Up until recently, my preferred style of socializing has been precisely the absence thereof, and assuming we haven’t just met–or unmet, as the case may be–I don’t fancy this a secret. Disengagement has been the very centerpiece of my modus operandi for years now, and I’d like to think it’s served me well. But matters have changed in the last few months. We’re not talking about a complete turnaround here, to be clear, and I certainly don’t want to suggest a half- or even quarter-turnaround.
The gradual, sometimes imperceptible differences I have noticed, though, can feel like a Renaissance in themselves. For one thing, my thoughts don’t immediately turn to escape whenever I’m invited to do something now. I’m not sure why my prior tendency was to decline such gestures automatically, really. Part of the reason may be my inclination to overthink a situation, where I attempt to consider all the details and agonize over the most likely outcomes, much to the detriment of actually doing anything. Being agreeable simply isn’t compatible with this mindset.
Being agreeable, however, is exactly what I’ve been trying to achieve. I’m replacing my nos with yeses. You could say I’m choosing to be more impulsive, the very idea of which may make me seem hopeless, but be assured this is a shift in the right direction. My hours honestly feel fuller because of this, less a blur of digital haze. Now, by no means will I ever become the consummate socialite, flitting from one hotspot to the other with an endless fount of energy. Never, understand. It’s just not me. But to be a normal person? I could look into that.
I’m no closer today than I was back in September to formulating the ultimate interview question, and I can’t say I’m particularly devastated. The well there is simply dry, and I shall plumb it no further. What I devised today, instead, were four questions, assembled in such a way to resemble a written test, the likes of which I would’ve loathed as an interviewee. Now, not one of the questions approaches “ultimate” status, merely passable, but taken in tandem they achieve their secret purpose: to offer a glimpse into the mind of an applicant.
The initial draft took about an hour to construct, and I was pleased with the outcome. It’s self-contained, first and foremost, and all the factual answers you need are right on the page, provided you make the effort to locate them. I also saved the test to the latest version of Excel, which means that opening the file itself may constitute a brain teaser for candidates with older versions of Office. But here, too, 30 seconds of Googling would yield a ready solution. The difficulty curve is also tougher to track, with a simple first query, followed by a steeper drop, then a softer finish. The questions are more open-ended as well–no multiple choice here–and the spaces allotted for answers are of uniform size to avoid telegraphing complexity. All aboard the Mindfuck Express!
Even as I was typing the test, however, I was mindful of the larger context. These days interviews themselves, never mind open positions, can be a rare commodity, and I wanted to respect this. It’s nerve-wracking to sit in the hot seat, frankly, and there’s something profoundly discordant about being expected to package your past experience, your baggage–indeed, your very life up to this moment–into a cogent hours-long presentation.
But that’s the rub. It’s an interview, not a feel-good session of self-affirmation. I need to gather as much data within that period of time, brief as it is, to determine whether I can count on you in the long haul. A rotten state of affairs, I know. I know. I sat on the other side of the table a few years ago, and the following question was posed to me: if I were to be consumed by an animal, which fell beast would I choose to carry out the deed? A chupacabra, I proposed, because if I am to be ingested, I may as well witness a mythical creature in the process. Better answer, in retrospect? An interviewer.
I’d like to regale you with a tale of two sandwiches tonight. “Tale” may be overstating it, actually, because there’s nothing so involved as a story here. It’s more a recollection, some memories that illustrate my current relationship with organic foods. It’s traditionally been touch-and-go. On one hand, I understand why the industry exists. I’ve seen Food, Inc. I get it. The health benefits, the sustainability, the humane treatment of livestock. But on the other hand, I balk at the expense, and in the back of my mind I’ve always wondered whether the whole movement was an agri-industrial complex conceived by people who don’t believe in showers and name all their firstborn “Star Child.”
The first sandwich in question was the new Bacon & Blue burger from Wendy’s, and the road to this burger began, as it always does, with an advertisement. An online ad, no less. Normally I’m immune to the stuff, since I’m immersed in it during office hours, but I found myself clicking on a banner a few Saturdays ago. Maybe it was the sizzling beef, or the lettuce that bounced just so, sending water droplets flying every which where, or the blue cheese crumbles that seemingly rained from the heavens. I was mesmerized. The ad spoke to me, and in short order I found myself in my car, hurtling toward the nearest location.
What I discovered was a supersized helping of disappointment. No springy lettuce. Gray, rubbery beef. Blue cheese that appeared to be aged, by the gnarled hands of ancient Cheez Whiz artisans, in a tin can. Worst of all, the Bacon & Blue tasted terrible. You figure if the patty were indeed assembled from a thousand cows, then probability dictates at least some of it would be palatable. Well, you’d be wrong. Biggie wrong, in fact.
A few days later, I pulled up to an Earth Fare for lunch. I didn’t have much in the way of expectations. But when I took that first bite into a tuna melt from the deli, it was like I had found something. The thick bread, the melted cheese, the generous helping of tuna that didn’t have any fish taste at all–it was a bounty of textures. What’s more, the sandwich was grilled. It was a delicious revelation that fundamentally reversed my distrust of panini. And unlike my experience with the Bacon & Blue, I didn’t feel as if I had been marinating in preservatives and hydrogenated oils, post-consumption. Could this be the organic difference? What’s next? If I ate enough tuna melts, would I wake up one day in a commune? More research is clearly needed, starting tomorrow.