview (good thing we did all that practicing, eh?), he was offered a job. A real, paying job, you guys. So the next time you eat french fries at a certain fast food restaurant, consider that your sparkly clean table might have been recently polished by my kid.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go wash my dentures and submit my application to the AARP.
** No really. The house where I grew up was at the bottom of the south side of a moderately steep hill. My dad’s parents lived at the bottom of the east side of the same hill. So, I literally had to walk uphill both ways when I walked to my grandparents’ house. Granted it was only two and a half blocks, but that’s really not the point is it? The point is, I’m old.