Lion's den
As the day progressed, individuals would be beckoned away from the group and disappear, accompanied by a man wearing a black leather hood and weilding a baseball bat. Half an hour or so later, they would be hurled back into the meeting room, tearful, dazed and often covered in blood. This was called 'the interview' and before long it was my turn.
My interviewer was a quietly spoken woman. To one side of her was a heavily bearded man sitting at a desk. "Don't worry about Brian; he won't say anything!" she said. Who was this mysterious Brian? The office mascot? A waif who'd crawled in off the street for warmth? The caretaker? "No, he's just here to take notes." The man looked at me and smiled thinly.
The interviewer introduced herself, then "Well, why do you want to join Samaritans?" I burbled something about 'wanting to contribute' - bog-standard, off-the-peg stuff. As I spoke, I realised that I really should have prepared for this a bit better. What if she started asking really tough questions? A moment later, she did start asking really tough questions, and continued to do so for quite some time. In the brief moments of silence, I could hear Brian sratching away with his pen. What on earth was he writing? And why was there so much of it?
What were my good qualities? Bad ones? How would I react if...? What would I do if...? Had I ever called the Sams myself? (To say yes might mark me down as unhinged; to say no might imply a lack of emotional depth and sparse life experience). At one point, I jabbered on about a little Indian kid we sponsor through Plan International ("Everyone should do this!" I ranted) and thought, am I telling her just so she'll think I'm a good person? If so, that makes me manipulative and bad! But what if she sees through me? O God! I've blown it! More scratching from Brian, then "Thanks very much for your time" and I was led back to the other quiverers, with hardly a spot of my blood spilt. Physically, I'd been more than a match for this Samaritan Titan; but had my wild mutterings, whoops and shrill cries got me through?
My interviewer was a quietly spoken woman. To one side of her was a heavily bearded man sitting at a desk. "Don't worry about Brian; he won't say anything!" she said. Who was this mysterious Brian? The office mascot? A waif who'd crawled in off the street for warmth? The caretaker? "No, he's just here to take notes." The man looked at me and smiled thinly.
The interviewer introduced herself, then "Well, why do you want to join Samaritans?" I burbled something about 'wanting to contribute' - bog-standard, off-the-peg stuff. As I spoke, I realised that I really should have prepared for this a bit better. What if she started asking really tough questions? A moment later, she did start asking really tough questions, and continued to do so for quite some time. In the brief moments of silence, I could hear Brian sratching away with his pen. What on earth was he writing? And why was there so much of it?
What were my good qualities? Bad ones? How would I react if...? What would I do if...? Had I ever called the Sams myself? (To say yes might mark me down as unhinged; to say no might imply a lack of emotional depth and sparse life experience). At one point, I jabbered on about a little Indian kid we sponsor through Plan International ("Everyone should do this!" I ranted) and thought, am I telling her just so she'll think I'm a good person? If so, that makes me manipulative and bad! But what if she sees through me? O God! I've blown it! More scratching from Brian, then "Thanks very much for your time" and I was led back to the other quiverers, with hardly a spot of my blood spilt. Physically, I'd been more than a match for this Samaritan Titan; but had my wild mutterings, whoops and shrill cries got me through?
posted by the okay samaritan at 4:02 pm
2 Comments:
so when do you find out whether brian liked you?
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