Gemotions

They kept offering him coffee. "Would you like some?" the recruiter asked, a perky blonde with a nauseatingly enthusiastic tone. He simply shook his head, his gaze fixed on the meticulously organized desk. His jaw was set, tight. This entire process felt like a personal affront. Michael knew he was the best candidate.

The questions were simple, basic. He answered, but each response was clipped, devoid of the enthusiasm usually shown in interviews. The chair dug into his back, and he shifted uncomfortably. Why couldn't they see it? See the years he'd devoted to this field? See the passion he had for the work? He crossed his arms, the action a deliberate rejection of their efforts to connect.

He imagined, with satisfaction, the look on his friend's face – the one he knew was also applying – if he didn't get the job.