initial F___Wednesday, March 26, 2008
It is great to see the scenery from the 28th floor. The stylish office beckons. A pretty lady walks over and ushers you in. The stage is set for a swashbuckling interview.
Doors swing open, there is an exchange of handshake, and you settle down comfortably on the chair. General questions are fired off but you shrug them off easily. After all, you are well prepared to answer them after rehearsing through the ordeal several times. A piece of cake.
Your confidence grows. It becomes a protective shield, masking away your flaws and charming your audience with your strengths. You suddenly feel invincible, as if an omnipotent god. Surely no one can hurt you now?
Then the wind of change blows. A needle pierces through your shield, shattering it into pieces. Your shortcomings become awfully exposed, bare for all to see. You start digging for an escape with your bare hands, hoping to create a hole where you can hide yourself. But the ground is covered with granite, and there is no chance you can slip away.
You curl up in a roll, a traditional defensive stance. What a pathetic futile attempt. Meanwhile, the storm of attacks continue. When it is all over, you lick your wounds and leave. Count your blessing, she says. That is the price for overestimating yourself.
The next time I smoke, I bloody make sure it comes out from the barrel of my loaded rifle.
