I’m going to tell you a story. The story starts with a dryer. A lonely and ornery bull of a dryer that had nothing better to do than to bump around and turn off. It always went in with so much gusto but inevitably realized it was twenty years past being the young bucking bronco it used to be. Its heart needed a break.
What the dryer didn’t know was how much my heart broke to see my black interview socks sopping wet. Walking out of the house in a white blouse, black slacks, leather slip-ons and pink and blue polka dot socks killed me. I went to Target thirty minutes before the interview. No one was going to see through me.
As I walked to the bus stop, I saw the bus approaching a couple blocks ahead of me. I started running.
Now, racing the bus in your interview clothes to buy a pair of socks may seem counterproductive, but there was a twisted sort of logic to my decisions that morning.
Sweating and panting, I caught up with the gracious and sentient bus and sat in the back, recuperating. I couldn’t wait to go back home and just be.
Water droplets started forming on the window. It was beginning to rain. I shivered and brought my knees toward my chest.
A short guy my age with a suit, ponytail and a lime green skateboard sat next to me.