Solitude Is Best Served Stuffed

In-person job interviews were a tedious, waste of time, anxiety-filled task. If you wanted me for my resume and were lured by my phone conversing skills, then you should have already made up your mind about accepting me onto your customer service team. It was an at-home work position anyhow. Why would you need me to leave said home?

From the passively put-together job ad, targeted to the hermits and the introverted, you should never have needed to meet me in person. I sure as hell didn't want to meet anyone face to face. That's ridiculous. But what was even more ridiculous was how behind I had gotten on my bills. Sometimes that happened. Sometimes I disconnected from reality.

And so, aggressively yanked from the safety of my home and thrown into the wildness of society, I am here. Dressed in uncomfortable "professional" attire, perspiring as I breathe, and trying to fight my overwhelming need to get the fuck out of here. And more importantly, praying that the elevator would be empty.

I would have taken the stairs, but as someone who rarely left the comfort of their apartment, I was in no shape to climb up three flights. I wanted the job, but I didn't want to try to get it while completely puffed out, red-faced, and pit-stained sweaty.

Thankfully though the elevator arrived moments after I pressed the upward arrow button; as if it was waiting on the main floor specifically for me.

And it was empty.

I sighed deeply and felt the tension leave my shoulders. The gods somewhere were watching over me. Bless.

I entered the elevator and hastily pressed the 'close doors' button so that no one else would join me. As long as the elevator wouldn't stop at any other floor, I'd be riding completely safe and solo. I'd be out of this closed-in tin box in no time.

Approaching the second floor, I held my breath and crossed my toes and fingers, hoping I wouldn't hear that ding signaling a stop.

Safe.

I passed the second floor and prayed that it would take no more than 15 seconds to finally be free of this death box.

Just as the elevator signaled arriving at the third floor, I saw the metal door slide to reveal my worst nightmare.

As if in slow motion, my fears were unveiled, the curtain pushed open, and there stood the enemy. Or should I say, enemies. Not one, not two, but there awaiting my arrival stood more people than this elevator could probably hold. And all their eyes lasered in on me; the sweaty hermit who desperately needed a job and just wanted to work from home in customer service.

I had no way to escape, no strength to push through the throng of non-panicking business folk who were streaming in. Within seconds the air from my lungs was gone, as they moved in so hastily that I was shoved backward. Flattened to the elevator wall I could feel my vision start to waver as the day-to-day chatter engulfed me. So many voices. So many perfumes. So many colognes. Everything mixed with sweat (and hopelessness) invaded my nostrils. I could feel myself begin to let go.

What started out as hopeful, ended before it even began.

And then, the elevator doors shut, sealing me in forever.