Intermission
"If you're here for the interview, please sign in and we'll make an announcement shortly," she said. I glanced around the busy restaurant at the other 50 people, each grasping their sheets of white paper, their life's work typed out in New Times Roman. I nervously fingered the hangnail on my index finger, rummaged through my purse as if looking for some lost item, avoided eye contact with my arch enemies, and played out in my head what I would tell them in the interview. I would lie. Of course I would lie. No one wants to hire someone who's only going to work for them for two months. That's what I did. I lied. I faked a smile, I laughed cordially, I explained about my love for working in restaurants, about my desire to get back into it. And when I walked out, I knew there wasn't a chance I'd even get a call back. Who was I kidding? Resettling is unsettling. I'm in limbo, selling my personal effects to pay for rent for the next two mont...