I think it’s safe to say that yesterday I firmly planted my two feet on rock bottom.
The descent to what can best be described as a first class ticket straight to Satan’s lair – started the day before.
You see, when descending through the circles of hell – you rarely realize where you are until you are refreshed with the warm sensation of scalding fire.
It was around 5:00 pm when my phone rang. Albeit it wasn’t the best time for me, my husband and I were in the middle of a heated/passionate/throwing things at each other argument over who would get the mail that was literally less than 50 meters away. (Needless to say – I lost).
Little A -eager to participate in our romantic spats- started shouting out a bad “F” word. No. Not that one. He kept screaming “Fatty! Fatty! Fatty!”
Where he learned that word? I have no idea.
Anyways, my phone rings.
“Hello, is this Shareen?”
He doesn’t even wait for me to answer.
“Yeah I have your resume here for a position at my large firm.”
He confidently announces his company’s name as if it’s supposed to mean something.
I pretend like I know where he works and go along.
My husband starts screaming my name. “Sharrrreeeeeeeeen It’s time for dinner at the dinner table!!!”
Where else would dinner be?
I obviously don’t answer his screams because I’m on the phone with the man who is going to cement my career and propel me into super stardom.
“SHAARRREEEEEEEN – come ON!!”
“One second,” I politely tell the kind man.
“I’m on the PHONE.” I shout back indignantly, meekly covering my phone – trying my best to pretend that my prospective boss didn’t hear me make an ass out of myself.
Apparently he’s used to it, because he continues on to tell me about his publishing house.
Nothing in the world matters now.
I must work here.
I see my dreams come to fruition. Bigger house, better shoes, beautiful bags, me swimming in my personal pool of diamonds.
And don’t get me started on the paparazzi.
It’s only a matter of time now kid.
I quickly scribble down the address for my interview the next day.
I wake up early, ready to knock his socks off.
Dressed for success, I start my journey to the office. Which is literally in the middle of what i’m assuming is the city’s rape zone.
I’m directed to the waiting room in eager anticipation for my interview.
In the meantime I figure I should do some research about the company – you know, so I can look like I know what I’m talking about it.
What the hell?
I look for the nearest exit.
I am being interviewed for a position to sell advertising space in a national missing kids magazine.
A profit only magazine.
Meaning large companies give this company money thinking that their dollars are going to charities when they’re simply not.
And there are news articles.
And potential law suits.
“Alright Shareen, right this way.”
I sit down in the luxurious and spacious office of the man that spearheads this movement.
How could he do this?
He reaches out his hand to shake mine, I fumble as I hang my hand out there in a non comital gesture.
“Have you heard about 15 plus publications? We do these magazines for …”
He lists all sorts of causes that he can use to manipulate into big corp for money. Children, public officers, older women – who would say no to anything for older women?
A monster – that’s who.
I throw up a little in my mouth.
I stop him – mid boasting.
“I’m sorry, I can’t work here.”
He glares at me perplexed. As if I gave up a dream job.
“If it’s about the money, the salaries are quite good.”
Is he serious?
“No,” I reply calmly, “I can’t work here because of what you do. Read the news.” I retort.
“I’m sorry you feel that way, but everything written online is from previous disgruntled employees. It’s all false. We do so many things for these children and we teach the parents how not to lose their kids.”
I roll my eyes and get up to leave.
Just like that.
I leave it all behind.
Because I’ll never be that person.
Sweet Dreams World.